He was a great father to his three girls and a beyond loving husband to my grandmother Coley, in the kind of way that you can only be if you’ve been with somebody forever. The two of them were married for more than 50 years before Grandmother left us a couple of days after Christmas in 2008. We’ve all missed her since then, but no one more than Pop.
Pop was one of the last true manly men. He was a boxer in the Navy and could build things with tools. And while it’s doubtful I’ll be furthering his legacy in those ways, hopefully some of the traits that made him an excellent father and husband rubbed off on me.
I was pretty close with both of my grandparents. My mom and I lived with them for a few years when I was starting kindergarten. Once my mom got us a place of our own, I still spent Friday nights at their house. We’d watch Knight Rider, The Dukes of Hazzard and Manimal together.
Even after my mom remarried and we moved to Kansas, I’d go to Louisiana for a couple of weeks each summer. Grandmother, Pop and I would hang out and play Canasta. My wife Kelly is positive they taught me how to cheat at cards, but I’ll never tell.
The day Pop died Madeline gave me a big hug and said, “Daddy, I know you’re sad right now. I’m sad, too.” Then Madeline and I talked about whether or not Pop is still rocking his goatee in heaven. I think he is. Madeline thinks he probably just has a mustache. This is a discussion I feel Pop would’ve appreciated.
The last time Kelly and I visited Louisiana with the kids, Pop took Madeline down to his woodshop and gave her a birdhouse he made. Madeline only got to be around Pop a handful of times, but I hope she’ll always be able to remember playing with him.
