My Own Army of One

Dear Dad,

I cannot believe it. Can you? We are still here. Walking on this Earth alive, and sort of healthy I guess. You know, when I was young enough to begin remembering stuff, I always wondered where you had gone five days out of the week, and for so long too. It is amazing to think there was once a time when I did not understand anything outside of eating, playing and sleeping. I could not read the words in a book, or count to ten fluently. I would simply skip what looked like ”chicken scratch” that I now know as, letters and numbers in order to get to the illustrations on the next page. I remember just being home with Mom everyday from morning to night. The sun would be behind the trees, and going to bed with the rest of us; which is what I probably thought at the time, before your return. I would hear your colossal, red Chevy truck roaring up the driveway, and sometimes go to the window in the afternoon. I’d watch you gather your things like your coat , a small gray lunch cooler (that you still have) and whatever mail we received that day clutched in your hand. You always had one of two expressions on your face. They were little signs to Mom, and me on how we should approach you when you walked through the back door. The first expression would be the one we hoped to see. Your eyes bursting open with energy. The edges of your mouth would be slightly curled into an attempted smile. Sometimes your lips would be puckered, and whistling a tune as you came to the door. I could never hear what you were whistling, but I assume it was a song on the radio that you were not finished listening to, or the theme music from an old western film that was on television the night before. That was a sign we could relax, be loud, or continue doing whatever it was we were doing. The second expression was one I did not understand until I became an adult. It was the face of a man who went out into this brutal, selfish and relentless world to sacrifice his time and effort to feed us, and keep a roof over our heads. That is a small, almost microscopic amount of things you have done for the people you love and care about.

Before I was even a thought in space and time, you were already becoming this anomaly of a person who still stands today. Beginning when you were a child yourself. You were born into a family who had little to nothing when it came to financial wealth. You were very poor, and forced to live without material things that others in society didn’t think twice about. Raised with three brothers and four sisters, and also being the youngest of the bunch, you weren't given many advantages in life from the start. Along with being bullied by your siblings, and working in your father’s mechanic shop since a young boy, you had to grow up quickly. I remember you telling me how people lack appreciation for what they have, even things you wouldn’t recall ever going without, like something as common as a bathroom. Years of going in the woods, and urinating off of the back porch during the frigid cold nights of Alabama were a regular practice. That was until my grandfather was able to build a bathroom inside the family home, but still wasn’t much considering you had to share it with ten people. I always thought that was so funny until my first camping trip. I instantly started missing the “porcelain throne'' after having to lean up against a tree to do my business in the dark. With both parents working as much as possible to provide for the family, it took a lot to find happiness within your day to day lives. To anyone else, your childhood may have seemed like it was miserable, and unimaginable to handle, but where material riches might have been absent, the love and cheerfulness between you all was enough to not realize you were without. You kept your head up until the tragic day that your father passed when you were only seventeen years old. Shortly after, the country called on you, as well as their best men to go fight a war beyond our borders in Vietnam. There I believe you found your true self. You were a soldier, born to be one at that. Thousands of people died in that war. Tragically, not many came back alive, and not to a welcome mat, or hugs and smiles, but shame and ridicule from their own country, and it's sad to say, you were one of them. Most people would let it destroy their self esteem, but you kept your chin held high as you remained a good son and brother to your family. Not too far into the future, my beautiful older sister was born. She was your everything, and I know you blame yourself for what happened to her, but it wasn’t your fault. My sister just could not absorb the lessons you were trying to teach her, and the world got the best of her. I know you miss her, but just remember that she loved you more than she made it seem to be. You met my mother during the worst hardships of her adult life. She was going through a divorce, and doing her best to care for her son. The whole situation soured my older half brother’s attitude towards you, but you kept your heart open for him, and raised him as though he was your own. I am no saint when it comes to trouble. There have been way too many close calls with death in my life. If there is one thing we have in common, it is scars. Not only physical ones, but emotional ones as well. You decided to go all in with this little family of yours, and make it your goal to keep them happy.

Having you as a father did not seem like a blessing at first. When I was growing up, you were strict whereas my friend’s parents showed leniency towards them. You didn’t allow me to do things that others were doing at my age, and I became resentful at times. You scared me more than anything, and I did not like being around you most of the time. A lot of my childhood memories are of you getting angry at me, or showing very little emotion during family matters. I had no idea how to get along with you. It was not all terrible in my pre-teen years. You never forced sports on me like other fathers did their children. I guess you had it in mind that if you were going to pay for me to have a pastime activity, at least pay for one I enjoyed. I chose karate, and we, in a way, bonded over it, but with the way you were, it was taken too seriously for my taste. If I didn’t want to go to practice, you made me feel like a bum for not wanting to go. If I didn’t train for tournaments enough, you let me know how sorry I was for not trying my hardest. I spent many days and nights in that dojo regretting ever wanting to participate in the first place. It just felt like a chore to me. I worked harder than ever to try and make you proud, but my accomplishments seemed like popping up a tent compared to you building a house; at least in my mind it did. At ten years old, after four years of moving up belts I finally became a first-degree Shodan black belt. I was one of the youngest in my dojo. If it was not for you pressuring me, and not letting me drop my fists along with my chin, I would not have that accomplishment under my belt, along with a higher level of self discipline and honor that some of my peers have never had.

Once I became a teenager, life for me changed drastically. Pimples, girls, calculus, etc. It all came in like a tornado, and you were still there to help me through it. Even when I was eventually expelled from junior high, you were there to pick up the pieces. I started to fall apart emotionally, and my spirit was broken. This all became a lot for you and Mom. With your retirement just now beginning, Mom suffering from her debilitating MS, and now a son with no idea of what to do with his future, how could one enjoy retirement with all of that happening at once? Anyone else would have jumped ship with such a burden, but not you. You held on to what you knew was important; which is family. Through it all I got my G.E.D and went on to college.

I earned a college degree, and was ready to carry on with adulthood, but life had other plans for me. I got caught up in addiction, and trouble with the law. Adding to all that were multiple car wrecks that put me in the hospital; which came with surgeries after surgeries. My sister passed away in the process of this madness, and not to mention the many relatives that were dying left and right. I still had yet to see you cry. You never complained, or refused to help anyone who needed it. You are simply just too good for the people around you. I am in my thirties now, and life has finally settled down. I’m doing okay for myself, and am in the best relationship of my life with a wonderful woman. You’re finally enjoying retirement with Mom, and all is well in the world. I am writing you this letter not to reminisce about the struggles of our past, but to thank you sincerely from the bottom of my heart.Thank you, for being so strict. Thank you, for not letting me just have any little thing I want,and becoming a spoiled, unappreciative brat. Thank you, for letting me get in trouble for doing something wrong, and learning that there are consequences for every decision you make. Thank you, for teaching me the proper way to treat others, regardless of how they treat you. I honestly cannot say it enough, Thank you.

I never joined the military like my brother, and my other relatives, but I’d like to think that some of the “soldier” in you rubbed off on me through all of this. I am so proud of you, Dad. Proud of your patience, and your kindness. The lessons I learned from you will go on forever with the generations after us. These days, men are confused as to what being a man means. They believe it is to be the toughest, or the most successful. They try to impress others with material things. These men go their whole lives never learning that it is your outlook on life. Knowing how to enjoy the little things without the corruption of greed, and having the willpower to remain positive through dark times. That is what makes a person strong, and wholesome. I could go on and on about the millions of aspects that make you one of a kind, but there aren’t enough years in the millennium. All I can say to you Dad is to always know that there will never be another man like you, and I am the luckiest son in the universe to have my very own “Army of One” as a father.

Your Son,

-J