Random Thoughts of My Father on His Birthday

Having lived three times as long as I had his physical presence in my life, I am still awestruck by how much he gave me in the 14 years we had before his body ceased to function.  Even today, for me, Lewis Hoxie is very much alive.  He is always with me.  My words are often his words. My thoughts, attitudes and opinions are so much like his.  Some folks who know me may not think those are such good things; how very short-sighted they are!

When I was a toddler he added a handle to the screen door leading to our front porch, positioned to be within my grasp, giving me freedom to go from the house to the porch in my own time and way.

He allowed me sips of Mogen David Concord Grape wine with my Oreo cookie (in retrospect, that combination grosses me out, but back then . . .).

He removed the seeds from my melons, diced and speared them with toothpicks and served them to me so that I could pretend the fruity cubes were hors d' oveures.

I stood on his feet and walked with him.

I met him at the kitchen door when he arrived home from work.

I gave him exclusive rights to kiss the dimple in the middle of my forehead and he gladly accepted.

No one in the neighborhood bothered me because they knew I belonged to him.  If some poor soul had a lapse of memory, a simple "I'm going to tell my daddy" was sufficient to make all scatter.

He let me drive from the front gate to the garage opening.  Okay, it was less than 100 feet, but still . . . .

He took our family to church every Sunday.  I sometimes sat with him in the seating reserved for deacons during worship.  No one ever asked me to move.

He only had to make me go outside and cut a switch just a couple of times.  I thank God for the switch -- and the strap; I figure they were a lot easier to take then than being behind bars would be now.  

As long as I didn't have a fever or some childhood ailment -- or my toe wasn't tagged -- we all went to church on Sundays, first for Sunday School, then worship, then back in the evening for Training Union.  I thank God for Training Union.  I can find scriptures in the Bible without looking at the table of contents, and many I know now because my father and mother taught us decades ago.  I can speak, sing or play piano in the presence of a few or a few thousand.  All because my daddy took -- not sent -- his family to church.

My brother is smart, solid, strong, dutiful, responsible, supportive and loving.  In other words, he is what a man should be.   My brother is one of the most upright men I know.  When I look at Brer, or think of Brer, I also see or think of my father. 

Daddy did not have a lot of money.  He worked hard and provided for his family.  The house he built 60 years ago has weathered every Houston storm without damage and still stands solidly today.  We were always well fed, well clothed, well nurtured and well loved.  While money can buy the food and clothing, no currency is sufficient to purchase the care and love my father bestowed upon his family.  In that regard, we were -- and are -- wealthier than most.  

My father tolerated little nonsense from people.  I am very much like him in that way and don't mind it -- not one bit.  

That is enough for now.  There is no grand ending because Daddy's story continues.  As long as there is a Hoxie limb from his branch of the tree, or a twig from a limb of his branch, or a fruit that fell from a twig from a limb of his branch of that tree, my daddy will be around.  It would be nice, though, if he could kiss my third dimple just once more.

Happy birthday, Daddy.