Father’s Day will mark a grand celebration of many men throughout the land.
Grills will fire up, gifts will be exchanged, cards will be mailed and phone calls will be made to all the fathers, grandfathers, uncles and others for Father’s Day.
Many will also get a chance to relax for their one day of recognition. The tools can be put away. The “honey-do” lists can be filed. This will be a day of spoils (hopefully) for many.
Although my own father wasn’t around much after my parents divorced, I was blessed to have a grandfather in my life who filled the role perfectly.
He may not have been my “father,” but he was the next best thing. And I wouldn’t exchange him or his life lessons for anything.
You know how many children put their father on that pedestal, making them larger than life? My Paw Paw was that man, my hero.
I thought he was the strongest, toughest yet sweetest soul I had ever encountered.
As I looked over his Army uniform and photographs of his service in World War II, I truly thought he was a hero that you only see in movies. To me, Paw Paw was bigger than John Wayne and all those other tough guys I watched on the television.
Complete with a pipe and overalls, he was a country farm boy who worked hard, played hard. He was a rare breed. And he was mine.
I will never forget the day when Paw Paw was told that a tumor on his spine would cripple him for the rest of his life. The strong man that I use to bend my head back to look up at would be in a wheelchair, almost down to my level.
But watching his journey through a child’s eyes I feel molded me into the adult I have become. He never complained, never asked for help. He was independent, almost stubborn.
Instead, he made jokes, at his own expense sometimes. He taught me that laughter is the best medicine. And at times, it’s the only weapon we have got.
It would have been easy for Paw Paw to become bitter and give up. But he remained solid and strong. He remained my hero.
He was the man who hugged me every morning when I woke up, and he kissed me and said a prayer with me every night when I went to sleep.
He was my co-pilot in hundreds of games and make-believe scenes. He could sport an Easter hat for a tea party and a helmet for a police chase.
He was my partner in crime, landing in the hot seat just as much as me. And he never snitched on me, not once in my entire life.
He was always in my corner, the only one at times.
He taught me to be loyal and honest, to say what you mean and do what you say. He gave the gift of gab, tall tales and elaborate fables.
He taught me to never blame people’s actions for your mistakes. Don’t use things as an excuse. Come out on top and do the best you can. In the end, you will be a winner.
But most importantly, he showed me love. There was never a doubt about it. When I laid my head down on my pillow every night, I knew I was loved. I knew I was somebody’s “little girl.”
Paw Paw died when I was 13 years old, and not a day passes that I don’t mention his name. Whether it be a funny story or a one-liner, James Jackson is a regular name in our household.
I even named my own son after him, a tribute and a sign of thanks for the man who stepped up to the plate for me.
He could have stood back and watched me go, hoping for the best. But he stood beside me, and his spirit remains there to this day.
