A GENTLE MAN

There was a time in my life when I couldn’t stand the man. The defenseless way he’d cowardly run from my mom when she’d be in one of her bitter fits of rage. These were a couple of the thoughts that passed thru my mind as I sat there in disbelief.

Luther Vandross’s song, ‘Dance with my father again’, was playing softly in the background. One by one, another speaker would take their turn at the altar. Each speaking praise so highly and eloquent of someone they’ve loved, cherished, and come to know.
         
Co-workers, neighbors, and friends were reading and speaking from documents where their words had been chosen so carefully. He’d lie there with a seemingly smile on his face from some of the jokes that were being told on his behalf. One could have only tried to imagine what would have been on his mind.

An orchestrated crescendo of highs and lows would range thru out the program. There were the highs of laughter of the jokes being told to the lows of tears when a more solemn mood would be spoken. Instantly my mind was called back to a time when we worked the same job together. The pride he displayed. I remembered the statuette way he would stick out his chest. That boastful grin on his face, and that utterly bit of surprise, as he was unaware that I would introduce him as my dad. He swaggered when he walked. A priceless moment this was for sure.
         
I remembered as a child when we’d enjoy peaches and ice cream after Sunday’s dinner. Peaches that he’d prepared in his own special way and ice cream that he had churned by hand. My sisters and I would look forward to him coming home from work on the weekends for he’d always be bearing gifts. Gifts of nothing more than trinkets as I look back on it now, but it were mainly the thoughts that really mattered.          

Sometimes he would amuse us by doing his two-hand headstands then walking up and down the stairs. I remembered some of the special cuisines that he would prepare with the leftovers from the Thanksgiving dinners. One in particular he’d call ‘Mulligan Stew’. Even some forty years later, regardless of where we were, we’d travel for miles just to be near each time that he would barbeque. The time and preparations he would take to make his sauce. The artistic way he would maneuver between the outdoor grill and the kitchen. There would be the aroma in the air that could be smelled from seemingly miles around. Not to mention the festive atmosphere it would create with such large gatherings of friends, family, and neighbors as they each waited impatiently for their chance to sample his wares.

Next, the great grandchildren took their turns displaying their love and admiration to someone they held so dear. Everyone had their own special little story or memory that they wanted to share. Their numbers were fifteen in all. Their parents and his grandkids would follow them. Their numbers would reach sixteen.
         
It was funny how many times the stories of his barbeque sauce and secret recipes were reiterated. Others highlighted the strength of his work ethics. Many spoke of his character and the way he genuinely gave and shared in love. They even spoke of his shy smile and his ‘Santa Claus’ type belly. Tears were still a flow, but as each speaker fought through the tears the strength in their voice would only grow. A smile would show on their face with the strength of conviction that the gifts of life which he had given them could never be taken away.
         
Their parents followed the grandchildren. They would be the remaining four of his five children. There was not really much more that could be said in his behalf at this point that the people here didn’t already know. It more at this point served as a personal forum for everyone to express their emotions and personally say good-bye.          

Then it was my turn. Last but not least. I was not last because of the order of my birth, but because of the order that I had chosen. Now I represented the senior male figure of the family and it was my chosen desire to close.
         
Slowly heading to the altar I passed him by to take one final glimpse and to say goodbye. Everything that I wanted to say had already been said. So there in silence stood I with teary eyes while listening to the hymns that played. Nothing new seemed to come to my mind. My silence however seemed to have captivated the audience and commanded their undivided attention. Everyone by now was curious as to what I had to say. When I looked over the multitudes in the crowds it all became very clear. Everything they said had been oh so true. A couple of things though they did fail to mention. With all the things that he had done and said, he was often under appreciated and occasionally taken for granted because of his kind heart.
         
Nevertheless, foremost of all, what was the most important and impressive thing to me was the way he command this much presence. A packed room filled with hundreds of people inside. Speakers singing praise to the point that the entire program itself extended by a couple of hours. The legacy that he left behind will definitely be a hard pair of shoes to fill. I realized that not only was he a great man, but I had lost a father and most of all, I had lost a friend. It occurred to me that everyone felt in their own way that they had an idea of which this man was when no one even had a clue. Even though he had been a father to us all, he didn’t have a child in the entire room. In his lifetime, he never had kids of his own. He married my mom, a woman with five kids already. He raised us all equally as his own. This family grew to what it is today through his hands and guidance. This fact has rarely ever been mentioned. In our hearts, minds, and souls, he will always be our ‘Dad’.