Papa Don't Preach

(Madonna, 1986)

My dad would probably be mortified to know that I've linked that song to him on Father's Day. Come to think of it, though, he probably doesn't know the song, so . . .

I had to use it because my papa was a preacher. And a pretty good one, at that. He was born right before the Depression (1928), the youngest of fourteen children. No, it's not a typo. His oldest sister was 18 when he was born. Let's see if I can name them all: Hazel, Marjorie, Garnett, Alice, Esther, Charlotte, Herbert, Jack, Dub (short for Double E "Elmer Enoch"), John and Jim (my dad). That's only 11, but I know two (maybe three) died in infancy.

His dad left the family when my dad was five, so my grandmother (whom I never knew) was a contemporary of the Old Lady Who Lived In A Shoe (with so many children she didn't know what to do). By the time my dad was in school, the older ones had left home. My grandmother, Stella, worshipped FDR because he instituted so many work programs which, in turn, provided the older kids with jobs so they could send money home to make ends meet. My dad has wonderfully poignant stories of growing up in a really poor household. One day his mom received some money from one of dad's siblings and was able to buy a couple of pork chops. She doled out the small portions to my dad, uncle and two aunts, cautioning them to not eat too much or too fast because they hadn't had much to eat in awhile and their stomachs wouldn't be used to such rich food.

Another favorite is that dad, already honing his preaching skills, would go downtown to the park and "sermonize" all the out of work old men sitting around. After imparting his words of wisdom (he was all of six or seven), he took up an offering. When he got home, his brother, John, was appalled and made him take it all back.

Despite the challenges he faced growing up, my dad went to college, obtained both a Masters and PhD and has had careers in the ministry, politics (first as a state representative and then as MO state treasurer for eight years), and education, serving as president of two colleges in MO. Not bad for for a kid who, for the first eight years of his life, thought his name was "Shut up." (I don't know if that's really true, but in a house with a zillion kids . . . ?)

One of my most vivid memories early in life was in the church my dad was pastoring in Marshall, MO. I remember singing "This Is My Father's World," totally thinking I was singing about my dad. I also remember going through a stage when I was TERRIFIED of robbers. My kindergarten boyfriend, Brett, told us at "show and tell" that the bowling alley his dad bowled at had been broken into. I had nightmares for months. I'd wake up and see a robber (dressed like a cowboy) in my doorway. My parents put an army cot in their bedroom and more often than not I'd wind up on it before daybreak. Sometimes my dad would take me for a walk in the middle of the night (it was probably only about 10:00) to try and show me that there wasn't anything to be scared of. When we got back, we'd sit on the porch swing and drink orange juice. I remember my mom telling my dad that he was making it too much fun. Who wouldn't want to roam around the neighborhood after all the other kids were in bed and have snacks afterwards? I finally outgrew my fear, but I missed those father/daughter walks and talks.

I have tons and tons and tons of great memories about my dad. And I let him preach to me any time he wants (which is never). Now that's a GREAT dad!