Words from a Reader

The “Writing Life Stories” e-mails I receive are such treasures. As soon as I see there is one in my inbox, I read it immediately. I look forward to them and never know how they will touch me. They can be interesting, informative, humorous, and/or touching.

Sunday, June 20, 2021

It Takes All Kinds of Fathers

I salute the many fathers who are so special to their families. I grew up in a generation when fathers worked hard all day, came home at night, ate dinner (or supper at our house) went to bed, and started the same pattern the next day. Parenting children, especially girls, was the mother's job for many families of that era. Now with both parents working most of the time, it seems more men are taking care of children. At least I hope so.
My mother, Lois Council and my father, C.L. Council. He never liked having
his picture taken. 

I wish I had wonderful memories of my father and me, but I don't. 
He was a good man. Tall with dark hair, he was slender most of his life. A good husband and provider. He adored my mother but wanted her all to himself. He seemed jealous of her own family at times. Daddy was an introvert and a man who had few close friends. He learned at a young age not to trust many people, he said.  Mother was gregarious and loved to be with others. She was a great helpmate for him.

I see many young fathers today who are loving and enjoy playing with their children or participating in sports with their kids. My father did that with my older brothers. He managed a baseball team when I was very small and his sons played on the team. They worked together and played together. But he was not that good with his female children. And he was younger when my brothers were kids.

He was stressed out and not well when my little sister and I came along. He had borrowed money to purchase his dream -- his own farm.  He knew he must make those payments. Farming is like playing the lottery, I think. You take chances when you plant the seed and hope the weather cooperates. You hope nothing terrible happens to your livestock. You hope prices are good at harvest time. You pray that circumstances or luck is in your favor and that you make a profit each year. But there are no guarantees. You are taking a gamble all the time if you are a farmer.

Daddy did all he could to make a good home for his seven children, and he was pleased that we all graduated from high school. He didn't have that opportunity. His father died when he was ten years old. He went to work in the local mill while still a child.

He had a temper that could explode quickly, and he didn't hesitate to whip his sons if he was upset with them. He and I had some verbal matches when I was older, but he never struck me. He had such a bad temper that we, in our family, say I did a Papa on him or I C.L.ed him if we blow up at someone. 

I admire my father because he had a difficult upbringing and worked really hard all of his life. He did not drink and had only one vice. He, like all his peers, smoked cigarettes.
I have letters he wrote to my mother who was his girlfriend at the time. He says he couldn't save any money. He sent half his paycheck to his widowed mother. At that time, in the early 1920s, he was in Thomaston Georgia and lived in a boarding house. He had no vehicle and could not come home on the bus or train because of the cost. His paycheck from the mill was very small. He wanted to marry his girl but didn't have money to support her. They broke up for a while, but he did come home finally, and when they met again, they both knew they wanted to spend their lives together. 

My father was born in 1900.  He was a good role model and his work ethic permeated all of us. He was on his tractor the day before he died at the age of 87. He could not abide laziness, he said.
His reputation in our community was outstanding. He is buried on that farm that he worked so hard to keep. His goal was to own land and to be his own boss. He raised a family that stuck together through all crises and loved each other. Daddy taught us that a bundle of sticks was harder to break than each individually. Our house was filled with love even though it was not verbally expressed. 

After my mother's illness, he and I grew closer. He depended on me for her care and his care at times. I was on call 24/7. He knew he could call me in the middle of the night and I would be right there.

He once told me he could not die because Mother needed him. Two years after she passed away, he went to be with her. They lie beside each other on that rise in the cemetery where family members now rest beside them. 


Father's day is over now and tomorrow is another day. I hope all of my dear readers and friends have a wonderful week. I will be very busy but also look forward to seeing some of my loved ones this week.






6 comments:

  1. Parenting is a difficult (and lifelong) role. I applaud all those who give it their best.

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  2. Glenda, I so enjoyed this post. Your father was a man of the time, a hard worker who had it tough in is childhood and worked to make it easier for his own family. He didn’t have the role models children have today.

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  3. It seems your father did the best he could, and being an introvert and having to raise a family and take a chance on his farm, through it all it seems he did finally begin to appreciate you. Thank you for this portrait of a very interesting, if difficult, person.

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  4. Glenda, it’s sad that you were considered just a daughter. Thank you for sharing your memories and your poem.

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  5. Thanks Marie, DJan and EC for your comments on this post and for understanding my feelings.
    Yes, parenting is a very difficult job and I am grateful my parents tackled it together.

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  6. Abbie, girls are often not thought as important as boys, and that is why I am an advocate for women's rights and the equality of women and men. Growing up in a male-dominated family I was made aware of the differences and the lack of opportunities for women in the workplace. I think it is better today.

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I really appreciate your comments, and I love reading what you say.