In cleaning out my house to get it ready to show I have run across so many forgotten but very cool old photos and documents. The other day I found Dad's baby book, started in 1930. It contained a number of tiny photos, too small to scan in, but treasured by me nonetheless.
Left, Daddy as a baby. My grandparents were poor, but they clearly adored their sons. Cordelia wrote in his baby book periodically for years. There were even some photos of Dad as about a 10 year old.
When Dad was born in November of 1930 the family was living in Jacksonville, Florida. His brother Lewis was about 6 and Bobby was about 4. Below, the boys with Grandaddy.
My grandmother Cordelia must have been disappointed when her third child was not a girl. She had two boys already, and a girl's name picked out [don't know what it was, though.] Then comes her third son. She had no boy name chosen so she named him "Anthony" - the name of a drugstore near the hospital. Nobody else in the family had that name.
Dad was a pistol from day 1, clearly.
Below, a note from Cordelia about him: Age 3, Dad decided he wanted to be called "Slick" -- my grandfather's nickname. Not sure why Grandaddy got that nickname, the origins of it. Might have been given to him during his brief career as a professional gambler, in South Georgia.
When I first read Cordelia's notes under Dad's photos as a 6 year old I was appalled. She let him go downtown alone?! Then I remembered that in those days downtown Hephzibah was a very short walk from their home.
Another note in the baby book talks about him having a good tan - when he was less than a year old! Of course, they lived in Florida. I remembered that my dad had really unusual skin. Despite having light brown hair and green eyes his skin was always quite brown. He never wore sunscreen, despite Mom's entreaties. I never saw him get a sunburn, either. He always spent a lot of time outside. He liked yard work, swimming, skiing, tennis. His back would turn mahogany brown. Mom said he was part pirate. Who knows.
I miss Dad a lot. He passed away July 11, 1996, of cancer. I had just turned 34 years old. It seemed so unreal, that he would be taken from us like that. For months afterwards I felt like the whole world was off whack, like everything was just WRONG.
I will say this for him, though. Tony Thompson packed a lot of living into 65 years. He was a busy guy.
He tried very hard to be a good father. He didn't know what to do with a little girl, since he'd had no sisters. He didn't do tea parties. I didn't brush his hair or pick out his nail polish like I did for Mom. We went to movies though, and we talked about everything. People used to say I was a lot like him. He was a ball of fire, unlike Elva [Mom] who was laid back. Maybe that's why they were such good friends. They were opposites.
Sometimes when I am worried about something I talk to Daddy, and ask him to help me, if possible. Death is simply a doorway. He's on the other side of it, but I feel him around me often. He came to me in a dream and told me to adopt my son. Sometimes I sense him when I smell his aftershave. Sometimes I clearly hear his voice in my head.
He wasn't perfect, but nobody is perfect. He tried to be a good daddy and he loved us fiercely. That was enough. I will miss him until the day I see him again in heaven.
