Today would have been my father’s 100th birthday had he not passed away on December 2, 1999. Though he is never far from my everyday thoughts I, of course, find him front and center on his birthdate and the date he passed away.
April 9, 1925 was a Thursday in High Springs, Florida when James Mathew and Martha Maggie Wetherington welcomed their son James Edward into the world. He would be the youngest brother of George Carlton, Louise, Audrey and W.J. Wetherington. His mother would pass away within two years. His eyesight would be so bad that he would attend the School For The Blind in St. Augustine. I remember that both his brothers (my uncles) also had bad eyesight and, like him, would wear glasses with thick lenses; the kind we used to call “coke bottle glasses.”
Many years ago I saw a photo of my paternal grandfather and was amazed at how much alike we looked. I’ve always looked more like my mother than my father, but my grandfather and I looked very much alike. My grandfather passed away early in my father’s life and his sister Louise would be more like a mother to him during his younger years.
I’ve already written a couple of posts over the years remembering his birthday in this post and this post. And I wrote some remembrances of my father in this post.
On what would have been his 100th birthday, here are some more.
I remember two stories my father told me about his youth. One was when he decided that he wanted to learn to chew tobacco like other, older males around him. I don’t remember if it was one of his brothers or not but someone took him out to a big oak tree near their home, gave him a “chaw” of tobacco and told him to start chewing it. After a while the other person told him, “Now, swallow it” so he did. He said he got SO sick from it (dizzy, nauseous, passing out) that he never ever wanted to chew tobacco again, which was what the other person was trying to accomplish. My dad eventually took up smoking, but he never, ever chewed tobacco again.
That photo is my dad, my mom and my baby brother shortly after his birth in 1962.
The other was when he was in school. Some kid behind his desk in class was bothering my dad and wouldn’t stop. This was in his early teen years. The school was undergoing some construction and there were some concrete blocks in the classroom area waiting to be used. He told the other boy to stop bothering him and the other boy kept poking at him verbally and physically. My dad finally said, “Look, if you don’t stop I’m going to bust one of those blocks over your head.” The boy laughed and kept it up. So my dad stood up, bent over and picked up one of the blocks, then raised it above his own head and brought it crashing down on the other boy’s head. He did indeed break the block and the other boy had his head split open. My dad got in a lot of trouble, he told me, though I don’t remember if he said what kind of trouble. The bigger point of the story to him was that the other boy never bothered him again. And if he told someone he was going to do something, they tended to believe him.
That photo is my dad and I on Christmas morning 1966 or 1967.
My father was never the smartest person in a room. I don’t think he went past the 9th grade in school. He did like to read the newspaper and watch the news on TV and he had his opinions about things he read and saw. I never thought my father was stupid (except maybe during that time in my life when all teens think their parents are dumb) but sometimes I think he felt that way when my brother and I were learning all kinds of things in school that he never imagined.
When I was four and five years old he would sit with me in his lap at the breakfast table on Sunday mornings and read me the color comics in the Sunday newspaper (remember those?). I clearly remember one Sunday morning he was reading but was leaving out some words. After I pointed out his omissions a few times he finally picked me up, stood me on the floor, handed me the comics section and said, “You don’t need me to read you these any more. You can do it better yourself.” I was unhappy but my mom told me years later it wasn’t my fault, it was just that it embarrassed him that his 5-year old son could read better than he did.
That photo is my Nana, my brother, my dad and my mom sometime in 1971.
Sometime after that I remember he took some night school courses. He may have even gotten his GED, but I don’t know that for sure. What I do know is that he tried.
One thing my dad was that I have never been and that is the friendliest person in a group. I often noted how he could walk into a room full of strangers and would have talked to all of them and known something about most of them before he left. He was gregarious and engaging. I always envied him for that. With some effort I can fake it and have done so in different jobs I’ve had, but it is not in my nature or my comfort zone. My default is to always sit or stand and watch in a group, engaging only if I must. Especially if it’s a group of strangers. But for my father it seemed no one was a stranger; just a friend he hadn’t made yet.
That photo is me, my dad and mom in August of 1999, about 4 months before he passed away.
I’m almost 70 years old now, but I still wish my dad was around. I think we’d have a lot more things in common to talk about now that I’m older and I’d love to hear more stories from him.
I guess it goes without saying…but I will anyway.
I miss my dad.
I miss him too! Thanks for sharing your perspective and some very interesting stories.
I know you do 🙂 and I know you have some stories to tell as well. Love ya, Bro.