LIfe Lessons from my Father

It's been almost six months since my father died in a tractor accident. I had expected a phone call at some point - he was 83 at the time. But I was not prepared for the acute sense of loss I felt that day and for many weeks afterward. Part of that loss was in remembering all my father taught me about life and knowing those lessons would end.

Henry Whitley remained very active until the time he died. He had problems walking, but he still drove a tractor. Over the years, he was involved in several organizations. He was a 20-year member of Wood County Crimestoppers board and two years ago, even as he was having difficulty getting around, he went to the Alba Golden Sweet Potato festival and set up a booth for Crimestoppers. In the last few years, he found time to visit the domino hall in Winnsboro two or three times a week to drink coffee and play dominoes with the other old men. My father taught me a lot about living a full life even as age and infirmity crept up on him.

I remember when I began seeing my Dad in a different light. He was my age when he was raising my brother and sister by himself. After working at the lumber yard all day, he came home and worked three and sometimes even four hours a night on the farm - also every Saturday and many Sundays. I found a new level of respect for my father and what he accomplished in life - from the young boy from East Texas who carried his lunch to school in a syrup bucket to the man who provided his family with stability, security and love beyond anything he knew growing up.

My Dad was proud of having lived in Wood County all his life. He believed growing up and being from someplace means something because your life is entwined with the lives of those around you. You have a responsibility to help those people in any way you can. A few years ago, my parents started a community dinner for people in Winnsboro who, for economic or other reasons, didn't have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving. My parents were known for that sort of selfless act. It's one of the reasons so many people came up to me at the funeral, often with tears in their eyes, and told me what a good man my father was.

I'll never be able to talk to my Dad again, never be able to ask him questions about his life, never be able to tell him what he meant to me and how much I appreciate everything he did. But I take comfort that Henry Whitley's life made a difference in his community. He touched people's lives and he lives on in the things he did while he was here. And in my small way, I try to live the lessons his life taught me.

Where I'm Eating

I love to eat...That's one reason I'm having to get up at 5:15 in the morning to work out, because I love to eat so much. Just about my favorite thing in the world is a good cheeseburger, with either Fritos or tater tots, and a coke. Burgers just don't taste the same with water... I'm sorry

I consider myself a sort of burger snob. I think cheeseburgers should only be eaten with Mayo, unless they are from Whataburger in which case I will take Mustard. I also prefer fried rather than grilled, unless my Mom is making them or i'm at a pool party and it would just be impolite to ask them to fry that meat up.

So in the next few posts I will be talking about which burger places I like the best.

The most recent place I visited was SmashBurger in Addison on Belt Line Road near Addison Road. Great medium sized place, very clean, very fast service. The menu was easy to read and was posted in several places. I visited on a Sunday and it wasn't that busy, but I would imagine during the week at lunch it's pretty popular with the corporate crowd.

The burgers were served on an egg bun, which I love, and were cooked on a griddle rather than a grill...which I also love. And yes, the patties were "smashed" and so large they didn't fit on the bun, but an easy fix to that problem is to cut the burger in half. The burger comes open faced with a smidge of mustard and ketchup...I added more mustard. The seasoned fries were seasoned with olive oil and rosemary. My friend had the sweet potato fries and they were crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, just the right width and texture. Burgers and fries are served in their own containers which keeps the mess to a minimum.

Prices were a little high...$10 for a cheeseburger, drink and fries. But the food was well worth it.

My Mom

this is a commentary I did in 2004 for Mother's Day...hope you like it

My Mom accuses my sister and me of only remembering the mistakes she made when we were growing up. It's a family tradition to tell the story of Mom accidentally substituting garlic butter for regular butter one morning when she made us pancakes, then saying, "Oh, go ahead and eat them, it can't be that bad," or the time she substituted liver for round steak in our favorite dinner and didn't tell us about it, thinking we wouldn't know the difference. There are also the stories of the sacrifices she made for...oh, who am I kidding? The stories of her trying to hoodwink us are much more entertaining.

My mother had a morbid preoccupation with vermin. She was forever telling us that something we were eating like cake batter, raw potatoes, or cookie dough was going to give us worms. My Mom would try to spare our delicate feelings at times, usually with mixed results. I told her one night that I wanted to be a model and in her infinite kindness she said, "Honey, they usually like people that are beautiful to be models." I've been through countless hours of therapy behind that comment. After she told me my dog Ruff ran away from home, I thought for years that she ran away because I was a bad master. Come to find out my dad ran over her and Mom thought it would be easier for me to think she was on the lam.

We love to talk about the ill-fated trip we took to Florida one year. Nothing seemed to turn out the way it was supposed to. My sister's horse died the day before we left, and she cried all the way through Louisiana and into Mississippi. At the Vicksburg Civil War site, my dad sped past the monuments so fast we scarcely had time to see them. "There goes Texas!" we would shout as he sped through the park, barely slowing down long enough for us to snap a blurry photo. Instead of having a nice dinner out somewhere, my sister and I wanted to eat at Wendy's. Things got worse in Alabama when a swarm of gnats descended on our outdoor picnic, and when we finally got to Florida there was algae in the normally pristine blue water and the Tiki House would have been more aptly named the Tacky House. The photos we took on the last day show my Mom with her teeth gritted and an angry look on her face. I look back at that trip and understand why women can leave their families and never look back.

I thought my Mom was much more interesting and glamorous when she and my father went to the country club or to parties most Saturday nights. When she quit drinking and started going to church more, part of me missed the glamour of her slipping into my room smelling of perfume and cigarette smoke and kissing me goodnight. At an early age I learned what a jigger was, why it was better to drink bourbon and water rather than bourbon and Coke (fewer bubbles and calories), and how to properly mix incense and scented candles to remove the smell of cigarettes from the house when you're trying to keep your husband from knowing you've started back smoking. Those are life lessons a child never forgets.

Despite my best efforts, I've come to realize I'm becoming more and more like my mother. Aside from the preoccupation we both share with our weight and our hair color, I find myself saying things like "No one without a job should have a $200 cell phone," which I recently said to a 22-year-old friend. But I've decided that if I'm going to be like anyone, I'd rather be like my Mum, who can look a seeming catastrophe like a swarm of gnats in the eye and say, "Oh, go ahead and eat that sandwich, there are probably not that many bugs in it."