Pappa’s Day

In 1905, Teddy Roosevelt was president, Russia was having a revolution, Albert Einstein was thinking of relativity and my father was born.

When I was presented to the ‘family’ there was this guy sitting at one end of the table and this woman at the other end. “Who are you?” I asked him. “I am your father.” “Who is she?” I questioned. “She is your mother.”

Sounds pretty simple until you get into the details.

“My name is George but they call me Jelly.” “Her name is Marguerite but they call her Kay.” Ok, this is a family where everyone has two names?

Then there is this guy sitting across the table. He is not as old as the other folks but is older than me. “Who are you?” I ask. “My name is George but they call me Chick.”

So this was the lot I was attached by name throughout eternity? I got branded with a different name in the House of George and didn’t get a second name. I was the youngest and I guess you lost privilege that way.

What of this man called ‘George’? From historical records he was the son of another George who was the son of Thomas.

It seems the male line of the family were merchants. Salesmen in produce and wholesale grocer brokers. My father’s father was born in Powhatan County and after his father died, moved to Wilmington, North Carolina at the age of 28.

My dad had a brother, William who was eleven years older.

Records also show his dad was big time in the Baptist Church for which he followed but without conviction, at least from what I observed. We said ‘Grace’ over every meal and had nighttime prayers wishing we didn’t die in our sleep. The gift of the Bible was the culture but it gathered dust on the shelf.

From the look of things my dad’s family may have been strict on religion but both boys were rebels. One went to work for the railroad and dad followed an adventure into pop stardom. Maybe the thrill of selling produce did not appeal to either one.

This is all speculation for my dad never talked about his family experience.

Still this guy had enough musical knowledge to lead the band and made the attempt to become a celebrity. The war or little recognition and financial reward squashed his dreams so he had to make another career decision.

He certainly understood the ‘food’ business and could have started a restaurant or gone into sales. He hung onto the world of the rich and famous and decided the hotel business would keep his image alive and connected with those wealthy enough to traveled.

My dad moved from job to job now carrying a wife and a son and the war was not over. He didn’t attempt to go back home which makes one wonder of his relationship with his family.

When I arrived, probably a Valentine gift not expected, he was still trying to find a place to settle down. When he moved to our town he was in his late forties and lust for fame must have faded.

Dad didn’t teach me to ride a bike or hit a pitch or nail two pieces of wood together but did put up a basketball hoop never used. Dad didn’t teach me how to shoot a rifle but sent me to camp to learn. Dad didn’t teach me to drive or how to drink or how to shave but bought me a cheap electric razor. Dad never took me fishing or showed me how to play music or about girls though I found those magazines under his mattress.

Dad never raised his voice or use corporal punishment as I remember, but his rules were followed without question. He was the head-of-the-household.

He did provide room and board for eighteen years and when I moved back after a year and a half his only comment was, “You’re back?”

I believe he was basically a good man but always knew he had missed the golden ring. He did the best he could and though his boys didn’t follow his path, raised us right. Sorry if we planted you in the family plot if you did not get along with your parents. Mom didn’t make it, so you’ll just have to deal with your folks.

So on this Pappa’s Day, I’ll raise a mug to you. You kept me fed and somehow in school when I flunked out and probably out of the army and maybe even helped with my career behind the scenes but I’ll never know.