Dad in Europe, about 1952, before he married
me and Dad, late 1980's
below, one of the last shots of Dad, in his chair at home in August, not too long before he died
My father's name was Anthony Thompson and he was from Hepzibah, Georgia.
We lost my dad to cancer when he was 65, and I realize now how tragic that was. I was 34, and to me 65 seemed.... old. Now it's not. It all depends on your perspective.
Dad was a character. He was unlike anyone I've ever known, even his own brothers.
Dad loved military history and all things military. He took me to military museums, historic sites, battlefields, battleships, the Atlanta History Center - which he loved. He revered Douglas Macarthur and General George S. Patton.
He loved the military so much he named many of our dogs after military legends. We had Kaiser Wilhelm, (a pound dog), Napoleon Bonaparte (a lab mix we had to re-home because we couldn't fence the yard), George S. Patton (another pound dog), and finally Fred. My brother named Fred. Dad referred to him as Frederick the Great.
Dad loved to recite poetry. He could recite long stanzas of "Casey at the Bat," and some Longfellow, and he loved Robert Service.
Dad and his brothers all had fine baritone (untrained) voices and they sang around the house, all the time. I thought it was more Dad than his brothers until one weekend I was at my uncle Bob's house in North Augusta and the entire weekend he was constantly singing, very softly, "Were you there when they crucified my lord?" It's a beautiful song of course, but sad. Lewis would sing more uptempo songs, usually.
Had they been trained, the brothers would've made a wonderful barbershop quartet.
Dad liked to sing old Baptist hyms like "The Old Rugged Cross" - at home, but especially at Salvation Army events. He worked tirelessly for the Salvation Army for years, because he believed so strongly in what they did.
above, me and uncle Lewis, and Dad, around 1990
Dad had his own way of speaking, and he used phrases I've never heard anyone else say, ever.
He hated the expression "all right" and if he asked a question and got that response, he would bark "Cat's ASS is all right!"
"I don't let the weather make my decisions for me" - when everyone else took a snow day, he went in. He lived by this credo.
"Go ahead hell ain't half full!" - this was yelled at driver's going too fast or recklessly
"I wish my mama was here tonight..." -- this was said at night, after he had mixed himself a drink and was feeling maudlin [he was 29 when his mother died]
"We need to get down on the lick log" - in other words, we are going to have a serious talk
"Close only counts in horseshoes or hand grenades!" - in other words, hit what you aim at or do what you say
"Duty, honor, country..." - he liked to mutter that a lot; it's a quote from Douglas Macarthur, one of his speeches.
Dad set a great store by being an honorable person. To him, "honor" was a religion. If he said he was going to do something, he did it. He returned phonecalls. He kept promises. He took pride in following through on commitments.
If he couldn't recall a man's name he called him "Chief" and for women he called them "Honey."
I never saw an old lady who didn't adore my dad. He was always extra sweet to old ladies - probably because he had had something like 10 aunts as a boy.
He liked to cook... a few things. He loved to make omelets on weekends, They were usually filled with all sorts of things - sausage, peppers, cheese. He always made them leathery. (I vowed when I grew up I would learn to make a proper omelet and I have, thanks be to God.) We never told Dad how awful his omelets were, of course.
He never remembered to buy lighter fluid and he usually used gasoline to start grill fires. Bruce and I still laugh about the "gas burgers."
He loved barbeque. LOVED it. He would drive over 20 miles of dirt road to find a tin roofed shack in the middle of nowhere that somebody told him had good barbeque. In his last years, he would barbeque Boston Butts on the grill, then chop it up with an axe. [Really tasty, that Q.]
He liked to fish, but he didn't have much patience for it. If he didn't catch something pretty quickly, it was all over. He wasn't going to sit and watch a cork for an hour.
Things most folks don't know about Dad...
Dad was a mason. His father was a 33rd degree mason, but Dad didn't get that far. He stopped pursuing it after his father died, but Dad always had great respect for masons. I recall him asking an older man once something like "Are you the son of a widowed mother?" and the reply was something like "I follow the Eastern star" - or something like that; I don't remember the exact words. Dad told me later those were masonic code phrases. I still have grandaddy's masonic ring somewhere...
Dad could diaper a baby expertly, having done it many times for me and Bruce. He often would put a clean diaper on his head and clown around while he changed us. Unlike most 1960's dads, he fed us, diapered us, bathed us - he did everything mom did, so she could have a break when he was home.
When he was an adolescent and teenager, he did manual labor for summer jobs - picking cotton or watermelons or whatever the farmer needed. It was backbreaking work and he developed calloused, leathery hands that he kept all his life.[I've always been impatient with people who said bankers don't work hard, because Dad did, often putting in 10 hour days.]
Dad was pleasant to everyone he encountered at the bank where he worked. I've seen him greet the janitor like a long-lost pal and chat with him for 5 minutes - then just be barely polite to the chairman of the board. (Dad's father didn't finish high school and always worked menial jobs, and Dad loved him very much; and I think his extra kindness to people who weren't educated or sophisticated was sort of a tribute to his dad.)
Dad was an excellent pool player. We had an old pool table when I was a kid, one that someone had gifted to us. Dad could run the table. I practiced a lot but I was never any good.
Dad was an excellent tennis player and water skiier.
Dad loved to play. He was a big kid at heart, and would happily play cowboys and indians with us, or give us rides on a go-kart he built, or get down on the floor and play with us. When he was not working, he was our playmate and pal - until we got out of line, then he turned back into Dad...
Dad was a decent swimmer but he couldn't float. He would always sink like a stone.
Dad told me once that he fell in love with my mother the first time he saw her. They had ups and downs, like most couples, but he died holding her hand.
Dad's cancer was very advanced before he sought treatment. He lived 5 weeks after the formal diagnosis. He did everything faster than most folks, even dying.
If I had to name the most valuable thing Dad left me with it was this credo: do it because it's the right thing to do. The "right thing to do" was always what we had to do - not so we could go to heaven or get rich or get any sort of reward at all. We should do the right thing simply because it IS the right thing.
One of the ten commandments is "Honor thy mother and father." In everything I do, I try to honor my dad. I try to always keep my word, and work hard, and play hard, and say the phrase "I love you" every day, while really demonstrating that love, too.
Dad wasn't perfect (who is?!) but he tried very hard to be a good father, and I still miss him, every day.
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