I really didn't relate to my dad as a kid. I never really thought of him as a boy who grew up and had experiences like mine. To me he was a man who was dedicated to working hard all day every day, and often into the night. He and my mother never seemed to talk to each other without a loud disagreement. I never asked him personal questions. My interests were serious (not pop) music and apocalypticism. His appeared to be work, food, and TV. He once told me that he didn't understand me, and I know that was true.
It was only when he got me a job working as his helper (construction) in the summer before my senior year in high school that I started to see a bit of a personal side, but not much. I discovered that his work persona (they all called him Homer) and his home persona (Sherman) were a bit different. At work he would join in the jokes that wouldn't be acceptable at home or church.
We were installing marble in a new civic center in Atlanta, Georgia and living in a boarding house down the street. The work was pretty hard for a city boy, but not overwhelming. Among the other construction workers we were both just another couple of grunts doing the job.
I worked with him again for a year after high school. At first we worked in Houston, but once there was work near home we moved back.
Among the others in his trade (marble masons) he was respected, more like a cousin or even a brother.
As he eventually became frail with no more work drive and with constant pain, I just saw him as a tired old man who was family.
It goes without saying that we weren't close. He was never interested in what I did, and I didn't really appreciate (at the time) his work dedication and all the time he spent fixing the house and our parade of cars.
Now, as an older adult, I wish I had talked with him about his life. I've learned that he was an alcoholic who suppressed his addiction for many years for his family's sake. I know now that he served in the US Army Air Corps in Italy and that he regretted not seeing the amazing sights of that historic country. I have heard that he accidentally killed a child while riding a motorcycle in Italy. I understand that he went AWOL and flew home when he got word that his first wife back home was being unfaithful, and divorced her.
Dad was a country boy in the backwoods of SE Oklahoma who drank and smoked too early and too much, but he served his country, married his sweetheart, moved away, supported his family and his church, and was loved by many. I wish I had gotten to know him.
