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. 

My Father's Horse, a poem by Glenda Beall

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.

Facecovering in 2021?

Christmas is over and now we face a new year.

While we still face uncertainty, we have hope that all will be better in the coming months.

My word this year is Adapt.

I must adapt to many changes in my life and in the country. I am not good with changes, especially those that affect my daily life. It seems everything is changing from what we knew a year ago.

Even with the vaccine available now, we will not want to gather in large groups or in any groups with people who are not part of our Pod or bubble.  I have self-isolated for all these months and hoped to get out with friends and go to restaurants again. But that will not be happening here in the United States - not in my world. Certainly not soon. 

Some ignorant people who do not care about protecting others will continue to act like the pandemic ended with 2020, but I don't have that luxury. I don't think anyone should ignore the CDC guidelines that will help end this virus that has disrupted our lives in every way.

In a great news magazine, The Week, I read this: 

In a salon in Missouri, two hairstylists, unknowingly worked a week with COVID, but wore masks as did their 139 clients. No clients developed signs of the virus. All 69 of the clients who volunteered to be tested received negative results.

Kansas counties that mandated wearing masks, saw the cases of COVID drop six percent in six weeks. Counties that did not mandate wearing a mask saw their cases double.

One day this past week, my sister and I decided to go to a restaurant at 2:30 PM for a quick lunch. We were out running errands and felt that it was safe to go in. The restaurant was large and few people were there. The staff wore masks and the tables were distanced so we would not have to sit near anyone.

I was disappointed when we lined up to order. Three middle-aged men were ahead of us. They wore no masks. We waited until they had completed their orders and moved away. I did not feel really safe since they had polluted the air where we had to stand to order.  I was really angry when one of the men came back, stepped in front of us, and talked with the server behind the counter, still with no face covering. 

The cloth masks I wear do not protect me from those who don't wear a mask.

I only feel safe when in the company of caring people who wear a face covering.  I wanted to tell the intruding man to get away from me because he might be spewing virus into space where I stood.

My doctor said I should assume everyone I meet has COVID.

We found a table far removed from others and enjoyed our lunch, but I can't understand anyone who will not wear a face covering when out in public. As we left the restaurant, we passed several young women who did not wear masks. It seems there is an age group that refuses to try to protect others. At Office Max I stopped in to quickly make a copy. The woman who came in behind me wore a mask, but took it off once she was in the store. In Georgia, no one is told to wear face coverings. The government says for people to use their own good judgment! When has that ever worked?

I so appreciate the people I see wearing masks. I think those people are also following other methods to protect anyone they meet. 

Hopefully we will be more caring and want to protect others. If we all followed that guideline, we could beat this virus much sooner. Don't we all want that?

People in my Pod, Gay and Stu wear masks when they go out even to an outdoor restaurant