2012, The year of Fathers (plural) Passing

Seems that 2012 has been a year that Cindy and myself will remember the remainder of our lives.  Cindy's dad, Ralph, lost his battle with cancer and went on to his heavenly home in March.  On October 27, my dad lost his battle with cancer and passed to his heavenly home.  This blog is dedicated to both their memories.  This writing is in no way intended to take away from either father's life contributions, both men led full lives and both men lived their own way.  The mainstay of this blog is simply my reflections of how mainly my own dad's life influenced me to become what I am today.  Please don't regard any of my rantings as a lack of love for my dad, I did love him, but simply his influence based on my experiences living with him as my dad.
Dad was the youngest of twelve kids.  He didn't talk much about his child hood but from the few accounts he did vocalize, it was not a childhood he wanted to dwell in.  Dad wasn't even given the courtesy of a name.  He was given the simple initials of J. W. as a name.  It wasn't until he enlisted in the military that he adopted the name of James because the military would not accept initials only.  To this day I don't think that he ever had a name of record, just J.W.
Growing up with dad was not an easy task.  Dad had basically two things that gave his life meaning, so it seamed, to me.  Family was not one of those two things.  His life was driven in the beginning by his service in the military and followed by his life in a truck.
Now I want to pause just a moment to interject something.  In today's culture of blaming others or situations or what have you for personal faults and failures I want it clearly understood that I do not blame any of my faults or failures on my up-bringing, I do not blame either of my parents for decisions that I, an individual with the capacity to think on my own, made.  The Lord gave me the ability to think and speak for myself.  How well those thoughts or actions materialized were based on my decisions, based on influences contributed by those around me.  Too often I am sickened by generations blaming parental generations because their life is screwed up.  I'm sorry, I just don't buy into this line of thought.  I find it impossible to blame someone for a conscious decision made by a person able to think and act on their own.  If you grew up in an abusive home, I feel for you , but that does not give you the right to be an abusive parent yourself.  If you grew up in a home with successful parents, that does not guaranty you success, your own thoughts, your own actions, your own mind set is all that can determine the life you lead.
Dad traveled a lot.  That was his job, he was an independent truck driver, he enjoyed life on the road.  I have to think that he felt in control when he drove, perhaps a feeling that did not exist in a home situation.  To say that it was easy growing up in his household would be a blatant lie on my part but at the same time the way I was raised actually made me grow up and become my own man.  Dad did not spend a lot of time with me as a kid.  He spent most of his life in the cab of a truck, traveling, being in control, being self dependent, and maybe avoiding the task of raising a family because just like all of us, no one likes to do something that they don't have experience with.  Dad did not have a family or a father to teach him how to be a dad.  The military was his first real family.  The military had rules, the military had people in charge, the military formed his mind to the way that he thought a "family" should act and perform.  I think that after the family came, he realized that the military way was not the family way but that was all he knew.  Maybe that is one of the reasons he was always gone.
I look back many times on the activities that my siblings and I participated in.  I can honestly say that my dad was never really a part of those activities.  My mom is the one that took care of our school activities, got involved with us in scouts and anything else we wanted to do.
I could have very easily done nothing with my life and used the excuse that I had an abusive parent.  I chose not to do that.  I chose instead to open my eyes, to watch and learn from my parents.  I strived to make sure that when my time came as a parent that my kids would not endure the same educational upbringing that I had.
I did not do a perfect job, but I did my best.  I see pictures of families that have been on vacations together, that go on outings together, that enjoy being together.  I think that is fantastic!  Families should be together and enjoy that togetherness.  I really cannot recall a family vacation.  That is not to say we never went on one, it is just that no matter what, they seemed to always turn sour, basically I think that I just blocked the few vacations we did take out of my mind because it seemed that anytime we were together as a family, I could not live up to the standards that my dad expected of me.  It would have been real easy for me to just accept that I would never amount to much and blame my dad for my failures but I tend to look at things differently.
The high expectations that my dad had for me caused me to work very hard.  I wanted so much to hear him tell me that I had done good, that I excelled at something, anything, I wanted his praise!  The need for that praise was the push behind me being a good student, no a great student because I knew that just being good was not enough to get that recognition from my dad, I had to be the best!  If I was the best he would have to recognize me, right?  My dad's expectations created my work ethics, my education ethics, and the way I would lead my life.  The way I would raise my family.  The things that I would change when I became the dad!
I would love to sit here and tell you that because of his expectations and my inability to reach them that I became the model father.  That would be a lie larger than any he ever told.  I did become a father, on January 7, 1980, Cindy and I had our first son.  I let work stand between being a real dad and being a father to my new son.  I had become so mindset on being the best at what I did, still trying to get that recognition, that I began to become my dad.  I don't think I ever became abusive but I did not give my most valuable asset to my family, I held on to my time with the intent of being the best at my work, not being the best at being a father.  I did eventually begin to give some time to my family.  Cindy and I have two very fine sons.  I began to get involved with them and some activities.  I made it a point to go to their ball games, to go to their parent teacher conferences, to take an active part in their life.  Did I do it right?  Did I stop chasing the much needed perfection that I felt my dad wanted?  No, I just worked harder and made the schedule fit.  I can remember many times being home for a school function for my sons then to maintain my quest for what I thought was my life destination, I would drive all night to be at a business function.  I was still making my work my priority.
I had an awakening around 1990 or so.  I had a time in my life where I had to decide to support my family, in this case to stand up and defend my son, or to support my work and make the family second.  The decision I was about to make was going to cost me, it was either going to cost me the respect my son had for me or it was going to cost me my job, my JOB, the thing I had become a perfectionist at, the one thing I could do better than anyone else!
That is the only time in my life that I have been fired from a job.  I decided that the chain would be broken and I would work harder on my family.  The family may not have realized that I had decided in their favor at the time because to keep the bills paid I went over the road as a "truck driver".  I did not let this new career consume me, if anything it made me long to be home more with my wife and two sons.  I drove over the road until 1996, when I took a job that permitted me to be home.  Did I do it right from then on?  No, I just did my best and I realized that I no longer needed to hear my dad tell me that I did a good job, I just wanted to do a good job for my family.  the only people that I needed to prove anything to was my two sons and my wife, I realized what had become and should have been important all along.
Did my dad teach me?  Yes, my dad taught me that hard work is important, I learned when to make life important.  He taught me that being the best was the utmost goal to strive for, I learned to strive for being the best dad I could be.
I loved my dad, I wanted to make him proud, I wanted to make him happy.  I wanted him to be able to hold his head up and tell the world that I was his son!  I feel that I have done that.  I have two very fine young men that have both done very well with their lives.  I feel that they have learned far sooner than I did what is important, they know that the love and adoration seen in their spouses eyes and in the laughter of their kids that the family is the goal, work and recognition may happen along the way but when their spouse proudly says to the room "that is my husband" or the kids proudly tell the world "that is my dad" to me that is the highest praise any man could want.
I am going to end this with an analogy that may make sense to some and not to others.  Years ago Johnny Cash had a hit song titled " A Boy Named Sue".  In short a man had named his son Sue in an effort to make the boy grow up to be a man in the father's absence while the son thought it only an insult.  The boy became a fine man and one day met his father.  Find the song, understand that my dad taught me, maybe not the best way but he taught me to become my own man.

Ninety Three and living Free!

Let me introduce you to a phenomenal lady, My Grandma!  This is a picture of her on her ninety-third birthday.  She was a great lady and a fine influence on the life of this man.  She and my Grandpa stayed pretty much to themselves but they were known well in the community as good people that would lend a hand when  one was needed.  My grandma was a botanical genius and didn't even know it.  Floye could plant rocks and grow rainbows!  Her roses were the envy of all that ever had the opportunity to behold them.  Even at this age she displayed her green thumb.

The entry to Ma's home

  The family had a birthday party for her in June of 05.  Those that could assembled in the small town of Magnolia to celebrate this phenomenal event with her. There were relatives from all over the place gathered there, Texas, Tennessee, Mississippi, Missouri, Louisiana and I'm sure from places I didn't mention, all gathered to honor this great woman.  Ma's health was real good for her years.  She was still very active and lived on her own.  Generations gathered to celebrate this great occasion. 

Just a few of those in attendance

Ma was ready to party!  She had her hair done and was dressed in her Sunday meeting clothes.  She truly enjoyed seeing all her "chaps, grandchaps, great grandchaps and great, great grandchaps".  There may have been one more generation there, I'm not much on genealogy, anyways, there was a lot of people there and a lot of kids of all ages. 

Cindy and I had not been down to visit my southern family since September of 02 when we had stopped by there on our way to see Ben while he was stationed in Florida.  We were really into our motorcycle travels and this trip was one of those motorcycle trips.  We enjoyed traveling on the bike and taking the back roads to southern Mississippi seemed like the thing to do. 

With the numerous kids that were there it was inevitable that motorcycle rides would be in store for the ones old enough to ride.  Each took their turn on the Goldwing with me and each had a blast.  For most, it was the first time they had ever been on a motorcycle.

Now Ma had never been a fan of motorcycles, never wanted to be near one and most definitely never wanted to ride one!  I gave rides to the "chaps" and Ma watched.  Little did I know that in a few short minutes the entire family would be treated to the surprise of a lifetime.  One of my aunts came to me and said Ma wanted to go for a ride.  I thought I was being kidded, but the truth was she wanted to go for a ride.  Actually it started out that Ma had told one of my aunts that she wanted her picture made next to that "pretty" motorcycle.  My aunt, jokingly I'm sure, told her the only way she was getting a picture was if she got on the motorcycle.  My aunt said she didn't even hesitate and agreed immediately. 

With the aide of grandsons and great grandsons we soon had Ma seated comfortably on the back of that wing!  Now when Ma had her hair done, rule one was don't muss it up.  Ma was always attentive to her looks when she was out in public.  In the beginning I thought that this would be just a brief "ride" a few feet then she would have her picture and want to get off, after all, a real ride would muss her hair in the grandest way.  Well, ma said to me "Let's go for a ride."  I proceeded to go to the end of the driveway and turn around.  To my total surprise she said "no, I want to go for a real ride!"  Who was I to deny her this feeling of motorcycling freedom?  We took off for a real ride!  I was busy watching the road and making sure to ride safely but a glance in my mirrors showed me a woman having a grand time.  We headed down the highway with her waving her arms in the air and smiling, a smile that only someone that has ridden a motorcycle could display, one of those ear to ear, bug catching smiles!

Ready to go!

GONE!

The picture doesn't do justice to the smile on her face as we took off for her once in a lifetime ride.  I truly believe that she felt at ease and had the realization that this was being free, this was the reason people rode motorcycles, this was FUN!  It did not bother her that her hair had become mussed, the air and the road overpowered the thoughts of her hair and she just relaxed and had a good time!


  We went down the road for a few miles then turned and headed back to the festivities.  I could see that smile in my mirrors, a smile that will be in my memories for the duration of my life.  I knew motorcycling was fun, I knew the freedom the open air offered, I knew the smile that came upon my face every time I got on my bike, and now I knew that Ma had shared a bit of that feeling with me!

This is the only time I ever rode my bike without a helmet.  What I thought was going to be just a photo opportunity for my grandmother turned into a ride.  I rode very safely and did not take any chances with such a precious cargo.  I figured I would get my "explanation " in before someone got on the helmet bandwagon. 

The celebration went well into the day.  Ma talked about her ride and everyone had a great time. 

Being small town Mississippi, Ma got her picture in the local paper and had earned the nick-name "motorcycle Ma-Ma" amongst those that knew her and those that didn't.  She was recognized and people would address her as motorcycle Ma-Ma.  It was an event that she would remember the rest of her long life.

One of my aunts was telling me that same fall, Ma went to the hospital with a stroke.  She was not responding well to the treatments and things did not look well.  One of the nurses remembered the photo in the newspaper and brought it to put in her room.  The staff all started calling her motorcycle Ma-Ma and talking to her about that ride.  Maybe the ride did, maybe it didn't have an effect, but Ma got better and got out of the hospital.  Ma lived to see almost three more birthdays. 

In June of 06 I gave Ma a die cast replica of my Goldwing for her birthday.  Ma was a collector of nick-nacks, salt and pepper shakers, figurines, mostly delicate stuff.  Ma put that motorcycle right in the middle of her delicate stuff, there it sat as a reminder to her of that ride until the day she passed to be with Jesus.

The Road Trip of Labor Day, 2009, Or the last voyage of the Goldwing

For over twenty five years a motorcycle has been my means of escaping the troubles and downs of life.  The only thing that could give me relief or make me feel better than a good motorcycle ride was talking to God.  I have done a lot of both over the past, usually both at the same time.  When I was riding on my motorcycle I seemed to always "see"

God's Art Work as Seen From the Saddle

God's handiwork much more clearly and I was able to "hear" the things he had to say to me.  I could have a bad day at work and just before leaving I would call home and let Cindy know I was going to be late then I would hop on my motorcycle and just go.  Usually I had no real destination, I would just ride!  Sometimes I only needed to ride for a few miles, sometimes a few hours, and on occasion, a few days.  I purchased my 04 Goldwing on May 1, 2004 with zero miles on it.  On September 7, 2009, that motorcycle rolled over 100,000 miles, each one put on by me.  That is more miles on a motorcycle in sixty five months than most cars see in several years.  If you take into account that my normal work week was at least 55 hours, it is easy to determine where my relaxation and meditation time came in.  With that being said, let me tell you about the last days that motorcycle and I had together......


My Wife with her bike and me with my Wing

The year 2009 had not been a good year for us.  A very bad business partnership decision on my part had forced Cindy and I into a chapter 13 bankruptcy and to say that money was tight would be like saying the Pacific Ocean was just a drop of water.  I had not made very many trips on the motorcycle and I was getting real miserable.  We decided to scrape together some money and take the labor day weekend to go to Eureka Springs and just relax.  Cindy had become comfortable riding her bike for  rides of a few hours and I was definitely itching to do some riding in the Ozarks so we got our gear together and loaded the bikes.

The view from our room

We headed out to get some alone time and just relax.  Now you don't earn the nickname "Atlas" by taking the direct route anywhere so in order to ride at ease and really enjoy the beauty of nature we took the long way to Eureka, all back roads, no big roads.  We got to Eureka after several hours and found us a place to stay.  It was a nice little place with a small balcony out back that offered a view of nature.  God blessed us while we were sitting out there relaxing with the vision of a mother deer and her fawn at play.  

Mother Deer

We went out for Cindy's favorite dinner, Mexican then went back to our room for some rest.  When I go on a ride, especially in the Ozarks, that ride starts early and ends late.  Cindy elected to leave her motorcycle in Eureka and ride on the back seat of the wing.  She did this a lot on our rides because she got to relax more and it allowed her to photograph as we rode along. 

Sunday morning came and we were ready to go!  We had breakfast and headed out for the days ride.  We rode along at a very relaxed pace, not setting any land speed records, just cruising along admiring the scenery.  If we saw something that look like it needed more attention we would stop and take pictures and just enjoy.  I had planned out a very scenic and motorcycle friendly route for the day.  I got to cut my curves and we both got to see the splendor of the Ozarks.  One of the roads I had picked was Arkansas highway 103 out of Clarksville.  This highway had some great switch back curves and some of the most fantastic views of any road I have ever been on. 

My Wing on one of the hairpins on 103

We rode on and continued up the Pig Trail road where there is one of my all time favorite signs, "very crooked and steep ahead"  We had a blast, and for the time had no worries, no problems, just each other and the beauty around us. 

We got back to Eureka and settled in for the night, getting the rest we would need for the ride home Monday morning.

The combination of high humidity and heat made for a real muggy morning when we left out of Eureka.  We rode out of town and hit intermittent fog.  Eventually the fog got to be too much as we neared Eagle Rock, Missouri we decided, for safety's sake, to get off the road.  Cindy came over the radio and said she was going to turn off and she said, as she often did while we rode "I love you."  That is the last sound I heard for quite some time.  The next sounds were those of people asking me was I alright and did I know who I was and did I know where I was.  In the few milliseconds between the time she had unkeyed the mike and the impact, those were the words that echoed in my mind. 

We were on highway 86 heading home.  The highway had just been repaved and had no lines painted on it.  The fog had reduced visibility to just a few feet making travel very hazardous.  A young man in a hurry, in a black car with no headlights (according to the only witness) came up and over a crest in a left hand curve and hit me and my motorcycle head on.  I remember nothing of the impact.  I was told by the doctors that due to the magnitude of my injuries my body just shut down.  I firmly believe that the fact that I never ride without full safety gear and I never skimped on the quality of that gear is the reason that I did not die that day.  I have been told that God has a plan for me, that is why I am still here.  I believe that is why I had the sense to by and use good safety gear and God's plan, as always, worked.  I remember the people asking me questions and the silhouette of the state troopers hat.  Knowing that the trooper was there kind of eased my mind a bit, after all, they are the accident experts, right?  WRONG!!  I will elaborate on this in a later blog but I will interject that if you are ever in an accident in Missouri you had better hope someone takes some pictures because the Missouri Highway Patrol are only required to take pictures in the event of multiple fatalities or if there is a commercial vehicle involved.  I urge you to watch the investigative report done by Ryan Kath regarding the poor way the patrol handles serious injury accidents:   http://www.nbcactionnews.com/dpp/news/local_news/investigations/despite-digital-technology%2c-photos-often-not-taken-at-crash-scenes-with-serious-injuries

I was transported by ambulance to Cassville, Missouri and then airlifted to Cox Medical Center in Springfield, Missouri.  I don't really remember much of the ride.  My next encounter with true consciousness wasn't until Wednesday evening when I woke up in the ICU.  I had broken my right arm in numerous places ( the least of my injuries) and pretty much broken every bone in my right leg at least once, many of them more than once, including completely separating my femur and splitting it nearly its' entire length.  Cindy told me later that the surgeon had asked her if I had a history of smoking.  He said that had I had a history of smoking they would have not even tried to save my leg because it would have never healed.  I spent a week in the hospital. 

The bike held up very well for the amount of impact



This is the right side of the engine.  You can see where my foot broke the engine casing

This is a 2000 Nissan Altima after hitting a Honda Goldwing head on

My best friend went to the accident site on Thursday and took some pictures.  The car was still where it had landed.  He also went to the tow lot and took some pictures of my Wing.  No one in the hospital could believe, after seeing the pictures that I still had two legs, much less that I was still alive.

Well, this is the basics of the accident.  I have three metal rods in my right leg, several metal plates in my right leg, metal plates in my right arm, and yes, I do set off metal detectors when entering airports and Federal buildings.  Did this change the way I feel about riding, NO.  I still ride, I still ride safely.  I guess the reason I blogged this is so that people would know why I walk with a limp and to bring more awareness that motorcycles are everywhere so please watch for them!