Significance of December 4

Back row, l to r, Brother Glenn, Dad Oda E, Brother Edd
Front Row, l to r, Sister Betty, Mother Nora, Sister Pearl

This is my history before I became a part of it.  This was probably 1939 or 1940.  My dad was 58 when I was born and my mother was 43.  Betty was 16, Glen was 22, and Pearl and Edd were in between Betty and Glenn.  My youth was as if I was an only child.  I remember going places with my mother and dad and people would remark that it was nice of them to bring their 'grandson'.  If you look up shame in the dictionary, my feelings during these times would be listed.  Yet, it was the only life that I ever knew and kids are tough, right?  We can adjust to anything, so they say.

Dad and me, probably around 1 year old

Dad, mom and me, Pearl, Betty, and Glenn, probably around 2 years old or so.

My dad's retirement party in 1949.  See if you can find me!

I remember a few father-son moments, some good, some not so good.  I remember my excitement when Dad and I were fishing at a farm pond (I mostly goofed off, never really enjoyed fishing) and he hooked a big one  and I remember cheering him on to land it and I am sure that he did.  I remember when my mother (I was definitely a 'momma's boy') and I went to ask dad if I could join the Boy Scouts.  It was the first time that I had ever seen my father cry.  He gave his permission with tears while reminding me that this act carried a lot of responsibility with it.  I never forgot that and attained the rank of Eagle Scout.  I never asked Dad about those tears, we really didn't have many conversations about things that really mattered.  I do know that he was involved in scouting with my brother, Edd when he was younger and perhaps the sadness was knowing that he was physically unable to be involved with me in the scouts.  Later on he did head up the fund-raising committee that raised enough money for our troop to purchase an old school bus which we used to take a two-week trip to a scout camp in Canada in 1957.  That was probably the most enjoyable period of my teenage years.  These photographs show the Eagle Scout ceremony for Prairie Valley Oklahoma Troop #434.

L to r, Scoutmaster Jimmy Stringfield, me, Danny Whittern, John Sliger, Jerry Aylor, and Jeff Davis 

Eagle Scout ceremony.  My dad and mother are on the left.

The Canada trip group, July 1957.  I am on the front row, far right.

Other memories of my Dad include his love for playing dominoes, especially with Dru Little.  My brother Glenn made dad a domino table with folding legs and as I recall, it was previously used in the USAF by Glenn's weather group to hold weather maps when it was mounted on the wall.  It was made out of wood and about 3 X 3 and had raised edges to keep the dominoes from falling off when you shuffled them.  Shuffling dominoes was a real treat when you were a kid, especially the white ones that you thought were made out of ivory but were just hard plastic.  When I got old enough to know how to play, I seemed to lose interest.  Life can be cruel when our depravity rears its ugly head.  We attended a small Southern Baptist church about one-half mile from our house, Highway Baptist Church (they tore it down several years ago and built a metal one about two miles north of the original).  Our family (the three of us) were very faithful attenders.  If they had a two-week revival, we would be there more often than not and the evangelist even stayed at our house on occasion.  My memory is that my dad would be called on to pray by the preacher every now and then and it seemed like he prayed with little volume and would often tear up before he finished.  I never asked him why and I still wonder.  Were the tears because of being overwhelmed by the grace of God or, perhaps, a realization that he was getting on in years and would not live very many more years?  This will be one of the first questions that I ask him when we are reunited in the presence of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

However, before asking that question, I will apologize for  my lack of caring for him as a son should care for a father.  The age difference kept us from enjoying the normal father-son activities together but did not give me permission to ignore him.  I remember the last time that I saw my dad alive.  It was at the bus station in Seminole, OK on a Sunday afternoon.  I was boarding the bus to return to school at OU in Norman.  I'm sure I hugged and kissed my mother but I remember my dad standing off to the side and neither of us acknowledged one another.  I have carried that image for many years and prayed for forgiveness from God.  Knowing that my dad is in heaven has assured me that he has forgiven me; not to do so would be a sin and there is no sin there. 

I received a phone call at the dorm later that week from Dalton Fowler, James' dad, telling me that my dad had been taken to the hospital in Seminole after suffering a stroke.  The Oklahoma Highway Patrol picked me up at the dorm a little while later.  The first patrolman dropped me off about halfway to Seminole and another patrolmen delivered me to the hospital in Seminole.  I can remember entering the hospital room and crying, "Don't die, daddy".  I still believe that he squeezed my hand even though he was partially comatose already.  He lived for a few days and I was in the room with mom and others when he breathed his last breath on December 4, 1960.  I love you dad and I'm sorry...........