The Life of a Man

My dad was not a dummy, despite the fact he made himself an alcoholic. (There is strong evidence he did this to himself knowingly.) He had a gift for music. Hand virtually any musical instrument to my dad and within an hour he would be playing a song. His instrument of choice was the piano.

He made a musical once, a year or two before he died, and he recorded it on a cassette tape. He did not sing (although he often sang - happy tunes). He would give a short narrative, and then follow with a song - music only. I did not recognize the songs as he chose to use music from the 20s, 30s and 40s. I was into 60s music. His story was about a boy growing up to be a man, and all the problems he had along his journey. The adults, who had been adults when my father was a child, quickly recognized familiar elements in the story, and cried unabashedly every time they heard it.

My great-Aunt Hannah, who was a missionary in northern Mexico, talked my dad into making a copy for her. She took it with her to Mexico and played it for the people who came to hear what she had to say. She pointed out the historical fact behind the narration, and that the narrator was the one who had suffered. Everybody wept. And when she finished by telling them this boy-become-a-man was not cruel, bitter or evil because of the life he had to live, people would choose to live better lives. I am told some completely turned their lives to God. All because a man who had a need to express something made a cassette tape. This continued for years, even after he had died.

My father made a comment - I don't recall if it was on the tape, or if he said it some other time (I do not have a copy of the recording) - which I can never forget.

There is more than one way to commit suicide. Some ways are quick, such as with a gun, knife, poison or a jump from a high place. Other ways are slow, and they drag the misery out.

The statement was always made in reference to smoking and drinking. Dad was a heavy smoker and heavy drinker.

This isn't what I had planned to write today. I had planned on writing about my dad, but I thought I was going to write something funny. My dad was not a dummy. His I.Q. was over 140. He understood a lot of things. But he was far from perfect, and some of the things he did - or couldn't do - were quite comical. Maybe next week I'll tell you how well he played table games. Today - he is my hero again, and I am going to leave it at that.

I love you, Daddy. Just a little more time, please?