Happy Birthday Dad

Dad would have been 83 today!

For the last several years I have found that writing is a way for me to express myself in a way which up until now was unknown to me.  Through my writing I have been able to work through feelings, stress, grief and frustration.  It has become therapeutic for me, in more ways than I can explain.

Therefore I am sitting down today to do a little reminiscing and work through some grief.

Today marks my dad’s 83^rd birthday.  As you know, last November he died after complications from hip replacement compounded with the dreaded disease of Alzheimer’s.  My brother and I were with him to the very last moment, as he took his final breathe in his earthly body and took his first breathe in his glorified body.

Days have passed quickly, too quickly, over the last eight months.  Not a day has gone by that I have not thought of him or wanted his help, or needed his guidance on some matter of great importance.  We have a car that is giving me fits and he would know exactly what to do and how to take care of the problem.  There was a question I was pondering that he would have the answer to, immediately.  Then the Sunday evening talks…

I miss him terribly.

Dad was a man that was a jack of all trades.  If it could be fixed, he could fix it; if it needed a boost, he knew how to boost it; if there was a noise in something, he would listen and think repeatedly until he located the problem and repaired it to the point there was nothing else that could be done.  Nothing would stump him; he would figure it out one way or another.

Dad was a man that believed in cleanliness.  His kitchen was spotless, his bathroom was disinfected, and his bed was made with precision corners.  There was not a speck of dust that could live in his house; it was not welcomed.  Everything had a place; there was a place for everything.  It would drive him crazy if something could not be found within a moment’s notice.

Dad believed there was a use for all things.  Nothing was thrown away because you might need it later.  I am reminded of so many things that were salvaged or scraped for use in something else later.  That washing machine motor that nearly cost him his finger, was going to be used for something else.  Three lawn mowers he hung on to one time were for parts.  Everything had a use.

He loved the outdoors, working hard and long hours to make a beautiful lawn for everyone to enjoy.  He was constantly cutting the grass, wedding the flower gardens, pruning the roses, building a flower bed.  He won the Yard of the Month award-at least one time that I remember-and was so proud.  I was too.

There were favorites in the yard, the plants which seemed to be of special interest to him.  He loved his roses, both the red and the variegated.  He was able to create one through grafting two different types of roses together.  The result was a beautiful rose, with a larger than usual bud, which flowered into multiple colors of red, pink, and white.  Another favorite was his dogwoods, which he had transplanted from the woods across the street from the house.  In the spring these beauties would “light up” our yard.  Then there were the wood ferns, also taken from various places around the county.

I recall a time that he started “rooting” various plants.  He would find dark bottles on the side of the roadway, place the stem of some plant variety into the bottle and before long the stem had a sufficient root system to be planted.  He once said that the best bottle was a beer bottle with just enough left in the bottom that it would speed up the formation of the roots.  At times the windows sills of our kitchen were lined with various bottles for the plant reproduction process which was underway.

He worked all the time.  He was a hard worker and took pleasure in doing the job right.  But he also enjoyed other things as well.

Dad was a great fisherman.  He loved to fish the creeks, rivers, ponds and sometimes the lakes around central and north Alabama.  The best place was in Marshall County, on Nelson’s Lake.  Standing on the bank one Saturday afternoon he hooked a large mouth bass that did not want to be caught.  He fought with that big boy for almost half an hour, leading him and letting him run.  By the time the bass made it close enough to the shoreline, both he and dad were worn out.  We mounted that bass and for several years it was a great conversation piece.

One story that I will never forget had to do with fishing.  Dad and his dear friend, N.L. Hunter had gone to Weiss Lake for a day of fishing in the boat.  They put in at the boat landing, loaded the boat and headed for deep water.  Once they were out of sight of the shoreline and ready to cast in for a day of fishing, the motor on the boat choked and sputtered and shut down.  They checked for fuel, oil, and made sure all the plugs and lines were in place.  Trying the motor, there was nothing; no life, no power.  “Uncle” N.L said that dad was furious.  He began working on the motor, attempting to get to the carburetor, the spark plugs, the fuel pump; he was taking it apart in the middle of the lake.  Finally, it was getting late and the best they could do was get back to shore.  They paddled the crippled boat in with nothing to show for half a day on the lake.

Exhausted and madder than a wet hen, Dad started unloading the gear.  When he lifted the cooler, “Uncle” N.L. heard him from the parking lot where he was retrieving the truck.  Dad had found the problem.  They had put their cooler on the gas line, pinching off the supply of fuel to the motor.  Neither would ever admit to what was in the cooler… 

At one time he was an avid hunter.  While I am not sure of all that he took to the fields for, I do know that quails and dove were some of the ones he talked about the most. 

While I was in Junior High, the Saturday activity was cutting wood.  We would load up in whatever was the automobile at the time and go to some spot where dad had claimed a tree or a group of trees and spend most of the day cutting, stacking, loading, and unloading cords of wood.

Dad borrowed an old Datsun from Coach Northcutt several times.  It was straight shift, with the floor board on the passenger side rusted out.  It is amazing how much wood one of those little trucks can haul.  He had a Ford full size truck one time, loaded down and running over.  The Maverick was the car we hauled wood in and that trunk was so full of wood we could have to tie the hood down to keep it from bouncing all the way back to Pine Hills.

Those were some days I will never forget.  He would get up in the morning, fix breakfast and while I was eating, he would prepare sandwiches for lunch.  I knew it would be a long day then.  Those long days were spent with him manning the power saw, me running with fuel or pulling limbs and stacking brush.  Sometimes we would split the biggest pieces on site.  Always without exception we would hunt for lighter.  Somewhere during the day, we would stop and get a RC Cola and Moon Pie to top off the day.

We all went to the Birmingham Zoo one time.  It must have been late summer or early fall, because it was then that dad had a much darker complexion than usual.  We were all walking around the bird exhibits, with mother holding Jonathan and I was walking ahead of dad.  A bird called out, “Hello, Pedro…Hello, Pedro.”

I heard dad say something, something as a child I was told never to say.  Then he said, in the direction of the bird, “Who are you called Pedro?”  Again the bird said, “Hello, Pedro…Hello, Pedro.”

He was reaching for his knife, getting ready to end the life of a bird, who he thought had called him “Pedro.”

Now do not misinterpret this incident was a sign that dad did not like animals.  Dad loved animals.  We always had a dog and cats running around here and yon.  He was always taking in strays; most of the time they were mutts with mange or some other ailment.  He would get a barrel of oil, dip the mangy dog and before long that old animal was rubbing up on him and he was petting and playing with it as if nothing had ever be wrong.

One dog, I think it was “Booger,” was one of Jonathan’s favorites.  He had to be the ugliest dog you have ever seen.  He got in a fight one time and came home bleeding and torn up.  Dad took him, pampered him and stitched him up and he was as good a new.

As I have mentioned before, church was the center of our lives.  He made sure we were in church and he was there with us.  He was supportive of anything related to church.  Jonathan has some stories of the mission trips dad went on in the days that he was in the youth group.

When I was in the youth group, dad was a friend to many of the kids who attended church with us.  He was an usher and sat with the other seven men on the front row of the sanctuary.  He was always wearing a suit, dark glasses; mixing that with his dark complexion and dark hair which was turning to salt and pepper at that time, he looked more like a Mafia kingpin than anything else.  The kids enjoyed kidding with him about that persona, and he enjoyed it, grinning and smiling anytime they brought it up.

One Sunday morning, when we began recording the services for playback later that day on the local cable television station, the studio lighting which had been installed, malfunctioned.  Several bulbs exploded, showering pieces of glass and fire down on the choir and the ushers. 

In the choir loft there was a commotion, as members were beating other members on the back and chest, where their robes had caught on fire.  It was good that this was going on in the choir, because Dad jumped up, said one of his favorite words and headed for the door, to the left of the pulpit, behind the piano. 

This particular morning I was sitting in the balcony and when I saw dad exit the sanctuary, I was worried but he returned, looked up at me and grinned and returned to his seat.  Things settled down and the service continued to the end. 

After the service I caught up with dad as he was getting into the car.  I asked him what happened and he showed me the small holes which been caused by burning embers.  They were on his upper leg, close to his zipper.  No wonder he had rushed out; you sure do not want to be attempting to put a fire out in the middle church, particularly when the fire in that area of your clothing.

His faith was what stands out to me today.  He believed in a God would could move mountains, who could do the impossible, who could work out His plans not matter what seemed to be in the way.

An example of this was when we were living in town in a three room apartment.  We needed a house, a place to call our own.  One day he announced he had found just the place, on Forrest Avenue.  It was an older house in a settled and older area of Fort Payne.  It was three bedrooms, one bath, kitchen, dining room, living room and a laundry room in the basement.  It was for rent.

We had to drive to Trenton Georgia for dad to take care of the agreement and we were able to get the keys.

On the drive back, out of nowhere dad said, “Well boys, we got a house, but we don’t have anything to put in it.”  I made some comment that God would take care of that and he agreed.

The next day he received a call from a lady whose parent’s house was being emptied out, and wanting to know if we needed anything.  Dad asked her how much she wanted for various items that were on his “wish list”; such as bedroom suite, kitchen accessories, living room furniture and dining room table and chairs.  A deal was made and for $100.00 dad got what he was looking for and even more.

A couple days later he received the $100.00 bill back and to this day I do not know where it came from.

His example is what has propelled me.  I learned a great deal from my Father.  I learned how to work, take care of things, appreciate the world in which I live, a love for the great outdoors, and so much more.  But I believe that the most important thing I learned from dad is to love God first, to love my family second, and to love others.  He taught me that this is not an easy thing to do, because some will not allow you to love them, but you do it, not for them, but because of your relationship with God.

Finally, I must say that dad was larger than life.  Some of the things that transpired in his life, the stories he regaled us with, and the stories of those who worked with him are more than one volume would hold.  I am afraid we would need an entire section of the library dedicated to John Winfred Fuller.  You would laugh, you would cry, you would cheer, and you would learn something.  Everything was of importance to him. 

I wanted to call him today, to wish him a happy birthday and to chat for a few moments.  Well, actually, it would have to be an hour or so dedicated to him.  I’m sure there would have been a story or two. 

He was a man that I respected, admired and cherished.  I still do!  I am more than happy to be his son and I truly hope that I have made him proud.  Happy Birthday, Dad!