WHO AM I

When we were walking down the road on a hot July day, the old Tennessee rocky road was dusty and narrow, with just enough room for two cars to pass safely.  A noisy truck stopped behind us, and a voice said “boys, where you headed?” 

Tommy said, “Back to my parents place by the feed store where we thought we would grab a soda and sit by the creek and watch some croquet.”  My dad and three others were playing and enjoying themselves on the manicured court.  That was the first time I remember anyone telling me that I was just like my dad.  At the time I was anything but pleased.

Seems like every other day Pat is telling me that I sound just like my dad.  The first article that I wrote was the icing on the cake for her.  You could see her thinking it before she said anything, yep, “that’s just like Archie.”  All I would say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m just telling you what I think.”

A few weeks back we were back in Peoria seeing to Pat’s father. On Sunday we attended the church that my dad and mom attended.  One of my dad’s brothers still goes there with many of the friends to whom my parents had been close.  Most of them have watched me become the man of today.  My uncle grabbed me and said,     ”just like your dad.”

I must tell you at this point I am very confused.  I buried my father about 10 years ago now, and I don’t remember crying. Sure, I was sad and I missed being around him.  I miss his laugh and the energy I got from him being there.  Maybe it would be different if my dad and mom had died in an accident or at a young age from a disease.  No, they lived long lives and found love and happiness through their religion, marriage, children and friends. Sure they left me much earlier than I wanted but we have no control over any of that.  I still talk with him in my mind and believe he is there to advise me if I need his help.  I will catch myself when I think; I will call tonight and get his opinion on this or that.  No, you can’t do that, he’s gone. To this day I don’t think I have still come to accept the reality that he’s gone.  He has raised me to have his values and his attitude toward life.  Sure, I’m my own man but the stability of knowing who I am and being content in my own skin has come down through the generations beginning with my father.  I can only say thank you to him and hope that my son one day will say, thank you to me when I'm gone.  Then he will have the same type of contentment as I do now.