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 

Thoughts About My Pop

As the oldest child and son of Isaac Walter Tipton, Sr., I find that I am turning into my father.  Not only do I now strongly resemble him in physical appearance, I have many of his same mannerisms.

The photos displayed on this post are of my father at age 70.  I am 70 years old now.  My father died in 2000, at the age of 80.  He did not have one gray hair on his head.  His beard was white, as is mine but no gray hairs.  All of his ten brothers didn't have gray or white hair either.

I have some gray hair on the sides of my head and a few gray hairs on the top of my head.  Those gray hairs come from my Mother's side of the family.  My grandfather George Hadfield had steel gray hair.  I'll never have a head of solid white hair which is just fine by me.

I was never close to my father.  More his choice than mine.  My good friend said my he was always afraid of my father.  I told him I was always afraid of him too.

I've written about my relationship with my father before in previous blog postings so I won't repeat myself now.  However, the one thing I will never forget about my father is that whatever I did, it wasn't good enough for my father.  He mocked me the whole time I was growing up.  By the time I left home at 18 years of age to join the Army, I thought I was the biggest loser in the world.  I matured a lot during my three years in the Army.  I found out that I wasn't the Worst Son In The World.

A few years after my father died my Mother told me that Pop was surprised that I completed a three year tour of duty in the Army. I couldn't  believe what I heard.  She said "Pop didn't think you would make it through basic training."  I was totally confused.  I told her "I had problems in basic training but I was always going to complete basic training.  I never considered the option of quitting.  Never."  

I wasn't angry when I she told me this news.  I felt sad.  Sad that my father thought so little of me that he didn't even consider the possibility that I would succeed.

Me (center) with my brother John (on left) and my father - 1962

After my father died, my Mother gave me a picture he had in his wallet.  The picture is below.  I did not know he had this photo of me which was taken on the firing range at Ft. George G. Meade, Maryland in 1962.  This must have been the original photo because I had no other copy.  I had forgotten about it.

I'm on the right

Who knows, maybe he was proud of me after all.  It's a shame he never told me.

Do I Look Like My Father?

This is a photo of my father at 18 years old when he worked for Lukens Steel Company in 1941 when he was 21 years old

I guess this is the fate of all first born sons, the older they get the more they look like their father.

Tell me what you think.  Here are a series of photographs of me and my father, Isaac Walter Tipton, Sr.

This is a drivers license photo of me when I was about 22 years old taken in 1963

Both my father and I were 6'4" tall (I'm now 6'3" - I'm shrinking!)  We both have the same blank stare.  My father usually had his mouth hanging open.  I do to, this picture was the exception.  

The one significant difference between me and my father was that he was blonde and I have dark brown hair (from my Mother).  We both had blue eyes and a slim build with big feet (look it up.) 

My father was a very handsome man.  He had ten brothers (no sisters) and he was perhaps most handsome of his brothers with the possible exception of his brother John who the brothers nicknamed "Movie Star."  My father, or "Pop" as we knew him NEVER had a problem attracting women.  In fact, he was a woman magnet. I found out shortly before my Mother died (when she divulged all to me) that he did carry on quite a bit.  Thank God she forgave him and kept our family together.  They were married 60 years before he died in August of 2000.

Me, 1968.  Unlike my father (who was VERY straight) I am gay.  Like my father I NEVER had a problem attracting men (no false modesty here, it is MY BLOG after all :))  And yes, I have done my share of catting around (Bill and I have always had an open relationship)

My handsome father and beautiful Mother (who was beautiful even without makeup) - 1958.

Later in life my father grew a beard as I did also.

This picture was taken at Hibernia Lake near Coatesville, PA in 1974.  My father was 54 years old.  He wasn't skinny anymore but he wasn't fat either.  I inherited his good genes, neither of us ever grew fat.  However, since I was gay I elected to stay a little thinner than my father.  In the gay world thin is in.

This is me at our former property in Pennsylvania in 1976.  I was about 35 years old in this picture.

Here I am now (this past summer actually) at 69 years old.  Less hair, gray beard, but still with the old pizzazz!  

 I decided to post this vanity blog to offset (balance) the negativity of my previous blog posting. I don't like to post blogs like that but sometimes I just have to get the anger and frustration out of my system.  

Back to good things on this blog.  Things that I WANT TO TALK ABOUT, not what someone else thinks I should talk about.  

I am proud of my father.  I am proud of my mother and brothers.  I am proud of myself and where I am at in my life.  I have a wonderful partner of 47 years and I don't believe that I have to apologize to anybody for being blessed in my life, no matter how much they try to bring me down.  

A fellow blogger sent me a quote that Marilyn Monroe said that I never heard before that is so appropriate at this time.  

"If you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”

"Pop" at his best, self confident, happy and looking good!

"Pop" with his successor, ME!  1942

Ike

My father, Ike Tipton, Sr.  - 1954

My father's name was Isaac Walter Tipton, Sr.  He was known as "Ike."

I've posted about him before, and not always in the most flattering light.  But he was my father and he is the one who "brought me into this world" as he often said to me but he usually ended that comment with "...and I can take you out."  Nice huh?

Recently I came across a photograph of him while rooting through my Mother's paper.  My Mother died last September and I am just now going through her things.  There are several photo albums of photos that my father took.  He wasn't much of a photographer; most of his photos are of indistinguishable landscapes or of his dogs or of my Mom.  I don't think he ever took a picture of me, his oldest son or of my two younger brothers.  We were just not of interest to him.  However he did favor my youngest brother more than me or Isaac, Jr., the middle brother.

Me (standing on the far right) with my two younger brothers John and Isaac - 1947

You might ask how did the middle brother get to me "Isaac, Jr" and not me?  When I was born my Mother told my father "I'm not going to name any of our children after that ugly name Isaac."   Thus I was named "Ronald" after one of my Mother's favorite movie actors of the day...Ronald Coleman.  I doubt if any readers of this blog know who Ronald Coleman was but he was a handsome, suave, British actor.  As it turned out, I was appropriately named.  I am (was) dark like Mr. Coleman and with prominent nose, high cheekbones and sensual mouth (oh la la).  Mom named me right.

Ronald Coleman, film star of the 20's and 30's

My "suave" years at Girard Bank (an ID photo with an air bubble under my nose)

I was born in November of 1941.  Then in April of 1943 my second brother was born.  My father was born in April of 1920.  My father was blonde.  My brother was born blonde, platinum blonde as a matter of fact.  No pictures of my father exist when he was the same age but I assume he was born also a platinum blonde which turned to a more muted shade of blonde he grew older as did my brother.

Me and Isaac 1947 on the old family Packard

When my brother was born in the same month as my father and the same hair color it was obvious that he would be named after my father.  Thus my brother was named Ike, Jr.

My brother Ike, Jr. 1943

Getting back to my Mother's photos; I discovered one of my father which shows him with the personality as I knew him.  My father was a big man (6'5") and very well built.  He was a charmer and all the women (and most men) liked him.  He knew he was a charmer and a few years before my Mother died she spilled the beans about how he used to run around on her when me and my brothers were just little boys.  But that's a subject for another blog posting (or several blog postings) that I won't get into here.

What this picture shows is my dad smiling, something me and my brothers rarely (if ever) saw directed at us.  I think I spent my whole life until he died in 2000 trying to please him just to get a smile like this from him directed at me.  I never got it, not once.

Pop and Ike, Jr.  - this was my father's usual manner around us - stern

Now I know what some of you might be thinking..."maybe that's why Ron is gay."   Yes folks, I do fit the stereotypical profile of a gay man.  I had a father who was distant and I was very close to my mother.  I used to play with doll houses and paper dolls when I was growing up.  I throw a ball like a girl and I can't whistle.  About the only gay gene that I didn't get was the Love of Broadway Show Tunes gene (thank goodness).

I was a bit effeminate growing up but I soon discarded any of those mannerisms when I became aware that such actions would blow my straight cover (no pun intended).  I butched it up.

Coincidentally or perhaps not so coincidentally I "married" a man much like my father.  A very masculine, charmer who can build things and change a tire on a car (something which I haven't done to this day - I don't want to break any fingernails).

Yes, looking at the photo of my father smiling brings back pleasant memories of this very complicated man.  And as Miss Martha says "That's a good thing."

My father and mother 1979 - the body language says it all 

Pop

The Beginning - 1942 - the First Born with Pop and Mom

As regular readers of this blog may or may not know, I never had a good relationship with my father.  That may sound harsh but it is the truth.  

My Pop at 18 years old - a Hank Williams wannabe

My father died August 22, 2000.  He was 80 years old.  He died of lung cancer.  His doctor warned him many times to stop smoking but he was a stubborn man.  He died in a hospital bed, hooked up to an oxygen machine, gasping for breath.  

The body language says it all in this picture of me and my two brothers with Pop

My youngest brother John is on the far left and obviously the light of my father's eye.

My poor second brother is literally 'in the middle' and overlooked.  I'm on the far right with my hand on my father's shoulder but he is obvious to my reaching out to him.  Pictures say so much.

Even though we all knew he was dying, when I got the phone call from my sister-in-law Barbara telling me he died overnight,  it was still a shock to my system because he had been so much a part of my life.  But I can honestly say I felt no sadness.  I didn't feel happiness either.  Maybe a sense of relief because no matter what I did I could never please this man.  All my life I sought approval, he never showed it to me.

Father and son 1-976 - again check out the body language
by this time his dog 'Pepper' was the light of his life

I was his first born son.  I have two brothers.  My second brother didn't fare too well either, even though he was my father's namesake.  However, my third brother, and youngest, was my father's favorite.  Growing up I resented that my youngest brother was his favorite.  I hated my brother.  Ironically now my brother and I are best friends.  It's funny how things turn out in life.

Me, Mom and Pop 1982 - again check out the body language

I'm leaning in towards him but my Mom touches my leg lest I get too close to him 

Occasionally I think about my father.  I think about how much my life perhaps would have been different if he had shown me some love.   But then maybe nothing would be different.  I do a lot of thinking about my past at this time of my life, I often wonder how my life would have turned out if I had a 'normal' childhood.  But then who does have a 'normal' childhood?

My Pop at 18 years old - yes, I do look like him

My father used to enjoy humiliating me.  I grew up thinking I had the biggest nose in the world.  He would call me "beak" as in a bird's beak.  Of course this did nothing for my self-esteem which was very fragile because not only did I know I was 'different' from the time I was four years old (a 'sissy') but I had the usual teenager anxieties about not being accepted by my friends. I remember how terribly embarrassed because my father was a hillbilly.  For real, he really was a 'hillbilly.'  His parents brought him and eight of his brothers form the hills of western North Carolina (some God forsaken place called "Pigeon Roost") to the Unionville area of south eastern Pennsylvania in the late 1920's.  Two more brothers were born in Pennsylvania thus making eleven hillbilly sons of the brood of Fieldon and Hester Tipton, my paternal grandparents.  Of course now I am proud of my "hillbilly" heritage, recognizing it as true Americana but when I was growing up?  I was mortified.  

The "new car" - a GMC pickup truck

Of the many time he used to belittle and humiliate me one episode is especially etched into my mind.  I was 12 years old and my Mom told me the news that "Pop" was getting a new car!  I was so excited.  Finally, our family would be like my friend's families and have a cool family car.  So what did he get?  A GMC pickup truck!  I was again mortified.  A pickup truck!  I asked "Where would me and my brothers sit when we went on one of our Sunday Rides?"  "Pop", with an self-satisfied smile on his face said "In the back where you belong!"

Me not wanting my brother to take my picture of me in the back of the pickup truck.  Pop made sure to drive through Downingtown so my friends could see me in the back of the truck.  He got a big kick out of this.

The day of the Sunday Ride came up.  Pop was going to take a trip down to Maryland and the Conowingo Dam.  The whole family was going.  I refused to go because I was too embarrassed to be seen riding in the back of a pickup truck!  I didn't have choice.  He told me I would have to go and sit in the back of the pickup truck.  So here are the pictures of me, 12 years old, full of insecurities, still in my "sissy" stage, trying to make like of my humiliation.  

Me trying to make light of my humiliation.  Sorry about the sissyness.  I hadn't outgrown it at this point in my life.

This was just one of many incidences of my father's cruel humor. I wasn't the only recipient of his cruelty, but I got most of it.  I think he was trying to 'break me.'  He didn't succeed.  


I guess some would rebel under such treatment or become defeated.  My reaction was to 'get through it'.  I didn't see where I had any other choice.  I did know that as soon as I could I wanted to get away from home.  That is one of the reasons I joined the Army right of high school.

Me and my friend Jim Harris on the rifle range at Ft. Meade, Maryland 1962

After my father died, my Mother cleaned out all his personal items including pictures in his wallet.  Much to my surprise she found this picture in his wallet.  I had forgotten about this picture.  I didn't have a print of it.  He had the only print.  I don't know how he got it but there it was.  He carried it in his wallet all those years. 


 My Mother then told me that he didn't expect me to even make it through basic training.  He had that little confidence in me that he thought I would fail.  I was shocked when I heard this revelation.  Not make it through basic training?  I never had a doubt.  Did I have problems in basic?  Yes, I had some big problems but never for a moment did I even entertain the idea of dropping out, never.  I remember one especially rough patch.  I was so determined to not fail that I thought to myself "I'm going to do this even if I die in the attempt (which I almost did)" but never, NEVER did I consider failure.


So who knows, perhaps beneath all that cruelty he really did have some love for his oldest son.  I wish I knew that when he was alive.  Maybe things would have been different.  


I know one thing, he used to love my homemade German Chocolate Cake which I made from scratch.  When I bought that cake over to him I saw one of his rare smiles towards me.  I haven't made that cake since he died.  I was thinking about making it again.  

My Pop at his most handsome - a real "Ladies'  Man"

Tall (6'5") blonde, blue eyes, muscular, 'big', and could charm the pants off any woman

My Pop in his 70's - still not a gray hair in his head

Still smoking which would eventually kill him

Stubborn Man

The last time I saw my father was on a Saturday night, two days before he died.  He was in his hospital bed with oxygen tubes going up his nose.  He wanted to get up to use the bathroom (pee in the bottle).  He was to proud to use the catheter.   He wanted me to help him get up.  I did.  He turned around and did his business.  As he was finishing I put my hand on his neck and said softly into his ear "I love you Pop."  He said nothing but paused for a second of two.  I think he understood.  I never told him I loved him before.  Even though we didn't have a traditional father-son relationship he was still my father.  I wanted him to know I appreciated him bringing me into the world and raising me.  Whatever our differences I wanted him to know I forgave him and that I was his son and I loved him.

That was the last time I saw him.  

Pop and me when he liked me - 1942