This week-end many Fathers across the country will be besieged by cards and all sorts of gifts. But most fathers don’t need power tools, new golf cubs, tickets to the Braves ball game (s). Neither do they need books or videos though all these gifts would be received graciously.
But what Fathers need more than anything is presence, time with you, finding out more about your own father’s background and what makes him tick.
As you get older many of us sons and daughters look back on the man we call father. Growing up we didn’t ask many questions about who he was, what dreams he had, what lurked behind that word, father. My own father has been gone a long time. But growing up like so many others I was so busy with my own needs that I hardly knew him. Only through some genealogical work have I pieced together who this man really was.
He had a serious hearing problem. And 70 years ago good hearing aids were almost non-existent. His near-deafness cut him off from so much of the great big world. He never talked about it much but I know he longed to hear. Down the street was where we lived was an Assembly of God Church. Word spread that a Healing evangelist was coming to town and those who wanted to be healed should sign up. My father did.
The night of the service my brother, my mother and I were there on the sidelines of that crowded church hoping God would work a miracle that night. The line was long for those on crutches, in wheelchairs or walking down that aisle just waiting. The Evangelist would ask, “Why did you come down here?” And after he heard of their pain or suffering the Preacher would touch their foreheads and say: “Be healed in the name of Jesus.” Person after person fell out after he or she was touched.
When my Father’s time came he stood there hoping he would finally be able to hear. He told the Healer about his ears and pointed to them. The Preacher touched his forehead and shouted: “Be healed.” and my Father fell out. After a little while he came to and the Evangelist wanted to know if he could hear. My Father nodded yes. We were so thrilled that night. He seemed so happy. We kept asking, “Daddy can you hear, can you really hear?” And laughingly he said, “Yes.” The next day or two it seemed like he could not hear. He was the same man he had always been. He never talked about that night and what it must have done for him. No wonder he never went to church.
Only after his death did I learn that he was one of eight children. Most of them I had not even heard their names. When he was a little boy he saw his own father shot and killed by someone nearby. He never mentioned this but what if I had known this and asked him about this part of his journey. I don’t know he and his family survived without the primary breadwinner. Did his mother marry again? Did he have a Step-father who was kind or cruel. I still have no idea.
But growing up in the country where they were on the very to the edge of poverty I always wanted to know about those days. But he is gone and there are so many things about him I did not know.
I do know he left the farm in the depression and he and his new wife moved to a community where they could find work and a place to live. Both worked for over fifty years in a textile mill for a pittance. But there was enough to keep us going. And I knew he was faithful at work and home. This mystery man kept us afloat. He made so little money but as Shift Foreman. I learned the people who worked for him, black and white respected him.
After he died we sorted through his things. And nestled in his top dresser drawer was a pin congratulating him for his work for 50 years. This was the appreciation he received for all those years of hard work. No bonus or thanks just a tiny pen with his name inscribed.
And so on this Father’s Day I remember John Lovett. And though there is so much I still do not know about him. But after all these years I remember my Daddy and I am glad.
This week-end many Fathers across the country will be besieged by cards and all sorts of gifts. But most fathers don’t need power tools, new golf cubs, tickets to the Braves ball game (s). Neither do they need books or videos though all these gifts would be received graciously.
But what Fathers need more than anything is presence, time with you, finding out more about your own father’s background and what makes him tick.
As you get older many of us sons and daughters look back on the man we call father. Growing up we didn’t ask many questions about who he was, what dreams he had, what lurked behind that word, father. My own father has been gone a long time. But growing up like so many others I was so busy with my own needs that I hardly knew him. Only through some genealogical work have I pieced together who this man really was.
He had a serious hearing problem. And 70 years ago good hearing aids were almost non-existent. His near-deafness cut him off from so much of the great big world. He never talked about it much but I know he longed to hear. Down the street was where we lived was an Assembly of God Church. Word spread that a Healing evangelist was coming to town and those who wanted to be healed should sign up. My father did.
The night of the service my brother, my mother and I were there on the sidelines of that crowded church hoping God would work a miracle that night. The line was long for those on crutches, in wheelchairs or walking down that aisle just waiting. The Evangelist would ask, “Why did you come down here?” And after he heard of their pain or suffering the Preacher would touch their foreheads and say: “Be healed in the name of Jesus.” Person after person fell out after he or she was touched.
When my Father’s time came he stood there hoping he would finally be able to hear. He told the Healer about his ears and pointed to them. The Preacher touched his forehead and shouted: “Be healed.” and my Father fell out. After a little while he came to and the Evangelist wanted to know if he could hear. My Father nodded yes. We were so thrilled that night. He seemed so happy. We kept asking, “Daddy can you hear, can you really hear?” And laughingly he said, “Yes.” The next day or two it seemed like he could not hear. He was the same man he had always been. He never talked about that night and what it must have done for him. No wonder he never went to church.
Only after his death did I learn that he was one of eight children. Most of them I had not even heard their names. When he was a little boy he saw his own father shot and killed by someone nearby. He never mentioned this but what if I had known this and asked him about this part of his journey. I don’t know he and his family survived without the primary breadwinner. Did his mother marry again? Did he have a Step-father who was kind or cruel. I still have no idea.
But growing up in the country where they were on the very to the edge of poverty I always wanted to know about those days. But he is gone and there are so many things about him I did not know.
I do know he left the farm in the depression and he and his new wife moved to a community where they could find work and a place to live. Both worked for over fifty years in a textile mill for a pittance. But there was enough to keep us going. And I knew he was faithful at work and home. This mystery man kept us afloat. He made so little money but as Shift Foreman. I learned the people who worked for him, black and white respected him.
After he died we sorted through his things. And nestled in his top dresser drawer was a pin congratulating him for his work for 50 years. This was the appreciation he received for all those years of hard work. No bonus or thanks just a tiny pen with his name inscribed.
And so on this Father’s Day I remember John Lovett. And though there is so much I still do not know about him. But after all these years I remember my Daddy and I am glad.
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