I come from a generation of getting spanked when I was a kid. My dad never spanked me, but he did make me cry once.

I wanted some candy one day and the smallest he had was a 50-cent piece. This was in the early 60s, and you could get 2 pieces of candy for a penny. I'm sure Dad told me not to blow the whole 50 cents, but I did.

When I came home, I had a small sack of candy. Not a Hallowe'en sized bag but a respectable amount. Enough candy to have put me in a diabetic coma.

Dad says no way am I gonna eat all this candy and he takes the bag, goes to the store and cashes in about 3/4ths of the bag.

I cried like he killed my dog.

But I still ate the candy.

Other than when I was a child, I never called my father Dad, Pops or Father. When I talked to him in his later years, I never used any term of affection. I really didn't have any feelings about him. One would say I hated my mother. It wasn't that strong. Disliked, but never hated. Pops got off lighter because he wasn't there. And he seldom reached out or contacted us (and I mean my immediate family; Pops had kids with other women).

I don't have a lot of memories of my father. Even as a toddler I recall being reclusive. I remember one time he came upon me playing and joining in. I was told I used to always wear a cowboy hat. I remember having a toy six-shooter with a belt and holster. I had the hardest time putting the plastic bullets in the slots on the belt. Anyway, Pops wants to play with me. I remember getting bored with him because I wanted to play by myself. He'd feign being shot. I'm not sure of my reaction. I probably went along with it. Usually, kids don't have a problem saying what's on their minds and especially if they want to be left alone. I guess I've always had a part of me to be empathetic and not to create waves. Part of this is due to being a tall black man in Iowa. Be it at work or school it would be hard pressed for me to not be the only black in the room. I'd smile and say hi to not come off as intimidating. I always had a joke to share.

Pops and my mom separated and eventually divorced well before I was out of elementary school. I don't really remember my parents arguing a lot. If so, maybe it was too frequent to notice, or I was too young. Once something bad happened and Mom had to escape from Pops by running to a neighbor's house for refuge. There she called the cops.

That was the only time I shed tears for my dad was watching him being taken by the police, him gesticulating vigorously in the back seat of the patrol car as it slowly paced down the alley behind my house. I think I let out a cheer when at the end of the alley he emerged from the car.

This was the early 1960s. Nowadays (and I'm writing this in early 2018) we wouldn't be surprised if a cop had busted open a black man's head back then or worse. I remember telling friends later that Pops had to be talking much shit to get out of that patrol car unscathed.

Upon reflection and years of living with Mom I knew how harsh a tongue she had. And that by no means excuses violence towards her I could understand why he'd want to give her a lick. I don't think he ever hit her, nor do I recall her ever saying that he did. However, that day she had to run in fear for her life.

 Pops was imposing. He was taller than my six foot, broad shouldered, thick in his frame but not obese. He wasn't a learned man. Mom told me he left school around the 6th grade. Yet as an adult he often got work as a supervisor. In the service he achieved some rank and showed leadership qualities. Once we were lounging in bed and I was reading a DC comic. I had a word I couldn't pronounce and asked, "Daddy, what's this word?"

He looked at it and said, "Oh-loo-tra!"

It wasn't until later while discussing the comic with friends I was told, "You idiot--that's Ultra-Man!"

And I thought then, "Thanks, Dad. You made me look like a fool to my friends."

I guess he was a womanizer and I'm assuming that was part of the reason they got divorced. Among my most vivid memories from childhood was accompanying my mom to one of Pops paramour's house, pounding and screaming on the door and yelling profanities. Mom once told me to be careful whom I'd date because I'd never be sure if it's one of my sisters. Perhaps my only regret of not growing up with my father was not having him as a mentor when it came to dating and girls.

A side note. Mom had no clue how I was coming across girls my age. Even though she gave me permission to subscribe to Playboy due to my lack of dating she once asked me if I liked girls. I think I blurted out "Yes I like girls! They don't like me!" She really didn't have any advice, so she'd go into support mode. She'd point out some attributes and say any gal would love to go out with me.

I'd mentioned to her before that during junior high I got labelled a Tom. Again, not much could she do when some of the black girls I liked thought I was too white and the white girls I liked thought I was too black.

Anyway, Thank God for Playboy!

Once he knew that I enlisted in the Air Force it made him easier to contact me. Through the Red Cross, he got a hold of my commander, and it was an embarrassed me talking to Pops in front of my commanding officer. And especially since it wasn't quite an emergency, the officer was not pleased.

He wrote to me monthly. The letters were simple. He talked about relatives I didn't know. There was always a phone number that I never called.

Although I never called, I did reply to every letter. Once he came and got me. I stayed for the weekend. I've blotted most of the time from my memory. I have a picture of me and him together around that time. You can tell by my facial expression that I'm not enjoying myself.

He was prone to drinking and driving. I wasn't quite 20 at the time, however he'd let me have some beer. Once, he had some business in Marshall. He lived in Longview so of course, there were some beers in the car. One was a leftover can, and he asked me to dump it while he was inside city hall.

I won't say that I had ADHD but sometimes I did things without thinking. I was aware of a man whom I later find out is a sheriff was on the steps of this office building Pops had gone into. He was talking to another man, and I didn't think that I'd caught their eye. Silly me decides this would be a good time to dump that beer.

The man speaking to the sheriff spies me and points me out to the sheriff. The next 20 minutes I'm getting bitched out and threatened to be put in jail. I was wearing my Air Force blues and he mentioned more than once if what I did would be okay on base.

No need for me to mention that part of Texas is not especially observant of civil rights. The Klan was known to be in that part of Texas. This was fall of 1973. I was scared to death and afraid of going to jail.

 Pops comes out during the tirade. He apologizes profusely and tells the sheriff that I was only doing what he had asked. The sheriff then lays into Pops. With a warning, he lets us go.

 Pops later attempts to apologize to make up for the situation but I'm simmering.

Fast forward ten years. My younger sister was getting married, and she wanted him to give her away. Other than that, and an obligatory dinner, she didn't have any time for him. So, I got stuck with him. Jezebel (my ex-wife-to-be) took an immediate dislike to Pops. I found their dynamic fascinating. She didn't disguise her contempt but for me she wasn't overt about it. Pops seemed oblivious to her and if he had any thoughts about her, he didn't share them with me We were going out to dinner, and he was sitting in the backseat of our car, Jezebel riding shotgun. Two young white girls were walking on the side of the road, coming our way. Cute. Though I was driving I caught a good look and with Jezebel nearby anything more than that would be a fight later.

From the backseat I hear: "If I was alone...."

Jezebel clucked her tongue in disgust. Later that night she told me how embarrassed she was by the remark.

Fast forward another10 years. Pops and I talk regularly. He's not well. He has diabetes and was about to have a limb amputated. Truth to tell I was thinking of having him live with me at the time. Not so much out of love or affection. Just that it seemed the right thing to do. Of course, mom wasn't having any of this. She forbade it and said if I invited him into my home, she'd have nothing to do with me. At this point I was independent, so her threat meant nothing to me. By this time, I had spells of months of not seeing or talking to her.

Pops soon died. I never called him "Dad.' I nicknamed him "whathisname' when we'd talk about him. Once he'd gotten his amputation diagnosis I had softened towards him. I would call without having him call first. For his birthday, I'd send him flowers.

Ironically, years earlier he'd call me on his birthday just to let me know.

By this time, me and Mom were on the outs. In my conversations with Pops, he'd say that someone (Mom, most likely) was lying about him. As the years went by, I did not find this hard to believe. Once during a tirade about Pops I pushed back. “If he was so bad, why did you stay with her for 10 years?” That went over like a lead balloon. I will say Mom does get some credit for raising four children by herself. She also has to take blame for all the damage she’s done as well as taking credit for the good.

All the time I spent with Pops, he never beat me, never berated me and never insulted me. Can’t say that about Mom. But that's another story.

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