My father, he was a big believer in Jesus Christ. And our family echoed that – we all ended up Preacher’s Kids.

My father could sing and play a flat-top Gibson J-45. My sister and I played for him any/every time he went to church: weekly/weekend services; and many revivals and “singings”. He loved church, and church loved him – but not always.

Long story, but my father went on to mentor pastors, ministers, and evangelists before he left. My father didn’t want to be a martyr, but in my heart, he did want to be the one who supported and promoted – someone he didn’t have when he was serious about making a difference in the world.

While I was playing music behind my father when was asked to sing, and then some – they asked a lot. I think I took those moments for granted because I was so burnt out on church by 10/11yo. My sister got married so I was on my own, but we had a contract: “Make sure you do any homework at school, and when you get home from school, get ready to go to church”.

Umm yeah. And I did. I played bass and/or electric guitar at every service depending on which musicians came to play. So I practiced all of his songs on an old Gibson guitar someone shot with a shotgun in the back, with tar , and an STP sticker.

– my father paid $5 for it. That was the platform I would learn how to play music on.

The Breakup

We moved to South Eastern KY in 1977 – not good timing for me or him, but we moved. Picked up the same MO for church after the family got settled in. He took a church that needed help, and a Pastor, and he did some great things for that church. The church was in Harlan Co. KY – three or so counties from where we moved to. We both would regret this move later on.

Made friends really quickly – they all thought preacher’s kids were wild, didn’t start that way but that’s how it ended up. That was the wildest summer of my life bar none. But, I saw how hard my friends’ families worked so hard, for not so much, but they were happy. My friends were smart, clever, funny-humorous, and trustworthy.

Eventually, I moved back to my first KY home after my only one year in Harlan Co. I was entering my Sr. year at the high school I moved into initially. ALL of my previous friends either joined the service, died, or totally didn’t act like they did when I lived there. I hated that.

Garage bands weren’t something my father would’ve wanted to be told about – and you are correct. We lived at the end of a lane off of a county road (Rt. 1304) – My brother and I were partying at the entry of the lane. When he drove passed us, I was playing Night Ranger – “Don’t Tell Me You Love Me”. The next day, he moved to Harlan Co., told my mother he and I can’t live under the same roof.

The Reconciliation

Fast forward 40-ish years. My father and I were on the phone, and for once and only once, he told me he was proud of me, loved me, and he forgave me. We were good after that, he loosened up after he retired completely.

The End.

If I would’ve been there with him the night he died, I wouldn’t be here – I am certain he knew that, he was intelligent, smart, and a clever person. And he knew how all of it would end, for myself and my siblings. They were there, but I had yet to go through another gauntlet.

The end was good for me, my brother called me up and said come, I’m in the ER with Dad. And I was that same 11 yo boy who took care of my Dad. He looked like he was in a hurry for it to be over – then, the radiologist walks in. Mr. Smith, “We’ve located pockets of cancer in your kidneys and liver – did you know about this.?”

He looks at my brother and says, “yeah, I knew about it”. My brother looked at me with a look – he planned this all along, he had a plan”. My father, the clever one.