The Cycle Breaker

I sat my sons on the front porch of the old family place outside Bay Springs, Mississippi. The old home had collapsed under the weight of tangling vines of kudzu. I was a little worried that what was left of the porch wouldn’t be able to hold up my sons. I gave them a minute to look around as my father described where everything used to be when my father lived there. The garden was over to our right. The well was out back and to the left. The outhouse (the boys favorite building) was just over the hill in the backyard. The barn was further out and down to the left and after that, as far as the eye could see, stretched cotton field after cotton field.

After a long minute, I asked the boys what they saw. “Nothing,” they said.

“That’s right,” I said. “This is where your grandfather started. Everything our family has, everything I have as his son, and everything you have as his grandsons started right here. I want you to understand what your grandfather did for our family and what it means to now have the opportunities Big John (my father) has given to us. Chances he never had he made sure we had. I want you to understand where we are as a family happened because of everything this man did as a father and grandfather.”

The summer our sons graduated from high school, we took them on what we called “The Glenn Historical Tour.” We took them to all the places where my father and mother had grown up. We showed them the roller skating rink where mom and dad met. It’s not there anymore, but the parking lot is still there where he asked her out on their first date. Dad showed them the service station where he used to work and the high school from which he graduated. My dad took them to the river where he swam as a boy and the spring where they watered their horses and mules.

The boys met my uncles and their families and heard the stories of my family. The story of Jack skipping school and JC and Dad cutting pulp wood for groceries. They told the story of Hazel falling out of the car and the night their father fell off the porch onto their dog, Nub, and the fight that happened when a scared dog and scared old man went at it.

My mom and dad told the boys the story of my dad deciding to join the Air Force and leaving right after their wedding for boot camp. Mom didn’t tell anyone she and dad were married. She was afraid her father wouldn’t approve. My dad’s wedding band was on lay-a-way. Mom mailed it to him at the base a few months later.

My dad was trained on radars in the Air Force. From there he was hired to teach radar systems at Keesler Air Base and then, Redstone Arsenal. Using his training in electronics, dad started repairing televisions in our garage. That led to Dad opening up what became one of the largest television and appliance stores in North Alabama. My first job was delivering the televisions and appliances Dad sold. That led to Dad buying some commercial property and serving as a member of Huntsville’s City Council. My dad broke the poverty cycle in our family.

He paid for my college. He paid for my seminary education. Along the way, he paid for cars, suits, computers and of course, anything his grandchildren wanted. As I explained to my sons, Big John worked two jobs all of my life – and three jobs for some of it– to break the poverty cycle in our family. If my father had not done that, it would have fallen to me and our stories would have been very different.

My dad learned to deal with hard times with his sense of humor. He had an amazing ability to tell stories and make you laugh. Sometimes, he would get us in trouble – like making us laugh in church – but the boys and I still laugh at Big John and his stories. One time, I asked my mom what they did when they were newly married. She told me they would eat dinner and then, she would listen to daddy’s stories.

After my dad had died, I was talking to my mom and I asked her why she married my dad. What was it about him that attracted her? Do you know what she told me? “He was going somewhere and I wanted to go with him.”

My dad was an extremely generous man. When he died, my family and I stood in the receiving line at the funeral home for five hours and listened to people tell us what our father had done for them. “You don’t know this,” they would begin and then, blinking back tears, they would tell us about the time our father had helped them.

When we got back in the car, mom asked, “Where were we when your father was changing all of these people’s lives?”

“We were in the car, Mom, honking the horn and yelling at Dad to come on.”

Dad died in April of 2012. His heart finally just gave out. Every day, something happens and I wish I could talk to him. He was wise and good. He loved Jesus. He loved my mom. He loved me. When I was growing up, I thought my dad was normal. It took my years to understand just how unique he was and how I had been given the unique opportunity to be his son.

I pray I have made him proud. [SMcK adds: You have. Aplenty.]

Happy Father’s Dad. Your son loves you very much.

This essay was first posted in Scot McKnight’s newsletter.