Dear Dad--Although you've been gone for 36 years, I have the distinct sensation you still can understand this message on Father's Day. Yeah, I'm funny that way, I'll admit.
With that in mind, let me begin by simply saying thank you for helping bring me and my sister and brother into this world and remaining with our mother in a complete family through the many ups and downs. That accomplishment, alone, became such a steadily increasing rarity as we became adults.
During my formative years, I came to resent the stern voice, the shouting and the sound of you removing your belt when you perceived I hadn't behaved properly. You were always prone to turn to the leather or a switch to emphasize your point.
I also didn't understand when you were equally quick to toss out personal criticisms like "you big baby!" most of the time whenever I cried from the punishment.
No doubt you believed you were being a proper parent during those times. In some ways, it proved effective.
Having never had a concerned father present in your home during most of your own childhood, there was no way you could have known what an ideal father resembled. Being abandoned as a child (along with your three younger brothers) tends to have that effect on kids.
As a father and grandfather (even older than you were when you left this life) I have a far different understanding of what must have been going through your heart and mind with three of us to raise. The fact that you spent a lengthy career in the military, a life that finally did provide a rigid structure in which you thrived, also played a significant role in your attempt to understand your role in our lives.
As with troops under your command, you were always the Colonel whose commands were not to be questioned, the authoritarian who stood above challenge.
That's likely why you and I, as your oldest son, never engaged in deeper conversations about life, relationships and faith. You probably didn't feel confident, or all that qualified, to be discussing any in depth.
My good fortune lies in the fact that your wife, my mother, Elaine, had enough affection, understanding, compassion and nurturing to fill the voids. Thankfully, it all seems to somehow have come through the wash of childhood without undue grime and shredding.
I'm writing not to be critical, not at all. I loved you as my father and respected you for the man you were on so many levels. It's only that, as with so many men, you unfortunately just weren't equipped to be a fully effective father because of your own unfortunate life circumstances. It's interesting indeed how our own trials and tribulations provide valuable insights and context as we approach our own mortality.
The good memories of the time you invested in my childhood are sadly few scattered. I remember how excited I was when you bought me a .22 rifle at age 12 and took me squirrel hunting. I was so anxious to show you how well I could shoot. We waited quietly that morning until a squirrel appeared in a nearby tree and I had him dead in my sights when I heard your rifle discharge and watched him drop straight to the ground.
It may have seemed like a small thing to you that I didn't have the chance to prove myself to you. But it was. I believe many fathers don't have any idea how even their most subtle selfish actions can affect their children, even to the point of memories a half-century later. And shouting: "Git over it. Grow up!" only emblazons the scar deeper into the place where our memories and emotions reside.
I remember your making most of my high school athletic events to watch from low in the bleachers. I don't recall you ever saying "good game, son!" or 'I'm really proud of you" or "I love you, son." In fairness, you may have. But what's significant to me is I don't recall it today.
Far too many fathers don't even show up as a true parent today, much less take time to administer love or discipline. I was fortunate to have been born into this nation when the divorce rate was well below 50 percent and families for the most part stuck together. You know, Dad, I'd have to say the role of a father in any family is so vitally important on so many levels from stability to balance and a child's crucial need for security and safety.
Toward the end of your life, after you'd had one leg amputated for a blood clot and your life was being drained by liver cancer, I remember standing alongside your hospital bed as you took my hand, saying: "I want you to take care of your mother and sister when I'm gone, son. As the oldest child, that falls on your shoulders now."
I remember those words, Father, as perhaps the most sincere and meaningful you shared with me. Soon afterwards, you were gone.
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Mike Masterson's column appears regularly in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. Email him at mmasterson@arkansasonline.com.
Editorial on 06/19/2016