Pop
Love in
Three Phases
His name was Willie Whayne
Drake. At first he was called Dad by us
kids but as we grew older he became Pop. As a matter of fact, he became Pop to almost everyone, especially those who really knew
him. And remember, this is MY story of
Pop.
In this story I want to talk about my love for Pop and
how it changed over the years. When I
was growing up it seemed that all kids loved their dads. Dads were good guys who worked hard and
provided for their families. My Dad was
one of those good dads. He worked hard,
many times at several jobs, to keep our family supplied with what Mother thought
we should have. Not until I became an
adult did I realize what all was involved in the statement I just made about Pop
and his work.
But let’s talk about love. I always loved my Dad and he always loved
me. There were many times, especially
those teen years, that I’m sure Dad had a rough time
believing that I loved him because my actions did not show it. But
let’s not start there.
To start with, when I was 18 months old I came down with
polio and I had a good case of it too.
This was in 1947. No one
understood it nor did they really know what to do for it. I was taken from my parents in a police car
and carried to a hospital some 100 miles from my home where my parents were only
allowed to see me on weekends and then there were so many kids in that hospital
that there was not even a place for them to sit and visit with me. Some how, even at 2 years old, a bond was
being formed between me and Dad that would later prove just how strong and Godly
my father really was.
When I finally did come home, almost a year later, I had
been fitted with braces on both legs and crutches. I had to learn to walk all over again. Here Mom and Dad played a big part as they
decided I would not be treated any different than any other child who did not
have polio. I was going to be “normal”
and that was that. I was going to do
anything the other kids could do; well, almost anything. Before you knew it I was climbing trees and
playing in the woods with all the other boys in my neighborhood.
But what about love? Part of love is discipline and my Dad
believed that if you spared the rod you spoiled the child. I wonder where he got that? However, Pop
disciplined himself in disciplining me because of my condition and I soon
figured that out. I figured out how to
use it to my advantage, especially in the area of discipline. The problem here was that Pop figured me out
about the same time. His favorite
disciplining tool was his belt and I can still hear it coming out of the loops
of his khaki pants now. So my first
experience with love was as my tool to either get a reward or avoid
discipline.
As I grew older the “love angle” changed and now favored
the reward side. Now my love for Pop was
mainly for rewards like money and the use of the family cars. Pop continued to show his love for me in his
actions. When he and his work buddies
would spend the night fishing on one of the near by river lakes (explain), I was
always taken along. This too was the
time when he took me squirrel hunting and deer hunting. I killed my first deer at age 11.
The love discipline from Pop continued and I got my last
physical application of his belt and my bottom when I was 16 for talking back to
my mother. While it was a tough one, I
really played it up and made the whole family feel sorry for me and upset with
my mean ole dad.
While all my buddies were getting motor scooters, which
I could not ride, at age 13 I bought my first car, a 1951 Studebaker. It cost me $35 dollars and once it used 6
quarts of oil on a single Saturday. That
started a succession of 18 cars before I got out of high
school.
After high school came college. In those days almost everyone, it seemed,
went to college. My family doctor, Dr.
Perry Dalton, footed most of the expense for my higher education. The tuition was $100 dollars per semester and
room and board was $66 dollars a month.
There was no spending money and somehow the family came up with money for
books. For spending money I played piano
with a “Rock and Roll” band.
It was while I was at college that my love for my father
changed again. I went to college pretty
much year round and one summer, when Pop was taking me back to school, it
happened. As he pulled up in front of my
dorm and I got out, that “something” happened. As I walked towards the dorm steps, I didn’t
hear the sound of the car driving away.
I turned to look and Pop was just sitting there looking at me. That is when it happened. On his face I saw a look … a look of pride on
his face that spoke volumes while saying nothing. He was watching his once crippled kid now
going off to college. I will never
forget that look. We gazed at each other
for a moment, then he put the old Corvair in gear, slowly let out on the clutch and drove
away. I stood there a little longer
trying to soak up all I could of what became one of the most precious moments of
my life. Now I wanted to do anything and
everything I could for Pop. This time it
was not for reward and not for fear but just for love. Now, for the first time, I began to really
understand love and at that moment, anything Pop would have asked me to do, I
would have done it.
That was the year I met my Angie and in 1967 she became
my wife and started a love relationship that lasted almost 44 years. Now she and Pop are experiencing the joys of
Heaven. Angie was the last one to talk
with Pop before he died.
Two years before Pop went to be with the Lord, I had the
opportunity to finally tell him just how much he had meant to me and how much I
loved him. Pop was living in Oklahoma City and his
health was failing. While we were there,
all the girls went shopping and Pop and I were told to
stay at home and watch TV. As soon as
they left, we got in the car and ventured out into the city, just to look
around. Well, we ended up lost, sitting
at a DQ eating ice cream and sharing old times together; a love relationship
that all boys should have with their dads but so few seldom do. I sure miss you Pop
and I will see you soon. Barry