In the innocence that accompanies a young boy, there are many memories I have of my dad that are, in and of themselves, nothing extraordinary. There were trot-lines baited and fished on the Tallapoosa River. Trips to the Montehand Farm to get Bermuda grass hay. There were early morning hunting trips every Thanksgiving for squirrels with stories about Button and Sport, which must have been the greatest squirrel dogs ever.
And yet they were God given because they reveal a father and son relationship, built on absolute trust and confidence with none of the hypocrisy of religious pretense. I wasn’t pretending to love him above girls, sports, and money; this was before all of that entered into my thinking. He had my undivided devotion. There were no rivals. There was no law that said I had to love him, and trust and obey him except the one written in my heart: I was not conscience of there being another choice.
He never gave me a reason to think any other way.
There was no doubt in my mind of his supreme ability to take care of any and all situations. He was the best carpenter; he was the best business man. The best hunter. The best everything. And when he was riding our horse, Zorro, there wasn’t a nickel’s worth of difference between him and Matt Dillon.
Or John Wayne.
His word became the final authority once spoken.“Never leave a nail sticking up in a board for someone to step on. Treat every gun as if it is loaded; never point it at anybody. Never shoot into a squirrels nest. Never climb over a barbwire fence or walk directly behind a cow. Say “yes sir” and “no sir”; “yes ma’am” and “no ma’am” to adults . . ."
And I can still hear him saying to me today, "If you can’t trust your daddy, then who can you trust?”
And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. ~Matthew 18:3
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