A Father's Legacy

[Lynn Lambert]

One a year it comes -- that Sunday in June, when fathers are heralded for their vital contributions to their sons and daughters. To all those deserving -- Happy Father's Day.

My father passed away in December 2001 after a five-year battle with cancer. This invasive enemy began in his colon and he underwent a colostomy. The surgery and subsequent chemo and radiation treatments wilter his tall frame. Emotionally the battle took a far worse toll. Acceptance of his physical and emotional condition was not forthcoming.

Eventually he regained weight and seemed to be recovering...for a while.

One summer Saturday my brother called. Daddy was back in the hospital. I drove to my sister's and delivered the news. The next morning, we drove to Nashville to see him. Shortly after our arrival, the doctor entered the hospital room. The cancer had returned. Prognosis for recovery were slim at best.

This crushing and heartbreaking news came on Sunday, June 17, 2001 -- Father's Day.

On December 11, 2001, six days after his 75th birthday, daddy passed away. Driving to Nashville, it suddenly dawned on me that I was now an 'orphan.' Momma had passed away in 1986. I knew their passing would be cycles of life -- I just never considered that I would be an 'orphan.'

I've often thought about the lessons in life that daddy tried to leave to my siblings and myself. His 40+ hour work week provided good educations, the basic necessities in ife and a strong admonishment to 'do your best.' From his gene pool, he provided my sister and brother with fiscal responsibility--I missed that gene! With me, money has always been up or down; however, things are UP (but I haven't checked the stock market yet today).

As a small child, I would eagerly anticipate his coming home from work. He would plop down in his favorite chair, and I, having retrieved a comb, would part his hair down the middle. He never complained. I would step back and admire my stylish handiwork and roll on the floor in fits of laughter. He looked like Stan Laurel, one half of Hollywood's famous comedic duo, Laurel and Hardy. We lived in Detroit -- a BIG sports town -- with the Lions, Red Wings, Pistons and the Tigers. He took me to a baseball game and we sat along the first base line. There weren't enough hotdogs, peanuts or popcorn to satisfy my hunger and when we got home, momma would go to the medicine cabinet and retrieve that yucky pink stuff and shove a tablespoon of it down my throat. Eventually I became a 'traitor,' when I began to root for American's team -- the Dallas Cowboys. Thanksgiving Day (when our respective teams faced off against one another) became a battle ground between me, daddy and our teams.

He was a great fan of Old Glory, war movies and 'the Duke' - John Wayne. We would spend hours together watching war movies, talking about patriotism, and heroism. Sometimes when daddy tilted his head a certain way or smiled a certain way, he reminded me of Wayne.

A few months before he passed he came to visit my sister and I here in Georgia. I will always remember that day for he related the story of when he, momma and I visited her family in Jamestown, Tennessee. I was about two or three years old. At that time, Jamestown was a typical southern town, with mining and farming communities and the proverbial town square. Daddy took me to the square and sat me down on the sidewalk. He told how I stood up and 'pranced' around the square, letting everyone know I was there, who I was and that, indeed, I was the star on the square that afternoon. I had never heard that story before. It was as if he knew he needed to leave me with something else about our lives together...about mine.

Every year I say I'm going to buy extra cards for every occasion to have them available when needed. I'm really shameful about sending cards.

For those whose fathers remain with them, please send a card and remember every story he relates to you about himself, his family. About his children. These are legacies he passing down to you and to your children. How very important these are when he's not around to tell them anymore.

Prior to daddy's funeral, I quietly slipped up to the casket, patted his head and kissed his cheek. I then slipped a card into the side of the casket and pushed it down so no one would see it. It was a Christmas card.

It should have been a Father's Day card.