Joe Crenshaw, c. 1935
I've written one blog about my daddy. I wrote about his humor, his work ethic, his teaching me how to be a good employee. I also mentioned that he became a widower in 1968. He had three children to care for--my brother (9), my sister (2), and me (12). Until I was 35, I didn't realize how young he was and what short time he had with Mommy--just 13 years. I think for all of us, those first two years were very difficult. His mother, Grandmother to us, came to help take care of us at first. Then my brother and I were sent away to Okeechobee for the next summer. The most difficult thing is when Daddy remarried only nine months after Mommy's death. When we got home from Okeechobee, there was new furniture, new sleeping arrangements (well, for me--we also gained a step-sister), new household rules. It was a trying time for all of us. More change came when our new step-mother left, and they divorced after only seven months of marriage.
Daddy, who really had been good-natured, seemed to change overnight. He was angry at my step-mother, at first. However, slowly, that anger turned against my brother and me. Especially me. He punished us by not letting Grandmother move back in to care for us; he just expected me to clean, to cook, to go to school, and to care for my brother every day. The daddy who took us to the beach for evening swims, who made us a go-cart, who rarely punished us became cold and emotionally hurtful. Finally, Grandmother persuaded him to let her come and care for all of us.
Things were a little better. Grandmother could have a calming effect on Daddy when he was very angry. He decided to stop buying me things like clothes and school supplies. He figured that I could baby-sit and use that money to buy what I needed. And I did. I can remember Grandmother arguing with him about getting me clothes for school, and he finally gave in and gave her money to take me shopping. Still, I had lost the daddy of my childhood.
He rarely praised me for anything. To be honest, I stayed in my room as much as I could. There were still times of laughter and fun, but we did not have the same relationship I saw my friends have with their dads.
I wish there was a happy ending to this tale. After I graduated high school and worked for year, I started college. I can remember during my second semester, Daddy starting asking me about what I was studying. He noticed that my friends and I would sing while I played the piano, and he got the piano tuned for me. Daddy actually liked my friends coming over and hanging out. He no longer made me pay rent. I can remember one Tuesday afternoon so clearly. I was sitting at the kitchen table, typing up my first long college paper. I was tapping along, and he came over. He picked up my finished pages and started reading. "Did you write this yourself?" "Yes." He just shook his head and murmured that Sissy would be proud. Something in me broke, and I felt that MY daddy was coming back--that maybe our relationship could be mended.
The next night, I was at work. When I came home, my brother came rushing up to my car--"Daddy's in the hospital! He had a heart attack!" I just shook me head in disbelief. "Nah. Really?" "Yes, we're going down right now!" I opted to stay home. It was then that our neighbor, Mrs. Enterline, came over to sit with me. I was eating a snack, and I looked at her and said, "He's dead, isn't he?" She nodded yes. He had been with a friend, and he collapsed in her yard, and he died on the way to the hospital. I excused myself, went to my room, and opened my Bible to Philippians 4:7, "And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." I knelt and prayed for that peace.
I did have peace. Even though my daddy was gone, I had peace knowing that our relationship was on its way to being mended. I had peace because, for the first time in years, I knew that Daddy had loved me. I had peace because I knew he was reunited with Mommy--a joyous reunion. And I have peace now because I can focus on the good memories of Daddy, and not just relive the difficult ones.
