Sunday, June 19, 2005
Tomorrow is the day. We have visitation on Monday and the funeral on Tuesday. I've spent so much time on my father's cell phone telling folks about it. My mother arranged the whole ceremony. My mother has a cousin that is going to conduct the services. I don't like the idea of a complete stranger conducting the services. All he going to do is go up there and give a sermon. Of course, after the funeral, there will be a party at the bar. So, at least my father will get his proper send off.
Of course, I thought I would share some of the stories that were telling last night.
One year, my father had decided to go to downtown Nashville to distribute clothes to the homeless. The homeless said they didn't need any clothes. They could get all they needed from the missions. The clothes that my father would have given them would have been burned for heat. They did however clean my father out of his other supplies. From then on, it became a tradition. Every year for Christmas, he went to downtown Nashville and gave the homeless beer and cigarettes. And he always came back empty-handed.
For a few years on New Years Eve, he would actually close the bar and hold a private party for his regulars. It was a big affair. He would even rent them a limo so that no one ever got a DUI.
My father would attend Titans games. The truth is that he was a Cowboys fan, but the Titans made a pretty good fix. He rented a parking pass from the Ramada and would frequently stay there as well. One year he showed up with a shopping cart full of beer. (Of course, this story involves everybody's favorite drinkers, the homeless. I guess he was a bit of a celebrity in the homeless community by then.) Eventually, he decided that it was time to go to the room. He had to attend the game the next day. The thing is that my father with his overalls, three month beard, and drunken state was barred by security. They thought that he was homeless as well. He told them that he had room there. It just so happens that one of my father's friends was at the desk when security called to check his story. His friend vouched for him and he was eventually admitted into the hotel.
Growing up was sometimes like being on sitcom.
RIP deddy.
Of course, I thought I would share some of the stories that were telling last night.
One year, my father had decided to go to downtown Nashville to distribute clothes to the homeless. The homeless said they didn't need any clothes. They could get all they needed from the missions. The clothes that my father would have given them would have been burned for heat. They did however clean my father out of his other supplies. From then on, it became a tradition. Every year for Christmas, he went to downtown Nashville and gave the homeless beer and cigarettes. And he always came back empty-handed.
For a few years on New Years Eve, he would actually close the bar and hold a private party for his regulars. It was a big affair. He would even rent them a limo so that no one ever got a DUI.
My father would attend Titans games. The truth is that he was a Cowboys fan, but the Titans made a pretty good fix. He rented a parking pass from the Ramada and would frequently stay there as well. One year he showed up with a shopping cart full of beer. (Of course, this story involves everybody's favorite drinkers, the homeless. I guess he was a bit of a celebrity in the homeless community by then.) Eventually, he decided that it was time to go to the room. He had to attend the game the next day. The thing is that my father with his overalls, three month beard, and drunken state was barred by security. They thought that he was homeless as well. He told them that he had room there. It just so happens that one of my father's friends was at the desk when security called to check his story. His friend vouched for him and he was eventually admitted into the hotel.
Growing up was sometimes like being on sitcom.
RIP deddy.
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