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| My Grandpa Thomas Adolph King - My Hero |
With my own father, I could never connect with his journey. He mostly journeyed away from his own father's legacy and from his home town, which for a headstrong over-active male in the late 40s was anywhere but his one-church college town and the faith of his father. He was more influenced by his mother and his mother's people who were more like him. Impulsive, stubborn, prideful Scots-Indians. His father (my grandfather) was a quiet hard-working studious man who deferred to my strong-willed grandmother in almost all things. We grandkids loved him, but looked to my grandmother for any decisions about family matters. She was the axis about which we all rotated. She was for my dad too. He looked to the rowdy, disruptive McClure clan for his example rather than to his strong, quiet father, the culmination of a line of schoolteachers, preachers and farmers for his guides.
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| Grandpa & Dad |
He later came to respect my grandfather, but by then he'd been to prison, fought a lifetime addiction to tobacco and alcohol (all things his own dad's family heartily disapproved of). In Grandpa's family 3 of the 4 siblings left their father's faith and went a-roving in the manner of my grandmother's clan, although the girls especially were always respectful and loving with their quiet, patient father. But it was my powerful grandmother who, in spite of her tacit acceptance of her adopted faith, remained independent of the King family culture and very much bound to the culture in which she'd grown up. This was despite her old wounds at how she was treated by her own clan.
My grandfather was my de facto male mentor. My Dad abandoned my Mom and his 3 kids when I was five. My grandfather, however, never wavered in his love for us. We remained close to Grandpa and by association, to my stern Scots grandmother. My father went his own way, pursuing his own goals and dreams and left us largely to the care of others. I forgave him as I got older, though my grandmother could never figure out what Dad had done that I should forgive him for it. Mom remarried and I never really bonded with my step father though I learned to appreciate him. He was from somewhere else and on some other journey that did not include me. With my 4 half siblings by him, and my Dad's two kids and step daughter by the woman he got pregnant and ran off with, there were 10 of us total, divided between two widely separated houses. At the age of 52, Dad had a heart attack (he was a 4 pack a day smoker), fell off the wagon (AA for 15 years), and my step-mother ambushed him when he came home from work drunk one day. She shot him through the chest with his own shotgun. Dad's journey ended on the floor of his living room while my step-mom waited for him to die before calling 911.
I felt sorry for Dad. I wrote a poem for his funeral in which I said, "He was a fisherman, in a world unkind to fishermen some times." I'm not sure why I wrote that, but it seemed right to me somehow. His legacy was never mine. Unlike Abram's father, mine did not settle. He went off on his own way. Neither father figure had been the sort I was able to make a legacy journey with. I needed to complete my own journey. I chose my own father figures to guide me. My paternal grandpa was the first of all. My maternal grandpa left my mother and grandmother when she was young to run off with a younger model and left behind an abandoned family that, thanks to my maternal grandmother, remained true to our faith. Her children scattered like missionaries from Texas to California. Grampie lived his own life, much like my Dad did, aloof and distant from his kids. Visiting my Grampie Bell was like a visit to a foreign country. I recognized few of the characteristics of the home and the family I loved and grew up with.
I read books and chose male mentors to model how to be a man and a father. King Arthur, Robin Hood, Captain Blood, Captain Horatio Hornblower and others. They all shared one thing. They were men on a mission. They fought with stubborn honor and integrity for what they believed was right. They were leaders and wise ones and that's what I attempted to be. My Uncle Bobby, a pastor and church leader was an influence. He stood for what was right, even when he had to oppose powerful church leaders he believed were doing wrong to the churches that were his job to care for and defend.
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| Mom the way I remember her best. |
As a result of all the good examples of faith, patience and tenacity, I've gone down with more than one ship in my time. I don't regret a single one. Often what seemed like failures at the time were doors to something else God wanted me to do. I worked with abused, mentally ill and neglected children, people with disabilities, seniors, low income families, youth groups - basically anyone that seemed to need a defender. I am deeply grateful to all of the people and organizations that have stepped up to aid me in my fight over the years. I especially am grateful to all of you, to Kathy, Fred and Dawn, Sheila and Glenn, Sam and Mark, Hutch and the others who have befriended me, helped and guided me and showed me how to do what I was able to do right up until I couldn't do it anymore. From you guys I learned much. With your help, I was able to do some real good for real people. I'm kind of proud of that.
I'm still teaching on occasion (most recently night ESL classes with Chinese kids). I'm physically disabled with crippling arthritis from abusing my muscles and bones over the years. I always felt I was on a mission from God. Some of that may have come from having missed receiving any kind of legacy journey or direction from my father and from who I chose as my role models. From my Grandpa King, I got patience and devotion to my own family. From King Arthur I received a willingness to use might for right even though you may only get that "one brief shining moment" out of the struggle before it all collapses around you. From Robin Hood, I learned that just because someone has power, they aren't necessarily worthy of your obedience. You can do what is right in spite of them. I once got an angry letter from a very important person over one of my crusades. I've always been rather proud of that. Captain Blood, went to war on his own hook, because he refused to be slave to a tyrant. Captain Hornblower appealed to me because he was a smart leader who made the system work despite it's fundamental flaws and because of who he was - in the heat of battle, cool-headed and courageous. In the eleven Hornblower books, CS Forester, the author, traced the growth and career of Horatio Hornblower from midshipman to admiral. I learned much about leadership that I was able to apply in my own career.
From my sweet wife, I learned order. She helped me by bringing her formidable organizational skills and her stunning competence at everything she put her hand to. She kept me going through good times and bad. She taught me to enjoy life when things were going well and to pray hard and endure when they weren't.
To all hose friends who helped me, stood by me or gave me an "attaboy" as they passed along the way, I say, "Keep up the good work." Folk like all of you play an essential role in keeping all those knights in dull and dented armor going out there on the front lines in the war on apathy, indifference, poverty, ignorance, and self-righteousness. God bless you for that.
© 2020 by Tom King
