A Fathers Day Tribute to My Dad

Three Matlockville Moments in Time on Fathers’ Day

When I think of my Dad, I think of his words spoken and unspoken, his style, his presence, his principals, his intellect, his strength and his capacity!

Three significantly emotional events stand out most in my mind:

How I saw him

How I heard him

How I understood what he meant by his words especially, his last spoken word to me.

I'm sure many of you who shared the journey with your Dad fifty or more years ago reflect on that generation of Fathers and how they were not known for many words but were known for words that were meaningful and impactful. My Dad was no different. But I now find myself from time to time reflecting on the few, yet meaningful words he did speak, saying, “now I get it!”

It has taken me all of my 68 years to arrive at a point in which I’m able to clearly understand and articulate the impact his words and actions had on my life. This writing is largely about how I saw him, and helping my family see some aspect of him in me and all of us.

How I Saw Him: Rock Star Image

During my childhood in the 60's in Jackson, MS, whenever we heard a police siren in our neighborhood, we knew it wasn't good, but this day, it was. Normally, those sirens implied a vehicle accident, a walking pedestrian being struck by a moving vehicle, a distant nightclub fight or some instance of a person being in trouble with the law. We were normally somewhat panicked as someone would always holler out, “Here come the police!” Fear was a common reaction because of numerous bad experiences people had with the police.

On this particular day, the sounds of the approaching sirens produced the most positive, proudest and life-lasting images of my Dad that are still with me today.

It was a summer day and as the sirens went off, children playing in the neighborhood gathered together to see what happened, as we would always do. On this day I heard more sirens than I had ever heard at one time and a crowd formed on both sides of the main route of travel of the street that we lived on.

There were multiple sirens and blue blinking lights that took on the appearance of a dignitary motorcade. First, two policemen led on motorcycles, followed by a police car following them, and next in line was the suspense surrounding who was deserving of this more-than-usual activity. From a distance, I saw my Dad emerge, followed by an equipment truck with blinking yellow lights, from which workers placed big bright orange cones down on the street for safety.

At that moment, 7-year-old me navigated though the taller people in the crowd to get a front row view where I followed his every move a few houses down the street. The last vehicle was one final police car that protected my Dad’s work crew by slowing down the traffic. My Dad’s job at the time was specialized and specific in nature: he painted the stripes and traffic symbols on the streets of Jackson, MS.

He spent his workdays all over the city of Jackson, but on this day, his work found him on our street, Whitfield Mills Road, passing right by our front yard. He stood on this machine that looked like a huge standing lawnmower that dispensed paint each time he squeezed a control lever. With the multiple sirens and flashing lights, this little boy not only saw his Dad with a baseball cap and dark sunglasses but the bigger image was one of a Rock Star as the sirens continued sounding and lights continued flashing.

His control of the paint dispenser of the yellow reflective paint had to be executed with the utmost precision and zero margin of error. He operated the machine with steady confidence and a smooth, controlled, and rhythmic tempo. His view was totally in front of him, his head upright, no wavering. I still smile when I reflect on this image of him and the neighbors saying “Michael, that’s your Dad!” with pride and excitement.

While we moved from that street to a new one soon after, I still see that image of him and how the normal fearful sirens and flashing lights turned into music for center stage entry of the Rock Star that most knew and saw as my Dad! When he returned home at days end he retreated without fanfare to his backyard vegetable garden, not as a Rock Star but as the Rock of his Family.

How I Heard Him: He's a Matlock!

Three of the most impactful words from my Dad were actually centered around a question I asked him. The question centered about a matter that I was emotionally connected to regarding my Nephew who was trying out for the football team as a non-scholarship walk on at my alma mater, The Ohio State University.

During the early 80’s, Bill had been a standout high school football player in Columbus, Ohio and just as I was, a committed, lifelong Buckeye Football Fan. During my time as a graduate student in the mid 70’s, I would take him to Buckeye football practices where we could stand right on the sidelines. His joy of being there was my joy.

His life dream was to play College Football for the Buckeyes. He was not offered a scholarship, mainly due to his size as of 5'9" fullback. He turned down other scholarships to follow his dream of playing for the Buckeyes. He never wavered from that dream, even understanding the slim odds of making it to big time college football in the Big Ten. I simply hoped like heck it would happen.

As my first nephew, I pulled for him to make the cut more than I had ever pulled for any Buckeye or person to make a team. During his tryouts I asked my Dad if he thought his Grandson had a chance to make the team, he paused before he spoke with his strong, commanding and powerful voice, and said, "He's a Matlock”! At that time, I didn't know the far reaching magnitude of what he meant, but what I did know is, he proved to be right.

Bill not only made the team but he became a two-year starter as an undersized fullback, playing for four years in every game except one for The Ohio State University Buckeyes. Without any reservations my Dad placed the entirety of our family name and his credibility on the line. It wasn’t a bet, doubt, or hope to him. He felt that the name Matlock would prevail. What a great, confident call my Dad made and what a great, confident result Bill achieved. We Won!!

After all these years, my understanding of what my Dad meant with those three words “He’s a Matlock,” continue to evolve and grow. One of my takeaways from my Dad’s confident and correct response is:

When you step out there and put yourself in a position in which you want something, you need to clearly understand that there is a difference between what you want and what you get... and that difference is you and your ability to believe!

My nephew Bill obviously reaffirmed this understanding by the results he achieved.

What resonated with me long-term about this exchange is my Dad also saying to me "You're A Matlock," and what you stand for will get you what you get! He wasn't big on elaborating, he expected you to see between the lines. He also didn't give a list of adjectives that defined what he meant by his statement, but it was definitely associated with his confidence because “Being a Matlock,” in his eyes was more than enough to win out and achieve the desired results. I also could see between the lines of what my Dad was known for and that solidified the meaning that I, too had a role in defining what the family name was known for.

I choose to embrace the good things my Dad was known for and dismiss the not-so-good as he did, with his frequent statement, “Don't do as I do, do as I say do!" For that reason, when it was time for me to decide if I would go down my Dad’s beer and whiskey route, I took a detour. Lol.

While I had few words regarding what my Dad meant by his self-proclaimed “You're A Matlock” statement, I did have an up close and personal front row seat of what he was known for and how it impacted his belief in the capacity of our family name. Its meaning can be measured in the source: himself.

With him, after all was said and done, more was done than said.

When I think of him and what he was known for, I remember him being fearlessly independent. He was known for his discipline of his eight children. He could instantly achieve silence by clearing his voice or rattling his newspaper. He gave mass whippings. When one of us was in trouble, all were in trouble. His method worked; few whippings occurred! His strong presence was always there even when he wasn't home. A simple threat by our Mom to tell our Dad on us could turn bad behavior into good behavior, but she never brought herself to report us. Without an automobile during different times in our life, he carried two big bags of groceries home almost daily to feed his family. He planted and tended his garden, maintained an immaculate yard and never asked his kids to help him.

My Dad was resourceful enough to repair anything that was broken or needed assembling, had huge intellectual capacity, was very smart, had great ingenuity in figuring things out, and spoke flawless English— even with a 9th grade Education. He was the image of a pillar of strength, and no task was impossible for him.

He was an excellent athlete who played softball until he was 50 and could do more push-ups than any of my high school friends when we worked out in our backyard. He was Public Address Announcer for the Jackson Tiger Negro Semi-Pro Baseball Team, excellent cook, and leader and go-to person among his friends. I'm told by my 91-year old uncle that whenever their community home improvement group would take on a project at each other's home, my Dad's role was to figure out the strategy and think through the work.

We seldom saw my Dad’s sense of humor and when we did it, was the dry and non-playful type. But a memory of his comedic style stands out, occurring during my teaching tenure at Jackson State University. I was fresh out of Grad School and my first professional job was as a 22-year-old Instructor in the School of Education.

All new faculty were invited to the home of the then-President of the University. His name was Dr. John A. Peoples. I had returned to Jackson with a Masters Degree from Ohio State and was single and living at home with my parents and my youngest sister at the time. I invited my Dad to go to the new faculty reception. He put on a sport coat, which was no surprise as he was a sharp dresser with the few clothes he had, and with that, we attended together.

When we arrived, I was introduced to President Dr. Peoples by my Dean of Education, Dr. Beatrice Mosley. She also introduced my Dad to Dr. Peoples and my Dad gave him a stern handshake and said “Nice to meet you, Dr. Folks.” I said, “Dad, his name is Dr. Peoples,” In his straight face, and dry-humor way he said, “Folks and peoples, same difference.” Dr. Peoples was a good sport and after a quick conversation, I realized he knew my Dad from childhood and they shared the biggest and loudest laughter of the evening. On the way home, my Dad said “It was too stuffy in there, I had to lighten it up”. Every ounce of his personality added up to him being a Matlock.

My takeaway from my Dad saying "You're A Matlock” is less about how you see yourself but more about the institutional belief in self, relative to the potential of your family name, what its known for and its capacity to achieve the desired results in selected areas of your life. Failure was never an option but it does serve as a motivator to avoid the disappointment of not achieving your desired results.

As good as you are, you can never see yourself as well as others can. I have taken that premise as I choose to see the goodness of what I saw in my Dad. In my lifetime, I’ve governed myself by the good I saw in him in an effort to add to all that I saw, heard and understood as it gives meaning to what “being a Matlock” stands for. It's rooted in what he was known for, what he believed about himself, how he saw his children and their family as well as the unwavering confidence that he expected us to achieve. The humility found in the family careers, degrees, achievements, and all of the aforementioned words spell "You're A Matlock"!

How I Understood What His Last Word Spoken to Me Meant:

My Dad retired at age 55 and really enjoyed more time at our family home with our Mom on our quiet residential street without traffic lights. After raising eight children, he and my Mom had entered the retirement chapter of their life as empty nesters.

My Dad was diagnosed with cancer during the second year of his retirement at age 56. He was a lifelong smoker. This strong image of a Man, called his family together to share the news of his diagnosis. We all arrived at our family home from our individual homes to hear it. As strong as he was, he could not bring himself to tell us that he was diagnosed with cancer and that it was fatal. He never said the words or implied his condition. My Mother who could skillfully warn us of a threat by invoking my Dad's name when we were trending toward trouble, this time gave us a heads up before we arrived that it was our Dad who was now trending toward trouble with his health.

We knew about his diagnosis, but we respected his decision to not experience that moment of seeing the faces of his children's response. He was his usual strong presence that day, and had my Mother not given us a heads up, we would never had known. He reluctantly decided to receive Chemo and totally despised how it made him feel. He made the decision without any reservation to not take Cobalt therapy. It would have only delayed the inevitable.

Several weeks later, the pain was so severe that my oldest sister and I checked him into the hospital. During check-in, he basically passed me his watch which I still wear today and his wallet, which I have never opened. I didn't realize the significance of that moment then, but now I do. It was a vintage Matlock-to-Matlock hand off.

Between my teaching duties and classes, I would go to the hospital which was fifteen minutes away to sit with him. We talked about many things during my visits, but his condition was not one of them. Over the ensuing days, he eventually faded off into a coma and the visits continued by My Mom and our entire family.

On this given day, I was there alone with him grading papers and he had not spoken for days. Out of silence, from his voice he said loudly and with his usual strength, “Mike!!!” I immediately got up and went over to his bed to hear what he wanted to say but he drifted back off without ever saying another word and I never saw him conscious again. As I was going back to my seat in his silence, I heard the words "take care of everybody".

My Fathers’ last spoken word to me of calling my name as well as his final silence allow me to make every effort to give my family and all who have become a part of it a rock-like image that adds to the quality of their life. The image I've held on to all these years is not my Dad in a coma on his deathbed, but the image of the Rock Star with his police motorcade.

A Matlockville Takeaway:

On this Father’s Day, and with my first post from Matlockville, my Father's words still travel with me on this journey we call life, as I share his confidence that who I am and what I'm known for can achieve the desired results. He not only gave meaning to our family name but the much larger gift was he gave an institutional belief system in yourself and what you can achieve. All families should be so fortunate to feel this way.

Take some time to examine your family name and dig deep in an effort to determine what your family is known for as others see you. Look at each of your family members and do an exercise by asking what each person is known for.

Compile a list and allow everyone to feed off of each other. I'm sure if you focus more on the good and less on the not-so-good, you'll realize that the difference between what you want and what you get is you!

Times change, people grow and things happen, but embracing the goodness of what your family name is known for is powerful. It’s your brand… continue building it on a solid rock.