Father's Day 2021

 

Pop making his favorite vegetable soup from veggies grown from his own garden - 1978 two years before his death. My father never had a gray hair on his head. White beard, yes but not one gray hair nor did any of his ten brothers.

My father ("Pop") died August 22, 2000. He was born April 18, 1920. 

He died of lung cancer. He was a life long smoker. On my birthday (November 9th), 1999 he had quadruple bypass heart surgery. That's when the doctor's discovered his lung cancer. They sewed him back up and sent him home.

The cancer had spread so much that they gave him six months to a year to live. He lived another eight months.

My father loved my Mother, even though he did cheat on her early in their marriage. But he knew he had a good thing with her and he corrected his bad habits. It was hard for him because he was very attractive to the ladies. They liked him and he liked them. All his life he continued to flirt to receptive women but I don't think anything ever came of it (consummated) after my Mother had a showdown with him early on in their marriage.

He had three children by my Mother. I am the oldest. My two younger brothers were born in 1943 and 1944 respectively. I was born in 1941. 

During the World War II my father failed his draft physical because he had brain damage from an accidental hatchet wound to his head when he was only ten years old. At that time his and his family of eight brothers (no sisters) lived in Hillbilly Heaven in Pigeon Roost, North Carolina. Someone was chopping wood and the hatchet handle came off and landed in my father's head. They rushed him by a horse pulled cart to nearby Johnson City, Tennessee hospital to try and save his life, which they did. Coincidentally some years later, when I was one year old I crawled out of a second floor window of the rental house we lived in and rolled down the front porch roof and landed on my head on the concrete sidewalk below. My Mother rushed my unconscious little baby body to the hospital, fearing the worst. Initially the doctor's were not hopeful but eventually I regained consciousness and here I am today to tell that tale. That was the first of my Nine Lives. Another coincidence, my good friend Pat also has a very noticeable scar on his head where he was also hit with an ax when he worked on a relative's farm in Canada when he was a teenager. And just one more coincidence, Bill (Kelly), my partner/husband of fifty-seven years has a dent in his skull where he was hit with rife butt during Army maneuvers when He was stationed in Germany in 1947. He said that's why he wore a toupee all his adult years, to hide that big dent. He doesn't wear a toupee now but the dent is very noticeable as is Pat's circular scar. So we all got a second chance at life. But I have veered off again from the main subject haven't I? I tend to do that.

Back to "Pop." My father didn't want children. He made that very clear during my lifetime. He especially didn't like me. Perhaps because I was closer to my Mother or perhaps because I was too "sissy" for him. But then he didn't like my brothers either. Although he did seem to favor the youngest ("the baby"). He showed more love to his dogs during his lifetime that he did to me and my brothers. I'll never forget that one Thanksgiving dinner, he put down is turkey laden fork, looked around the family dinner table and said "I have the dumbest bunch of kids."  Gee, thanks Pop. No surprise for us though, that was Pop. Nothing we did would please him. We all gave up a long time before that Thanksgiving dinner proclamation. 

Thus it  comes at no surprise that Father's Day was no big deal around our house. He was our father. Up until he was fifty-two years old he helped to support our family.  Initially in the marriage, (they were married in 1940), because he was rejected at his physical, he was required to be a cross country truck driver. He would be gone for weeks at a time. My Mother was left to fend for us kids (feed us). She lived in a small, no electricity, no running water, out door toilet, shack in the country.

My parents first home, a shack (no running water or electricity) in the country. Mineral Springs, PA. That's my Mother pregnant with me. 

She often told me the story that one day she was walking down the country road cradling my youngest brother (who was just a baby at that time), and hold me and my other brother's hand while she walked and walked as we were crying because we were hungry. She didn't know what to do. Of course welfare was out of the questions, "Nice people didn't do that" she said. he was too embarrassed to apply for welfare. Her Quaker family influence (grandparents on her Mother's side) no doubt. While she was walking that dirt road her father happened to drive by (he was a tomcat (married three times and like the ladies) and stopped. He saw she was distraught and gave her five dollars to buy some milk. That five dollars lasted her a while, five dollars back in 1944 was a lot of money.

Pop with his guitar in front of his early marriage hillbilly home in the Pennsylvania countryside. He LOVED his Packard!

When my father returned from his latest cross country trip delivered war vitals to their destinations, again was short on the money. My Mother found out later he was spending most of his money on other women during his travels. She gave him an ultimatum, she would take over the finances or she would leave him. My father wasn't the sharpest knife int he drawer but he did know he had a good thing with my Mother. He loved her and would never find anyone else who cared for him the way she did but she was willing to leave him. Thus he reformed his wastrel, irresponsible ways. But I've often thought, do I have any half sisters or brothers across the continental United States.  Might have, several of his brothers had children out of wedlock during their wander lust days. 

My Mother took over the full family financial when Pop "retired" at fifty-two (too "stressful" he said, his welding job).  She was the sole breadwinner in our family working at Pepperridge Farms frozen foods division for over twenty-five years. Pop just hung around with his friend Harry down the road from where we lived in our 1,100 square foot rancher (moved there in 1959, the year I graduated from high school). He occasionally did some house finishing work along with his buddy Harry (hanging doors and windows). He mainly liked to hunt, garden, smoke and eat fried, greasy foods while Mom ran the household. 

My father LOVED gardening. A trait I Inherited from him, I too love to garden. 

Early on in the marriage he used to beat me and my brothers but no more than the usual beatings that kids got in the late Forties and early Fifties from their father with a belt for misbehaving. At least he never beat us with the buckle and no serious damage was ever done.  Me and my brothers learned early on that if he hollered a lot when he was flaying his belt at us (I'll always remember him pulling his belt off in preparation for a beating) around at the three of us. Yes, we usually got beat together but I'm sure we got individual beatings too, I just don't remember that. When I would complain about the beatings, my Mother would refer us to the scars on my father's back from beatings he got as a kid from his father. And I guess she was right, it could have been a lot worse. It wasn't. And the beatings stopped as we entered our teenage years. The only incidence of his violence towards me was when I asked to borrow the family car for my Senior Prom and he refused.  I said something insulting to him (I don't remember but I was being disrespectful) and he punched me across the jaw, knocking me off balance and into the bathtub I was cleaning at the time. Yes, I was the house cleaner of our family, which I thought in my naive way would qualify me at least to borrow the family car for my prom date, which by the way I stood up for which I am to this day ashamed of. She (Vivian) took it was well as would could expect but I DIDN'T show up and she was waiting for me. What was I THINKING? Dumb kid. 

When my father punched me a good one across the jaw, it was in front of his brother. He was incensed because I disrespected him in front of his brother. I can understand that. But at the same time I made a vow to myself never to ask him for anything again and to leave home as soon as I could, which I did when I joined the Army after I graduated from high school. There was a six month delay there because I too failed my first Army physical (I was born with a hernia). I had to have an operation to remove the hernia before the Army would accept me. During my operation I developed a deadly case of staph infection which kept me in and out of the hospital for the next six months. But eventually the infection was cleared up after several surgeries and I joined the Army and broke the parental bind that I was under for the fist eighteen years of my life.

Except for one day when I returned home from Pittsburgh, where I had moved after I got out of the Army, I never lived at home again. That one day was a Friday through a Saturday. When I returned home by bus (he picked me up), I had no money and no job. I had a job in Pittsburgh but I was very lonely in Pittsburgh and was discouraged about the gay scene, which wasn't what I thought it was. I was looking for Prince Charming and all I was meeting was guys who wanted to get in my pants. I may be a lot of things but I'm no slut. Frankly, I didn't even know what the gay scene was about. This was the early Sixties after all. I wasn't a drag queen or a "queer" who hung around men's bathrooms. I knew I was different and I knew I liked men but I didn't know where to go from there. But this is just another branch of my sordid early life that I might get into in a future blog post should I live that long. Regular readers of my blog for all these years (since 2005) already know something to my Fantasy Ride Early Years Of Gayness For Ron.

Back to returning "home" from my doomed foray into Pittsburgh, that Friday night I went out with an old school chum, strictly straight and platonic. The next morning over his greasy fried eggs, bacon, scrapple and biscuits he asked "Where were you last night? I told him it was none of his business. He replied "As long as you live here it's my business." I immediately though "He's right! It is his business." That's when I decided then and there to move. As I said before I had no money so I called one of my brothers and borrowed money (I think $250) from him. Then I looked at the classified ads for a small efficiency furnished apartment. I found one ($65 a month) which I rented that day and the next day I was out of his house. I never lived there again in that small, stuccoed wall, eight foot high ceilings, one bathroom, ranch house of his again. I lived in that shabby, one bedroom furnished apartment for two and a half years (until I met Bill and moved in with him). He never visited me once. NOT.ONE.TIME.

Wherever you are Pop, happy Father's Day. I am who I am because of you, f-cked up and all, because of you. I even look like you now. And this year I will be the age (80) that you died. 

My father was twenty-one years old when I was born. My father has been dead twenty-one years. 

I saw him last time one day before he died on a Saturday night. He was in the hospital hooked up on morphine pain killers. No one else was in his room. They had left earlier in the late afternoon. The time I saw him was about eight o'clock in the evening. 

When he saw me come around the curtain (he was sharing his room with another patient, he was near the window, I could see the cars in the parking lot and the parking lot lights from his window). He asked me help him up so he could pee in his jug. Like me he can't pee lying down in a hospital bed. As I helped him back in his bed I said to his back "I love you Pop."  I don't know if I loved him but it seemed the appropriate thing to say. He said nothing to me. At least he wasn't angry at me. I think he was too preoccupied with is weakness and out of it from the morphine. 

My Mother hand feeding my father during his last days in the hospital suffering from terminal lung cancer

Monday morning as I unlocked the door to the small town bank where I worked at that time, I heard the phone ringing.  I knew what it was. I knew it. I quickly unlocked the door and rushed over to pick up the phone. It was Barbara, my sister-in-law (my youngest brother's wife).  She said "Ronnie, Pop died last night. Can you come home to be with Mom?"

I had the strangest reaction to this news. News that wasn't unexpected but still it was a shock to hear, that his man who had been so much a part of my life was no longer alive. I felt like someone gut punched me in the stomach. I didn't feel sadness, for which I was ashamed. Nor a sense of loss, just relief. I felt bad for my Mother though. All the years I knew them I never once heard him raise his voice to her or even argue with her.  He loved her. 

Yep, he loved her and she him

At his funeral, still no sense of loss. Not happy either, perhaps relieved, just different. 

My brothers and I say our final "Goodbye" to the man who produced up and was such a force in our lives. Yes, I am the smallest even though I'm the oldest. My second brother (the Middle One) is in the middle and named after my father (Isaac, Jr.) and my youngest brother John.

One thing my father did like about me, I attended as many of the funerals for his ten brothers as I could with him. That was one of the few times I saw him smile at me, when I would accompany him in my best dark suit. I remember one funeral for his brother Bruce, one of his cousins (Fred Byrd), who I had never met before in my life, came across the room and said "You must be Ike Tipton's son, you look just like him." I have to admit I was taken aback (I "look just like him?" What? I've turned into my father? I'm afraid I did.) Then I felt a tinge of pride, to be recognized by a cousin he grew up with (back in his hillbilly North Carolina mountain days) who would recognize me across a crowded room of family relatives and friends who had come to mourn another Tipton brother, who coincidentally was babysitting me when I fell off that roof and almost died. Bruce was just a teenager at that time. 

Well, that's enough of my Father's Day tribute to Isaac Walter Tipton, Sr. (we have the same middle name by the way). Hope you enjoyed reading this cathartic tome of mine. I tend to do that you know.

One of the few pictures I have of my with my father (my youngest brother John to my right). Photo taken about 1960 when I was home on leave from my three year Army stone.   Pop was holding's stomach in and I think I detect a faint smile. See it?

Memories of "Pop"

My father Isaac (third from left in front) with his brother Ed and my cousin Bud during a fishing trip at Cape May, New Jersey - 1957

My father was never close to me. I suspect he didn't want kids. 

I am the oldest of his three sons. I think at first he may have been vaguely interested in the novelty of having a child but when he found out I favored my Mother, he quickly lost interest in me. 

The best I can say about my father is that he never abused me, either physically or sexually. Thank goodness for that. I've heard horror stories from others whose fathers did abuse them, both sexually and physically. Oh sure, we got "whippings" (with a belt, but no buckle) but no serious damage was done. The "whippings" were more to get our attention and a staple of raising children in the Fifties. 

My father was indifferent and often annoyed by his three sons.  However, he did favor my youngest brother. Brother John was "the pet." A fact I greatly resented when I was growing up. Those feelings of regret faded away after I became an adult and Brother John and I became friends. 

My second youngest brother, Isaac, was the classic Middle Child. I received most of my Mother's attention (and probably was considered her "pet") and John was the Favored Child of our Father.

We all called my father "Pop."  Not "Dad", or any other common nickname for a father. 

One thing I always regretted was that Pop never took me anywhere with him. Correction, he did take me to a fishing rodeo when I was ten years old.  He took me with his favorite brother Ed (my father had ten brothers) and his son Ed ("Bud"), Jr.

Me and my cousin Ed "Bud" Tipton Sept. 1, 1951 - I won the Chester County Fishing Rode0

By a fluke I won that fishing rodeo by catching the biggest trout of the day, 13 inches. My win was featured in our local newspaper. I had my picture taken with my cousin Bud, who was and is the same age as I am. That was the last time my father ever took me anywhere with him.

He never attended any of my school events, including my graduation. I will never forget my humiliation when my family didn't attend my graduation from Army Basic Training at Fort Dix, New Jersey. I think I was the only recruit whose parents didn't attend that ceremony. I've blotted out of my memory what I did that cold, gray, bleak day in March of 1960. I could understand him not attending any of my high school events (I was in band and chorus and track) but somehow, his absence from that basic training graduation really stabbed me to my heart. I became numb to his feelings for me after that. 

Me, Army Recruit - Alone (again) - 1960

When I was in the hospital, off and on for six months before I joined the Army, near death from a staph infection, he never visited me once. I expected that but by not attending my graduation from Army Basic Training, was different. Being sick wasn't something I "accomplished" but graduating from Basic Training was a big accomplishment for me. 

The photo above is of my father and his favorite brother Ed (and my cousin Bud) during a fishing trip they took in 1957 at Cape May, New Jersey. While organizing my photos about an hour ago I came across this photo and it triggered all those bad memories of my growing up with a distant and disinterested father. A father who didn't want me. Is that why I'm gay? I've often wondered.

Father's Day

Pop with smoking his pipe which eventually caused his death (lung cancer) 1991 - master of all he surveys

Father's Day is almost over this year and I debated whether or not I wanted to even post about this day.

As regular readers of my blog know, I did not have a close relationship with my father.

I am the oldest of his three sons (Isaac, Jr, and John).  

Me (standing apart to the right as I do in most of my childhood pictures - a portend of things to come?) with Pop's Packard - 1947

"Pop", as we called him, was a charmer to the ladies but I don't believe he ever wanted children.

Oh sure, I think for a brief moment (or two) he like the novelty of having a child and a son, even though my Mother wanted a girl.

Me on Pop's shoulders 1942 - I was always envious of dads who carried their kids on their shoulders and wished I had the experience. Apparently I did but I was too young to remember this experience

He had ten brothers and no sisters.  He probably thought he was going to start his own football team just like his hillbilly parents did from North Carolina.

Pop (back row, far right, tallest) and his ten brothers - 1961

My father died in August of 2000 at eighty years of age of lung cancer.

Me with Pop a week before he died - 2000 

During his lifetime he was always seemed annoyed with me.  Maybe he was disappointed that I wasn't "manley."  I was semi-sissy growing up (played with paper dolls but I wasn't swishy and effeminate). 

Maybe he felt me and my brothers hindered him and his carefree ways.  

Until my Mother reined him in, he cheated on her constantly during their early years of marriage. 

I didn't know this until after he died and my Mother "spilled the beans."  I guess she just wanted to set the record straight.

She told me one time she was crossing the street in Coatesville, holding onto the hands of me and my younger brother Isaac.  As she was crossing the street she noticed my father in driver's seat in the car stopped at the red light.  He had a woman (his current girlfriend) in the passenger seat.  

My Mother said she opened the back door of the car and started to get in with me and my brother.  My father told her "Get out!"  She told him "No I'm not getting out.  You have three small children (my other brother was still a baby and at home) that you have to take care of.  You're going to drop your girlfriend off and come home and be a father to your children or I'll leave you."

Now the funny thing about my father was that he totally loved my Mother.  But he was also a charmer and loved the ladies.  He was a cross country truck driver (during the war) and would be gone for weeks, leaving my Mother to fend for herself in feeding "her boys" (the way she always referred to me and my brothers).  Also, the funny thing is that my Mother totally loved my father. But Pop had a wandering eye and the ladies did love that big man.  In fact, I have a letter my Mother saved from a woman who sent it to my Mother.  She wrote to my Mother that she would never be able to hold onto her husband because he was a "big man" (which he was by the way, in more ways than one). My Mother wanted me to destroy that letter after I read it but I didn't.  I still have it.

Ike Tipton - The Charmer - 1941

One thing about Pop, he didn't want to lose my Mother.  In all the years they were married before he died (sixty-one) I never once heard them argue.  In fact I never heard them raise their voice once to each other.  And he certainly did not beat my Mother (I couldn't even imagine that) but he did occasionally take the belt to us kids when we got out of hand (nothing serious though). 

Prior to discovering him with a girlfriend in his car, my Mother didn't realize he was spending the family money on his girlfriends. After that episode my Mother took over the finances of the family.

She ran the household from that date on.  She told me Pop still flirted with the ladies (he did until the day he died) but she didn't think he ever had intimate relations with them after that encounter.

Mom and Pop - Christmas 1980 in the kitchen - he knew he had a good thing with Mom

Mom kept the family together and that's why to this day I honor her on Mother's Day but I feel nothing for Father's Day.

My father wasn't a bad person but he wasn't what I consider a father to me either.  He constantly put me down.  Made fun of my appearance (called me "beak" because of my prominent nose).  Called me "stupid". He never had anything good to say to me.  In fact, and I am ashamed to admit this, I was afraid of him.  Of course I always sought his approval but never received it. I never got one compliment from him during my lifetime.  Not one word of encouragement.  

When I left home at 18 years of age to join the Army I was a mess.  I had zero self confidence (still have a degree) and was scared of my own shadow.  But I knew I had to leave home.

The three years I spent in the Army were the most beneficial of my life because I gained confidence in myself.  I wasn't this horrible, awful loser that my father brainwashed me into thinking about myself.

Many years after I left the Army and had a successful banking job in Philadelphia, I was having a casual conversation with my Mother.  She told me something that shocked me, even to this day.  She said "Pop didn't think you could ever make it."  I said "Make what?"  She said "Get through the Army."  I said "Why wouldn't I make it?"  She said "He just didn't think you had it in you."  

I was so shocked when I heard this, of just how low his opinion of me was.  I was hurt and shocked.  Sure, I had a difficult time in basic training but I was determined to "make it."  There were several times when I almost didn't make it but I was so determined that I remember thinking at the time "I'll have to die before I drop out of this forced march." 

Another time I almost blew myself up with a hand grenade (I didn't know how the pin worked).  Again, the thought of quitting was never an option for me, I was determined to "make it", and the only thing that would stop me would be death.  

I've often thought over the years "Where did I get this determination?"  Then I figured it out, that was my Mother's genes taking over.  She never gave up on life even though she had a very rough beginning.  She never gave up on my Father even though he cheated on her and spent all the family money on floozies.  She never gave up on keeping the family together and she never gave up on him.

And she never gave up on me which is why I am the person I am today.  

My father was childlike in many ways.  You might say my Mother raised FOUR boys.

Pop with a Christmas teddy bear that I bought for my Mother - he softened up somewhat in his twilight years - in this picture he is about the age (73) that I am now

Happy Father's Day Pop, wherever you are.

"Pop" Revisted (Again)

Chad and Pop exchanging kissies

Back in my Previous Life, when I was working full-time, commuting two hours a day to my job in Philadelphia, I thought "When I retire I'm going to get all my photos in order."  HA!

I've been "retired" (if you can count working two days a week at the hotel and filling in when needed as "retired") and I'm no further along in putting my photos in order than I was ten years ago.  And the years keep flying by.

In fact, I keep adding to my photo library by taking seemingly endless digital photos with my iPhone and Canon SLR camera.  Ron, what were you thinking?  You know what folks?  I'm just never going to get caught up.  Ain't going to happen.

So here's what I propose to do folks.  When I come across photos like the one above, I'll post them to at least get some on the record before I pass.  

The photo above is of my father (called "Pop") and his dog Chad.  Chad was a rescue dog who LOVED Pop as Pop loved him.  In fact Pop loved that damn dog more than he loved his own sons but that's another whole story which we don't need to get into on this beautiful September morning.  

My father, the man who I resemble both physically and in mannerisms - I was never quite able to figure him out

My father had three sons, of which I am the oldest.  I have two younger brothers. I think he liked us even though he often said "I got the dumbest bunch of kids in the world."  That was our "Pop".

We tried, we really did.

Pop

"Ike" Tipton, 1940

"Pop".  That's what we called him, "Pop."  My two younger brothers and even my mom called him "Pop."  We never called him Father, dad and, God forbid "Daddy."  No, he was always "Pop." A force larger than life....to us.

My father was born near Pigeon Roost, North Carolina in April of 1920.  Pigeon Roost is a "holler" up in those mountains of western North Carolina that border the Tennessee border.  Yes, it was and is hillbilly county.  

Pigeon Roost Road, Green Mountain, North Carolina - 2012

My father was the fifth son of nine sons born to Fieldon and Hester Lewis Tipton.  When he was nine or ten years old (don't know the exact date) his family moved from their cabin in the mountains to southeastern Pennsylvania to a tenant house on his uncle Don Byrd's farm.  My grandfather had nine boys thus cheap labor.  This was during the Depression and times were hard for the sawmill business in the mountains, which was my grandfather's occupation.  Two more sons were born in Pennsylvania.  My father had no sisters.  

My father tall in the back on the left with the hat) with nine of his brothers (one was taking the picture) and his Mother after the funeral of his father - 1939

My father met my Mother when he was driving his friend Charlie Hancks to a date Charlie had with my Mother.  My Mother's girlfriend Edie Lemon had a date with my father. However, when my father drove up in his rumble seat car and my Mother took one look at this tall, lanky, charming hillbilly, she told her girlfriend "You sit in the back, I'm sitting up front with him!" She was 15 years old and he was 18 years old.

Mom with the car (with a rumble seat) that she met my father - 1940 - my father carried this picture in his wallet until the day he died August 2000

Love at first sight?  Absolutely.  Shortly before she died my Mother told me "Your father was the only man I was ever with.  He was the only man I wanted to be with."

My father, Isaac "Ike" Tipton at his charming best - the man my Mother fell for - 1940

They began dating.  My Mother had a difficult home life.  Her mother had died before she was two years old and my Mother grew up with a succession of step-mothers.  Her father often beat her for silly things like not coming home from the store on time when it was raining.  Or for not peeling the potatoes right.  My father told her "I'm going to get you out of this mess" and he did.  They eloped and got married in November of 1940.  My Mother was still going to high school.  She returned to her classes that Monday.  However, her father soon found out that she got married and she left home with my father.

My grandfather, George Lincoln Hadfield, Sr. at the family home in Downingtown, PA -1940

They had nothing.  My father was a truck driver.  He rented a house in the country that didn't have running water or an inside bathroom. Soon my Mother was pregnant with her first child....me.  

Mom and Pop's first home - that's my Mom pregnant with me - 1941

Mom and Pop and.....ne - 1941

Life was not easy but my Mother said she was happy.  She was out of "that mess" and with the man she loved.  

She became pregnant with two more children, both boys born in 1943 and 1944.  This was during the war years.  My father was exempt from serving in the armed forces because of a head injury. Instead he was part of the war effort in cross country truck driving.  He was gone for long periods of time which my Mother was left to fend for herself to feed three young boys who always seemed hungry.  

"Pop" and his three sons - 1947 - that's me to the right with my hand on his back

My father wasn't an easy man with his sons.  I sometimes think he didn't want us but I won't go into those reasons now.  My brothers and I joke about it now but one incident illustrates his attitude towards us most of the time.  We were all sitting around the dinner table eating corn on the cob (that he grew in his own garden, he loved to garden).  He put his ear of corn down and looked around the table at his sons and with a look of disgust said "I must have the dumbest bunch of kids in the world." I don't remember what prompted that remark but it doesn't matter because it seemed nothing we did could ever please him.  However, he did love my Mother and never once did I ever hear him raise his voice to her.  Never.  

Pop with his three sons - 1980 - that's me to the right dominating the conversation (of course) 

However, he did raise his voice to his sons, often.  We learned to stay out of his way.  He never abused us.  Oh, there were the occasional "whippings" with his belt but they were mostly harmless, more noise than anything else.  

Tipton Family Christmas photo 1971 - this was after I came out to everyone.  I think Pop still didn't know quite what to make of his oldest son

We were lucky, my father wasn't an alcoholic.  He was just hard to please.  However, he did treat his youngest son as his "pet." And of course my brother John is the most well adjusted of all of this three sons.  Isaac, Jr. (the middle son) and me are continuing to adjust to our "I got the dumbest kids on earth" upbringing to this day.  I don't think I'll ever completely rid myself of my inferiority complex nor will my brother Isaac.  That, unfortunately was one of my father's legacy to us.

My parent's 50th wedding anniversary photo - we took them to dinner at the Black Angus in Eagle, PA - My Mother thought it was too expensive and never stopped talking about "All that money wasted."  That was Mom. - 1980 (this picture was taken before the dinner - that's why she's still smiling)

My father smoked his whole life.  He was told to stop smoking many times.  Being the bullhead he was he ignored the doctor's advice.  On my birthday November 9th, 1979 he had quadruple heart bypass surgery.  

Pop with Mom after his heart bypass surgery 1979

After his surgery he was never right.  He complained about the pain in his chest.  He would get so tired and out of breath that he had to stop halfway up to his garden (which he loved) to get his breath.  Six months later we found out that source of his pain was inoperable lung cancer.

Pop in his garden - his favorite place on this earth

My father died August 22, 2000 from lung cancer. He suffered a lot during the last two weeks before he died.  He had to have oxygen fed to him.  He also was on morphine to help control the pain.  

The Saturday night before he died I visited him in at Brandywine Hospital in Coatesville, PA.  A lot of people had visited him but that night we were alone.  I just sat with him while he struggled to breath.  He opened his eyes and looked at me.  We never did say much to each other but I think he understood why I was there.  He was my father.  He is who I am.  Many people say I resemble him not only in physical appearance but in mannerisms.  I've seen myself on video and I have to agree, much to my chagrin.  

My Father motioned to me to help him get out of his bed.  He said "Help me."  He wanted to take a pee and didn't want to go in the bedpan.  Yep, we're alike.  I wouldn't go in a bed pan either.  

Me with Pop a few days before he died - 1980

I helped him up out of his bed.  He put his bare feet on the cold hospital floor and leaned on his bed while I braced the bed so it wouldn't roll in its wheels.  He reached for the portable urinal and turned his back to me and peed in the urinal.  

He put the urinal back and looked to me to help him back in bed.  As I was helping him back in his hospital bed I said to his ear (he head was turned away from me) "I love you Pop." He paused for about two seconds, like he was thinking of something to say....but he didn't say anything.  I finished helping him back in his bed.  I think he understood.  He did understand.  His first born just buried our life long acrimony by telling him that he loved him.  

I sat with him for another half hour until he feel asleep. Then I left him in that hospital on that dark, hot, humid, August Saturday night.  That was the last time I saw him alive.

The following Monday, as I was opening the door to the bank office where I worked in Downingtown, I heard the phone ringing.  I knew why it was ringing.  I just knew.  I unlocked the door and rushed to the phone.  My sister-in-law Barbara (John's wife) was on the other end of the line.  She said "Ronnie, Pop died last night."  Even though I knew why she was calling, I felt like I just took a tremendous punch in the stomach.  I couldn't breath.  This man, this force in my life was.....gone.  

Barbara then told me "Ronnie, no one told Mom.  Could you tell her?" Thus, I as the eldest son, had the responsibility of telling my Mother that the man she had been married to for sixty years was gone.  

I left the bank and somehow drove home.  I felt like I was out of body.  I still had trouble breathing.  When I got to my parent's home my other brother Isaac, Jr. was there with our Mom.  They knew why I was there.  They knew.  

Pop at his home with his dog Pepper, June 28, 1976

Thirteen years later as I type this scene, I still get choked up.  I've played this scene so many times in my life since my father died thirteen years ago.  

As I've said before, I was never close to my father.  Neither were my brothers, although John may have been a little closer to him that Isaac and me.  But the one thing we always knew, he loved our Mother.  Theirs was a love story that ended that day in August. One of my father's favorite songs was by George Jones.  It was called "He Stopped Loving Her Today."  I made sure that song was played at his funeral.  

Pop, July 1967 showing off his crop of tomatoes

Father's Day 2012

Young Ike Tipton (not a mug shot but an employee ID for Lukenweld Steel)

My father would have been 92 years old this year.  He died August 22, 2000.  He was 80 years old when he died.  He died of lung cancer.  He smoked all his life.  He was told to stop smoking but he never did.  Stubborn to the end, that was my father.

I normally don't post anything on Father's Day just as I never did much to celebrate Father's Day when my father was alive.  We weren't that close.  I was the oldest of this three sons.  I fit the gay stereotype in that I had a distant relationship with my father and a close relationship with my mother.

Since I was 22 years old I have been in a 48 year relationship with an older man (13 years my senior) who in many ways was like my father.  In fact, when my father was alive my partner/spouse/whatever and he were very close.  They were buddies, on the same wave length.  Ironic, no?

I decided today to post a photo montage as a tribute to the man who brought me into this world (as he often reminded me which he finished with "and I can take you out."  Oh yes, he did say that on more than one occasion when we had a disagreement).

Before you view the photos here is a little of his background.  He was born near Pigeon Roost, North Carolina.  He was the fifth son of a total of 12 sons (no daughters) of my paternal grandparents Fieldon Jacob Tipton and Hester Lewis.  My grandparents and father (and uncles) were Appalachian Folk or what is more commonly known as "hillbillies."  My grandfather Fieldon moved his family from the mountains of western North Carolina in 1930 to southeastern Pennsylvania to work as field workers at his brother-in-law Don Byrd's farm in New Garden, Pennsylvania.  Many of the mountain families moved to southeastern Pennsylvania during the Depression to find a better life for their families.  My father met my Mother when he was 19 years old on a double date (he was the other date).  About a year later they eloped to Elkton Maryland (my Mother was still in school and only 16 years old) and got married November 2, 1940. I was born almost one year later on November 9, 1941.

The following is a photo history of my father, Isaac "Ike" Tipton:

My dad liked to play guitar and sing hillbilly music - another Hank Williams - 1938

Ike Tipton still strumming away on his guitar at his first home after he married my Mother

Isaac Walter Tipton, Sr. - tall, blonde, handsome, charming - Ladykiller

Mom, Pop and me (a few months before I was born) - 1941

Pop, Me (the chubby baby) and Mom in Mineral Springs, PA - 1942 - I have arrived

Me with Pop (far right with my hand on his shoulder) and my two brothers John and Isaac, Jr.

Pop (tall man on right in back) with 9 of his 10 brothers) - 1961

Pop with the love of his life - my Mom - 1960

Pop with my two brothers John and Isaac - 1960

Pop and Mom - with his ever present cigarette 

John, me and Pop - 1962

Pop with his dog Pepper, Mom and me  - 1972

Pop making his famous vegetable soup recipe with veggies from his own garden - 1978

The last time I saw Pop  a few weeks before he died August 2000