When I heard the train whistle blowing, I knew it wouldn’t be long.
Daddy would be home!
At my father’s funeral, the preacher described him as “a man’s man.”
I guess he meant he wasn’t a sissy. He was a coon-hunting, gun-shooting, fishing, building, car-fixing, train-driving man.
He was a locomotive engineer for the Illinois Central Railroad pretty much all my life. His pants were washed, starched and hung on the clothes line on those metal forms for pants in that day, ironed and worn proudly to work with a starched, ironed shirt. He carried his “grip” every day: A leather bag that had his paperwork, pens in a cigar box with a rubber band around it, his tobacco, his lunch and his treats — coffee in a Thermos and a big square, sweet and gooey cinnamon cake. His boots were leather and polished to a shine. He wore a cap and was tan most of the year. Deep wrinkles defined his forehead and his blue eyes never lost their twinkle or shine.
Mama and Daddy had been married 13 years before I was born, so he had time to think about being a daddy, I guess. When he was around, something entertaining, difficult or fun was going to happen!
He took me hunting and fishing. He taught me how to build a storage house. He showed me how to dig out the earth, level it, lay brick straight and smooth sand over it for a patio.
He taught me how to take care of coon dogs and my pets. He bought me a horse and taught me how to ride and be independent. He helped teach me to drive, how to shoot a rifle and got me targets to practice on until I could hit the little metal duckies and bull’s eye.
I knew he expected me to do good and be good. He never laid a hand on me. Never whipped me and never punished me. Mama, now, that was another story.
He talked to me. He took me with him when he went places. He let me ride the train with him and showed me how he controlled the mighty engine and cars it pulled.
And he passed on to me his faith. On Sunday, he was up, shaving, dressing in his ironed shirt and tie and suit, smelling like his favorite after-shave. We went to church. We sat together. Sometimes, he would take my hand as we listened to the preacher.
I miss him, and I take comfort in knowing I will see him again in heaven. Here is one of his favorite Bible verses: “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more.” Revelation 21:4a
Thank you, all you church- going fathers out there. God bless you.
