Today, headlines around the world will remind you that it's Pearl Harbor Day, and we should take time to remember one of the most important days in history -- December 7. Some might say the world changed that day. No arguments there.
For me, December 7 is more personal. More about life. And about beginnings. You see, it's my dad's birthday. William Jack Murray was born 65 years ago to Paul and Pansy Murray in Sulphur Springs, Texas. The world did change that day. Just a little.
I can't remember what I've written about him here before. It's worth repeating. So here goes.
He bought me everything I ever wanted, which mostly consisted of those 25-cent toys at the convenience store. He always had a quarter in his pocket. There's also the first pair of shoes I remember picking out for myself. The "Stop and Go" shoes at the Cooper Mercantile. One was red. One was green. You can figure out the rest. I loved those shoes.
We played a ton. I remember standing at the side of his bed to wake him up on the weekends. I was ready to play, and he desperately wanted to sleep in. I won. We went to the movies. We watched cartoons. And we played with my train set. Or was it his?
Then, there was the go-cart he got for me. It was way too fast. And I loved it. I remember riding it wide open on 9th Street. Did we really skid into those turns at the end of the street? That's how I remember it.
Oddly enough, as I got older, the only thing he fussed at me about was driving too fast. It was that go-cart all along. (And for the record, I was 35 or 36 before I got a speeding ticket on the Country Club road. I'm proud to say I was doing 70 in a 55, and his buddy Bud Skinner helped me get out of that ticket once I served some time in the JP's office.)
Guns. He loved guns. He built them. He collected them. And he was a good aim. I was not. It's possible that happened when he let me shoot a 45 automatic pistol. It had multiple rounds of ammo, and I shot multiple rounds. Multiple, rapid fire rounds. Sometimes daddy's make mistakes, and I think it scared him more than it did me. I was a teenager before he finally admitted that "you couldn't hit the broad side of that barn." He was right.
He liked to tinker. He could fix anything. Now sometimes the finished product looked a little rigged. But it was fixed. And that's what daddy's are supposed to do.
Daddy's also are supposed to want more for their children. And that's what he wanted for me. He always wanted me to go to college, and when I chose to go to Texas Tech - eight hours from home - he was a little less than happy. But off I went with his love and support. When we spoke on the phone, he never failed to tell me he loved me. And when I headed back to school and even after, he never failed to put money in my pocket. By then, it was definitely more than that quarter I wrote about earlier.
Being born on Pearl Harbor Day, I guess he was required to be fascinated with World War II movies and history. When he visited me in New York in 2004, one of our stops was the USS Intrepid Air and Space Museum. It was easy to tell he was fascinated with every inch of the aircraft carrier that served during the war. There was a flight simulator on board, and he couldn't wait for us to get in.
I have to say it was just like that train. Just like the guns. And the go-cart. Playtime at its best.
Today, I'd gladly go again.
His time here was too short. But isn't that the case for all of us?
No stop. All go. Full-speed ahead.
Love.