This is a piece I posted 4 years ago, and it seemed appropriate to do so today.
They were hard and calloused....
Years of work and labor defined and created every crack and wrinkle in those hands.
They had held plows.....
They had held rifles and shotguns....
Not for sport, but to put food on a table.
They had mended broken bicycles so that sons could be mobile once again.
They repaired more cars than I care to count. And yes, they even kept this wayward child in check with a swat to the rear more times than I care to count.
Those hands were tender enough to care for dogs that got caught up in barbed wire and had limped back home bleeding and almost to the point of death.
Those hands made basketball goals for the backyard...
They clapped at Jim Reeves and Patsy Cline when they came on the radio.
They slapped knees when a good yarn was spun or joke told.
Those hands never really rested, not till the end.
Those hands rubbed my head or rested on my shoulder when I had done something big.
Those same hands spanked me and put me back on the straight and narrow when I got to big for my britches.
They wiped sweat from the brow when the summer heat flooded a new plowed field. Those hands staked tomatoes and shucked corn. picked blackberries and baled hay. To a young boy, there wasn't anything those hands couldn't do. Those hands have cranked many a turn making home made ice cream. Those hands always deserved the first bowl when it was ready to eat.
Those hands held me and carried me from the car when we would come home late at night after being on a trip. Strong hands......safe hands....
Those hands were quick to help neighbors when something was needed to be done. The hands toted lumber and nailed nails to repair roofs and build back porches. I loved those hands.
Those were the hands of my father..........H.B. Bynum.
Blue collar to the core...
Worked hard all his life. That's just what a man did to support his family.
If my Dad had lived, I'm not sure he'd understand much of what is happening in this world today. He wasn't one to sit around and whine and cry about his lot in life or his lack of money. He worked. His advice to me..."Son, a man does what a man has to do to keep food on the table and a roof over his family." Those wouldn't be very popular words today...but that was my Dad.
Mom died in 1981 and Dad never seemed to recover from it. After they both retired, they reconnected as husband and wife. There seem to be more joy and peace as they shared time and life together. There were trips to the Smokey Mountains and visits with friends and family. I am grateful for the peace and love they found at the end.
Dad died on this day back in 1985, and not a day goes by that I don't think of him.
And on this day, I want to honor him by the life I lead.
Honor him for the love he showed me and the huge impact and influence he had on me.
I pray that in some small way, I have been half the man and father he was.
Thank you Lord for giving Father's to us....
Dad...I love you....and I miss you.....
mb
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