I wrote about Dad a couple of days ago, and I thought I would put up a few more thoughts this morning. I thought about things your just do not forget. My Dad loves the place he built with blood, sweat, and tears on Lake Nottley. We purchased the lot in 1966 and started building right away. One of the first times we ever stayed overnight in the cabin as I remember was Easter weekend 1967. It was cold and Momma was about to freeze. Dad got the bright idea of putting the lightbulb in the bed with Momma to get her warm. Got her warm alright - it set the bed on fire! You just don't forget that.
Some time around the same timeframe in life ,I was down on the beach stacking rocks (the place is blessed with rocks). I turned one rock over and there to my surprise was a scorpion that promptly stung me on the hand. My older brother, not to miss a chance, told me quickly that to be stung by a scorpion meant I was going to die! I went to where my dad was and stood clutching my hand and as he was finishing driving a nail I asked the most important question I knew to ask at the time. "Dad, when am I going to die?" My loving dad, unaware of the sting and concentrating on the next nail, said something like this: "I don't know son, probably when you are old and gray, maybe 80 or so years old." I just stood there confused and with a big tear starting to roll down my cheek. Dad suddenly realized something else was going on here. He grabbed me and after a few minutes of talking I was stacking rocks again - this time a little more carefully. You just don't forget stuff like that.
One more... I have always thought of Dad as a hero. I didn't figure he was afraid of anything. I have seen him kill snakes, climb up ladders, deal with situations with people and so I figured he was not really afraid of anything. When I was about 14 I had a real live testing of my own fear. Dad and I were at the lake alone. We were digging out from under the house so we could put a basement in. (I know, most folks put basements in before they build the house, but we were a little different and did not want to do it the easy way.) Dad and I were jacking up the house with pillars of blocks and screw-type house jacks. We had to move them from time to time to dig where they were. So we were moving a main support and Dad was tightening the screw jack when a block on the bottom cracked and then crumbled. The column of blocks fell with my dad riding the column. He landed in the pile of cinder blocks and came up clutching his hand which had a huge gash in it. He was also beat up and bruised. The thing was bad enough, but the whole house, well about a 1/3 of it, was just hanging in mid air. With this main support now on the ground, there was a lot of house just hanging there. Dad kept his cool and told me to jack the house up. Block by block, little by little, by myself, I built a new column of blocks and jacks and secured the house while Dad sat there bleeding. We jacked up the house, then we took off to town to the hospital to get Dad sewn up. Dad kept telling me he was a little lightheaded and that I might have to drive him into town. The problem was I did not know how to drive yet. Well, we made it, and he survived with a few stiches, and I saw a man who taught another young man that you can handle a crisis moment. You just don't forget that. Thanks, Dad.