Fatherhood

My father was born to Thurman and Otha Rakestraw on a farm in western Kentucky in 1929.  He was the youngest of 9.  The family was poor but living on a farm there was always plenty of food.  Being the youngest he never lacked for attention or companionship.  Life was simple and the work was hard but they seemingly had all they needed.

He was educated in the little schoolhouse in the nearest small town.  They attended the Methodist church up the hill.  In addition to his older siblings and farm animals and hills to explore there were lots of cousins and relatives to play with.

His mother died when he was in his teens, which would be a devastating blow to anyone.  His older sister took him under her wing, and he developed a special bond with her.  For the rest of his life he would have a real need to travel back to Webster County Kentucky to reconnect with his family, but especially his father and his older sister.

Dad loved to talk about his time in “Uncle Sam’s Army”.  There were no wars going on during his years of service, but he did spend time in Germany.  He would occasionally pull out the old photos of that time and talk of the German girls and speak a couple of words that he still remembered.

Mom and Dad married in 1955.  They had 4 kids and were married well over 50 years.  No marriage is perfect but they had love and commitment and just enough stubbornness to stick with it and raise their kids in a little white house in Ellisville until we were each old enough to jump out of the nest and head off on our own.

Dad worked for Chrysler, at the plant in Fenton, Missouri for well over three decades.  He started off after the army working at the Evansville plant, and when they moved production to St. Louis he moved with it.  Like most men back in those days his work was his life.

Every morning he was up before 4 am.  He would walk down the hallway into the living room and sit down in “his chair” and smoke a cigarette and drink a cup of coffee.  The cigarettes would continue throughout the day.  My father was not a drinker and he did not take drugs or overeat, but he was addicted to cigarettes.

In many ways his work was his life.  He would come home in the late afternoon and sit in his chair, often wearing the frustrations of the day on his forehead.  Sometimes he would talk about what went on “out at the shop”.  He was a Trim Superintendent and knew the workings of his department backward and forward.  I got a small taste of that when I was involved in the startup of one of their paint lines in 1984.

On Sundays he made sure we all attended the Ellisville Methodist Church and we wore ties and dress shoes and we would be quiet in church or else.  I would not say he was an overly religious man; he had a simple faith that came from the little church on the hill in rural Kentucky.  He had conviction and knew right from wrong and was determined to raise us with that same faith and understanding.

We had great neighbors and Dad loved to play cards and make homemade ice cream and cook pork steaks on the little cinder block grill he had built on one side of the yard.  He was a talker and a character.  He never knew a stranger and could talk to anyone.

Dad was not college educated but he knew the value of an education.  He made sure we went to school and studied; and the penalties for bad grades on a report card, though perhaps a little harsh, were effective.  He sent us to college and helped my brothers with medical school and I remember he and Mom would attend PTA meetings with some regularity.

He was always helping out and “trading favors” with people.  If you needed help with something he would be there to help move or clean or paint or whatever, and he was not afraid to ask for a favor when he needed one.

Dad eventually retired, and Dad and Mom moved from the little house in Ellisville back to Kentucky.  In so doing I think he finally realized you cannot go back and recapture the past.  Mom ended up loving the peace and solitude of the hillside in Kentucky more than Dad did.  

Things had changed, people had moved on, and he had grown accustomed to a little faster pace and a little more activity.

They moved back to the St. Louis area, this time to St. Charles to a little house in a subdivision.  They did make friends but once again it was impossible to reconstruct what they had on the little street in Ellisville.  The grandchildren multiplied, and Dad loved nothing better than spending time with his grandkids.  He loved the family gatherings and card games and trips back to the farm with everyone.

Eventually, the cigarettes caught up to him and he died of lung cancer in 2008.  We had a visitation in St. Louis, and then took him back to the little cemetery across from the church at the top of the hill, not far from the spot he was born.

Losing a parent is never an easy thing, but at least Dad was 79 and I was fully grown.  I realized how difficult it must have been on him, losing his mother as a young man.  Visitations and funerals are generally done in a bit of a fog and are over very quickly.  They are a necessary part of grieving but they are but the beginning of the process.

After Dad died I spent quite a bit of time with Mom over the weeks that followed.  There were details to be taken care of and insurance and legal and financial and other practical realities that needed attention.  We worked through those things and got her organized and she ended up living in that house from his death in 2008 until early in 2014.

Grieving is a process, and everyone experiences it differently.  It is not something that one can wrap up by the end of the funeral and be done with.  And not everyone understands the stages of grief or is able to empathize with the process.

A few weeks after his passing there were people in my life who wondered aloud how long it was going to take me to get over it and how long I was going to spend all of this time with my mother.  They wanted me to “snap out of it” and “get over it”.  If you have ever lost someone close to you then you know that is not how the process works.

This misunderstanding led to one of the most painful times of my life and resulted in me not talking much about my father.  That is really sad, because he deserves to be talked about and remembered.  He was a man of integrity and conviction and faith.  He was a hard worker and loyal and honest and compassionate.  He loved his kids and grandkids and he had a positive effect on all of our lives.

If your father is still around please give him a hug or a call and tell him how much he means to you.  Let him know how much you appreciate his love and support.  Fathers are not perfect, they are humans and some are better and some are worse.  But most of us have Dads that love and cared for us and wanted the very best for us and did their very best to give us a good start in life. 

Of course I am a father also, and I look forward to a phone call from each of my sons and a hug from my daughter today.  My kids are all grown up now, and doing well.  I look at all of the young fathers still in the thick of things, raising young ones, changing diapers and going to playgrounds and helping with homework.

On the one hand, I don’t miss all of the hard work and lack of sleep involved with raising young children.  But on the other hand I realize those are the very best times in a father’s life.  And I know that you cannot go back and recapture the past.

Not to worry……I am sure before too long there will be grandchildren to spoil.