Remembering My Dad

My father died on the last Tuesday in February of 2004. It was somewhat unexpected. He had a myriad of health problems such as diabetes, high blood pressure, kidney failure and a subsequent transplant. He had survived pneumonia and several other ailments over the years, there were several occasions when we were told that he probably would not survive, but he always did. He woke up that Tuesday morning and told my mom that he didn’t feel well and that he was going back to bed. He never woke up. She went in to wake him before lunch and found that he had died in his sleep.

My dad’s name was Aubey Billy Jack Head. He never used Aubey, but I thought it was neat having three names. He was born on Sand Mountain in Alabama in 1933 to Gardy and Lucy Head, and yes it is Gardy not Grady. He was one of seven children, one of his siblings died as an infant. Gardy died when my dad was about five, right about the time that my dad’s youngest brother was born. My grandmother was left to raise the kids on her own and that was no small feat during the Depression. My dad’s oldest sister had gotten married and she helped my grandmother take care of the smaller kids, and dad’s oldest brother was able to get a job to help out as well. My grandmother moved down into Fort Payne and got a job at a hotel as a cook and washing clothes to support her family.

Needless to say my dad grew up poor. The family moved from Fort Payne to Summerville, Georgia at some point because the oldest brother had gotten a job at the mill in Trion. My dad dropped out of school at 15, he lied about his age and got a job in the mill as well. He worked there until he was drafted into the Army during the Korean War. Luckily for him, the treaty was signed to end the war while my dad was in basic training. He was sent to Europe and served as a driver for a general. He was fortunate enough to draw the assignment to drive Olivia de Havilland around as she was visiting the soldiers stationed in Europe in the 1950’s. For a poor boy from the south, he had many adventures and opportunities in the Army.

After he was discharged he came back to Summerville and went back to work in the mill. He met my mother in 1955. The story of how they met was always under dispute between my parents. He said that he and a friend pulled up to a local drive-in and my mom and her friend were in the car next to them. The dispute centers on whether she actually pulled the cigar out of his mouth and started smoking it. My mother denies it, he always insisted that it was true, the truth is probably somewhere in between.

They married in September of 1956. My father said they had to elope because my maternal grandmother faked a heart attack when they talked about getting married. My sister was born in 1957, my brother in 1961, and I came along in 1965. They built a house in Trion in 1961 and financed it with a VA loan. My dad stayed at the mill in Trion and spent his career there, working over 50 years all together. He was promoted several times and worked in customer service and sales. The last years of his career, he was responsible for selling the off-goods or seconds that were made. The mill produced denim mostly and he had a network of buyers that he would sell to on a regular basis. He became friends over the years with many of those customers and I remember getting graduation gifts and wedding presents from Baltimore, New York and other places from people that I had never met. I didn’t mind, however, they were always great gifts.

My dad was a smart guy despite not having much formal education. He was an avid reader and loved anything related to history. He and my mother always stressed the importance of getting an education. They never really got on to us about grades, but they wanted us to do our best. I think they both knew that a college degree would provide more opportunities for us than they ever had.

I mentioned in an earlier post that my dad had a colorful vocabulary. He cussed like a sailor and he had a temper that sat on ready at all times. He also had a big heart and sense of justice that I noticed from a very early age. My mother always took us to church, every Sunday we were there no matter what. My father never went with us. My mom said that early in their marriage my dad would go with her, but that my grandmother would give him a hard time. She was a religious woman, but her denomination worshipped on Saturday and she didn’t like the idea of him being a Sunday worshipper. After a few years he got tired of the fight and just stopped going all together.

My father was a good man. I mentioned that he had a big heart and a strong sense of justice. My sister became a teacher after college and would tell my dad about kids who needed a coat or supplies, or maybe they needed money to go on a field trip. My dad quietly gave the money to meet the need. He never wanted any recognition, but he knew what it was like to be poor and he was now in a position to help others. I learned a lot of things from my dad, but probably the most significant thing was that people matter. More than money, more than things, people and relationships matter. I saw him live that out in his life and it spoke to me more than any words ever could.

Like I said, I always knew my dad was a good man, but I was very concerned about my father’s spiritual well being. He believed in God, but he had never made a profession of faith in Jesus Christ. He was always supportive of us in our faith. He was present when I was commissioned as a Summer Missionary through the Baptist Student Union in 1985, and he was there when I was ordained as a deacon in 1993. He always supported us in our faith, but he never took that step for himself. When asked why, he would always talk about the hypocrites who went to church on Sunday and lived a very non-Christian life the rest of the week. My mother would say that he couldn’t worry about anyone but himself and that he was responsible for his life, not theirs. My mother shed countless tears and spent many hours praying for my father’s health and spiritual well-being.

In 1994 my father finally made a confession of faith and became a Christian. He was in the hospital, but it certainly wasn’t the worst situation in comparison to his other many ailments. He just said that God spoke to him and that he knew it was the right thing to do. My dad was always a big guy, and the pastor of the church asked if I would help with the baptism. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. Like my mother, sister and brother, I had also prayed many prayers for my father. I was more than willing to take part in this long awaited act of faith.

We all noticed a change in my dad. He cleaned up his vocabulary, he cooled his temper down, and he became very involved in his church. He began talking to his brothers about their relationship with God and told them about his experience. He became bold in his faith and we were all very thankful and aware that God does not give up on any of us.

I mentioned that my dad died on the last Tuesday of February. It was the day before Ash Wednesday that year. We had the visitation at the funeral home on the night of Ash Wednesday and several friends from my church, FBC Rome, left the Ash Wednesday service and came straight to the funeral home. Hugh Peacock, the Associate Pastor, was the first one I noticed who had the cross made of ash on his forehead. It didn’t occur to me upon first glance what it was, but as he got closer I became aware of the image on his forehead. Several others there who came to visit that night bore the sign of the cross on their forehead. Wow, what a message from God! In the midst of my pain at the loss of my earthly father, I was reminded of the gift from my Heavenly Father. I was more comforted in the fact that my dad was now at peace with my Heavenly Father.

Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent. Lent is a time when the church begins to look toward the cross and the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ. It marks the forty days before Easter and in many denominations is a period when people “give up” something to remind them of the sacrifice made by Christ for our sins. Some people give up chocolate, others caffeine or maybe they try to break a habit. Some years ago, my pastor suggested that we not only give something up, but that we also try to add something beneficial. He suggested to commit to more prayer or Bible study, or perhaps to commit to helping someone every day. It occurred to me this year as I thought about my dad on this anniversary of his death, that both my dad and my God have taught me a lot about relationships and how they matter. My dad cared about people and he would always help out when he knew they had a need. My God cared about His creation so much that He became flesh and chose to live among us. Through Christ we have a clearer picture into the nature of God. “Love your neighbor as yourself.” “Peter, do you love me?...Feed my sheep.” During this Lenten season, as I remember my dad and I try to honor my Heavenly Father, I want to commit to strengthening my relationships. I want to pay attention to people, I want to listen to them and make them know that they are special. I want to tell the people in my life that I love them and I appreciate them.

“Lord God, thank you for my dad and the life that he lived and the lessons that he taught me. Thank you for my family and the people you have placed in my life. I have felt the warmth of your love and have received so many blessings through them. Help me to be a vessel of your love, your grace and your mercy to all that I encounter. Forgive me when I fail and please continue to work in my life. In Christ holy name I pray. Amen.”