Daddy
James L. Cowles
©
Copyright 2019 by James L. Cowles
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I remember always being
leery of him, even though he was my father. He was a little
man, about 5’9” and always wore a hat to cover his
balding head. He was forty years old when I was born and
although I’m sure he loved me, he never told me until he was
very old and near dying. He apparently was of a generation who
held emotions in; one thing I could never understand. Neither
my mother, or father ever really hugged me, but I know both had very
hard, unenviable lives when they were younger and I seriously doubt
they were ever hugged themselves. I missed out on that
important part of life; sometimes that makes me sad.
My mama had two
stepmothers by the time she was a young girl. Her mother and
her first stepmother died young themselves; the early 20th century
was devoid of medicine, especially in rural areas of Kentucky.
My daddy apparently had the same situation as mama; I remember when
he told me that although he was only around three years old when his
mother died, he could still remember sitting on her lap as she sang
to him. When he was a young man, he worked in a rock quarry in
Edmonson County; it was hard work, especially for someone slight of
build like he was, but he endured it. When his mother passed,
his father came to Louisville to work for the Louisville &
Nashville Railroad, leaving him behind to live with his Aunt and
Uncle. He had several younger full and half brothers and
sisters whom I loved, but he didn't talk about which were full and
which were half. It was obvious to me his young life had been
very tough.
After he grew up, daddy
followed my granddaddy to Louisville and eventually worked for the
L&N himself. He worked there 44 years, retiring at age 65.
Mama had passed just three years earlier from stomach cancer; her
last months on this earth were pure hell. Daddy had a temper
that could come in a flash and that made living with someone like him
difficult at times; I often wonder if dad’s temper had anything
to do with my mother’s early demise. To my knowledge, he
never struck her. I do recall one time as a boy, when his anger
reached a peak and he drew back his hand as if to strike her.
She looked him dead in the eye and called out his name, followed by,
“you better not even think of it.” Mama always had
his number and he always backed down quickly. I remember a time
when he came home from work and told us he had had a very hard day
and he intended to lie down for a while before supper. Mama’s
response was, “You can lie down if you want to, but we are
going to eat supper right now. If you don’t want your
food to get cold, you had better come and get it.” He
came to the table and as I remember he had a very good appetite.
Sunday was friend chicken day, along with mashed potatoes and green
beans. We lived in Louisville, Kentucky and mama’s fried
chicken beat the Colonel’s all too pieces. Daddy and I
would vie for the gizzard, a tasty treat and whoever got it would
leave the other to eat the heart. Mama always baked pies and
cakes on those Sundays and it was not unusual for her to do so once
or twice during the week. Custard and chocolate were my
favorites.
My youngest sister tells
me she remembers a time when daddy whipped me so hard with a
razor-strap, she passed out. She used the adjective, “mean,”
to describe him and said the whipping was caused by my simply telling
him I needed a mute for my cornet. Honestly, I do not remember
that, but I know he was tight and pinched every penny that passed
through his hands. As I've said, he got angry quickly at times
and yes, he used a razor strap to discipline us kids, something that
would be considered child abuse in this day and time. I walked
on eggshells most of my childhood, trying to keep my grades up and
especially, not “sass” him, neither of which was easy.
I was successful most of the time, but other times I paid the price.
Now, my daddy was not an
evil man; not even close. There was a good side to him as
well. He bought me an electric train on my 8th birthday and he
took me to buy that cornet mentioned earlier, when I was about the
same age. I loved that horn and played it all the way through high
school, even getting into a crack ROTC band with it. He also
bought me my first 26” bike and although I’m sure those
“major” purchases were prompted by mama’s
insistence, I don’t recall him ever complaining about them. In
fact, I remember how proud he was to give them to me. He also
relished the fact that as an L&N employee, he and his family
could ride the train free and several times he took me to his
birthplace, Brownsville, Ky. I remember with fondness the time
we walked to a fresh water spring that he used to drink from when he
was a boy; we walked on that road between Rhoda and Chalybeate one
very hot July day and the asphalt of that old country road was
literally melting beneath our feet. We stayed with Uncles and
Aunts and he took me to croquet tournaments, which were a pass-time
at night there in Rhoda. Tournaments were held behind the
general store and Dad bought me ice-cream to help me cool off when I
got sweaty hot. He and I walked all over that county, most of
the time being picked up by someone who stopped to ask us if we
wanted a ride. Good country folks, everyone bent on helping their
fellow man. Daddy always knew them, or one of their close relatives.
At home in Louisville, he’d often take me with him when he rode
the bus to town to buy a suit for himself, or conduct business and
we’d end up in a picture show, watching a few western movies
together, eating popcorn and enjoying the air conditioning.
Afterward, we’d stop for a hamburger before catching the bus or
trolley home.
Once, when I was very
young, probably about six years old, my dad came home carrying a
chicken upside down, holding it by its legs. I felt sorry for it and
wondered what was going on. Mama had prepared a tub of hot
water and had it sitting on our back porch and I was shocked when
daddy grabbed the chicken by the neck and began twisting it, wringing
it until its head popped off. The headless chicken jumped all
over our yard, leaving a bloody trail over everything it touched.
I remember crying; I thought that was a very cruel thing to do to a
chicken and as a matter of fact, I still do. Mama dipped the
lifeless chicken into the hot water and let it soak for a time, then
began pulling the feathers from its body. I had never seen
either of them do anything quite this cruel and it startled me; but
later, I must admit, I ate the chicken and enjoyed it. They
explained they had merely cut out the middle man, who normally would
have butchered the chicken; I prefer letting the middle man do it.
I saw many of my relatives do this over the years, more than once and
today I often wonder why I’m not a vegan.
My daddy was a deacon and
an elder in the church and he would often lead the congregation in
prayer. I believe he was searching for truth and I always hoped
it would make him a better person. I do know that his grandkids
loved him, but then, he never disciplined them; seems that’s
the way it always works with grandparents. As to the church
making him kinder, that didn’t work. When he got much
older, some of the wind went out of his sails. He was kinder,
easier going but never apologetic. I do believe he had
reflected on his life and was sorry for many of the things he had
done, but I also believe he came to be an intemperate person quite
naturally; I know it left a mighty big impression on me and as a
result, I always tell my kids I love them. To my knowledge, my daddy
never drank liquor; oh, I’m sure he tried it, but it was not a
habit in our house. Later, I myself was a spanker, but after my
children got a bit older, decided not to do it any longer.
Although I do hug them, I am still in fear that somehow I have
inherited a bit of that “angry stinkbug” my father often
displayed; I find myself guarding against that at every turn.
Daddy passed at the age of
89, closing in on 90. He spent his last days in a nursing home
and after a while, became accustomed to it; he settled in, realizing
that no one in the family could take care of his needs. He
preferred to be in his own home, but that just wasn’t
possible. Like his father, he married again after mom’s
death, but strangely, his wife was in a different nursing home than
he; she had Alzheimer’s and didn’t know him. He
simply couldn’t stand that. The remedy seemed right to
him; just move to a separate nursing home, so that’s what he
did.
I prefer to remember daddy
in a good light. He and mother raised four children in hard
times and although I feared my dad’s temper, there were
certainly more good times than bad. When I see them both again,
I will say, “I love you” and I’m sure they will
repeat the same to me. I believe we humans are constantly making baby
steps, improving our understanding of true love and brotherhood.
There may well be a divine plan, but I think it’s more a
God-given human attribute allowing us to become more like Him over
time. I’d dare say that many have experienced what I
experienced as a child; some believe we’ve changed for the
better because we have more knowledge, primarily from the internet
and television, these things somehow lighting a divine spark within
us. I don’t know if that’s true, but I do believe
we are being educated over our entire lifetime and perhaps someday
we’ll understand it all a little better.
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