Meet my Dad

If you met him today, you might be tempted to shrug him off. 

After all, sometimes he talks so fast with that Southern accent that you can hardly understand what he's saying. Sometimes he forgets he's told you that story already, and in nearly every conversation I've had with him, he always punctuates the conversation with "I'm so lonely and depressed, I don't know what to do...."

It's been this way a long time.

My Dad was born in the backwoods of Tennessee. His parents were poor at the time, so they gave him to another couple to raise until they could get it together. He ended up being raised by moonshiners with no electricity, and from the tidbits I've gathered, he saw more as a child than any young mind should be exposed to. 

His earliest memories were of being tied to a tree while everyone else went off to attend their operation tucked in the woods. Sometimes they tied a cow up to the tree with him, so he could have milk if he got thirsty. He also has memories of being locked up in a chicken coop, and stealing over to a neighbor's house with a friend so he could have a meal for the day. 

Not your ideal childhood.

Later his parents kidnapped him from the people who were raising him and took him to Nashville, where he saw electric lights for the first time. The city was a hard adjustment for him to make, and when his real parents tried to put him in a boarding school, he ran away. He spent a good portion of his teen years as a homeless kid, and has sad memories of making a living doing whatever he could just to stay alive. It was during that time he started hanging out with a band. One time, they went to watch a movie together, and they were the only people there. He did not realize until a few years ago that he had been hanging out with the Lynard Skynard band; they had bought out the entire theater that evening!

When I was four or five, my dad was in a car accident that affected part of his brain. I still remember holding my mom's hand as we walked into the hospital room, There were wires and tubes everywhere, with a bandage securely wrapped around his head. The only reason I was allowed in the room that day? The doctors did not expect him to survive - but he did.

My dad was never really around when I was growing up. I guess he and Mom didn't really get along, but we have a relationship now. He plays the guitar and writes sad songs about friends who have died because of drugs, and funny songs about getting pulled over while intoxicated. He once had a girlfriend for over ten years, and he cared for her every need- doing dishes, making meals, washing sheets- until cancer wasted her away and she was taken from him. 

Now we are miles apart, but every time I visit, we inevitably end up driving around all day as he introduces me to everyone he knows all over again. To the sweet lady who used to be his neighbor, the guy who owns the local pawn shop, and the few friends he spends his time with. As we park in the next person's driveway, he always hops out of the car with a spring in his step, opens the door in front of me, and smiles broadly as he declares, "Hey, have you met my daughter!?" I think he's proud of who I've become,

I love my Dad. Although he doesn't have many possessions to speak of, he always tries to send my girls a letter in the mail on their birthdays, with some cash tucked inside so I can get them a present. He really is a sweet man. 

So the next time you meet someone who seems a bit too talkative, or maybe they're having one of those days AGAIN - maybe you could pause and listen for a few moments, or stretch yourself to speak words of life and encouragement. 

He is precious to someone. If you knew his story, you might be impressed by how well he turned out.