I was talking with a student yesterday and she was telling me about her father; which got me to thinking about mine.
My dad was old when he had me. He was 44 when I was born. In fact I was born between his and my mother's 44th birthday. My mother always said that when she got married to my father she prayed for four boys. Living on a farm, boys were built in labor. After 20 years she just payed for one. She said when she had me, she didn't realize that she got all four in one. My father confided in me later that he switched from tight jockeys to loose boxers. So who knows.
Anyway, my father was born on the family farm; and he even went to a one room school house that he had to walk to. Yeah, yeah, I know; we've heard it all before. EXCEPT... the school house was actually on our property. Bawker school. And the desks were still there when I was growing up. Luckily I have one from there; before some low down lily lizard possum stole the rest of them from the school. So I saw where my dad went to grade school before he went to the big town of Salisbury for high school.
After high school he attended Kemper Military School & College in Boonville for 2 years before finishing off his degree at William Jewel near Kansas City. After all that he returned to the farm and with the exception of working at the local ASCS office, farmed until he passed away in 1987.
My father never met a stranger. He was one of those loud, outgoing guys whose personality filled a room. He always wore a Stetson; either a beat up one during normal days or a nice one for when he went out with my mother or to church. And he had a habit of having one pants leg stuck into his boot.
People who never met my father might initially take him for a 'country bumpkin' and dismiss how intelligent and sharp he was. That was fine by him, because it put people at ease. But those who knew him never underestimated him.
One time at Kemper, one of my teachers, (who was the first female teacher to have taught at Kemper and who was exceptionally sharp) said she ran into him in the teacher's lounge. Oh really, I said. What did you think of him? She said after five minutes she told him he could knock off the country boy act. I told you she was sharp.
I learned a lot from him. And as usual, he passed away just when I had gotten out of the stage that I didn't want to be with him, and was actually enjoying talking with him. I remember one of the last times we went out. We went to a Mizzou football home game. My dad was a BIG supporter and loved going. It was just me and him. We walked around all the tail gate parties; people we didn't know before, but ended up being friends after that. And where we sat, he had season tickets for over 35 years, so everyone knew him there also. After the game we ate steak at Bobby Bufford's and I remember we had a discussion about whether it was better to rent out farm land verses farming it yourself.
I learned a lot of what would be classified as 'home spun' wisdom; but in reality is just common sense. Also, my father at the time embarrassed me. I know, thats what parents do to teenagers. Dad did it to get to me. But I now know that what he did was to prepare me for life. Now, nothing embarrasses me. I laugh loudest at myself. And you know what; I'm ok with that. Whats to be embarrassed by after some of the things my dad did and said? Because you know what? They were never crude, rude or anything but fun and friendly. Of course I was aghast at times; being the teenager that I was. Now I can smile about it.
At age 24 I grew up. With my father gone, I had to take everything he tried to teach me, and trust me when I say, you put two hard headed people together and it it is truly the rock meeting the immovable object. I wish I had paid more attention and learned. But I got a lot of the things he did teach me. And I know that he is watching me and laughing at some of the things; as I also laugh at them and me.
I have always said that if I am a tenth of the man of my father was, I will be somebody. A dear friend told me to quite trying to be my father. I know I am not my father; but I AM my father's son. In that, I am very proud of the fact.
In loving memory of Jimmy Shackelford Herring.
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