My father died on the evening of June 17th. Donald Jones was born on September 1, 1935 in the middle of the Depression in rural Dardanelle, Arkansas.
He died in Lake Kiowa, Texas from biliary cancer. Fortunately, to the end, he said that he was not in pain. The disease though did rob him of strength, he lost weight and the jaundice caused by his failing liver left him very yellow.
This though is not how I choose to remember my father. Instead, I see the man who helped teach me to walk and talk. The man who taught me how to swim and helped me learn how to ride a bicycle. I will remember the man, who along with my grand-father, taught me how to fish.
I want to remember the man who taught me how to throw, catch and hit a baseball. I will remember the man who taught me how to water ski. I would say the man that taught me how to drive a car but for that, I owe my mother. I will remember the man who attempted to teach me algebra, he failed because algebra is Satan’s special hell.
My father liked to watch the Texas Rangers baseball team on television. He could tolerate the Dallas Cowboys football team but in the last many years he had to hold his nose, like the rest of us as they stunk of the Eastern Conference.
My father taught me life lessons as well. I wasn’t always the best student but eventually, I think I got most of it. My father taught these lessons by explaining why you should or shouldn’t, the consequences or potential consequences and most of the time, he then left you on your own to figure out what to do.
I only had one really bad blow out with my father, mostly because I was 18 and stupid which when it comes to young males may be redundant. So long ago, it’s hardly worth mentioning.
I didn’t care for his politics but then, he didn’t care for mine either. We finally decided that we were best just not to discuss that subject and, we didn’t.
I choose to remember the man, the person that he was and not the disease that made him someone else that robbed him of his health and dignity.
My father had 3 children, 5 grand-children and 7 great grand-children. I loved my father and I will miss him very much.
Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
John Donne