Lasting Legacies

I woke up today knowing that it was Father’s Day. Yesterday, I was waxing philosophically looking at old photos of my Mom and her dad, my Pop Pop. At 90, Mom still remembers her childhood as if it were yesterday. I only have a few photos of my Daddy, Winston Churchill Burgess. Were he alive, he would be 101 this week. Wow. I think how grateful I am to have had these two men in my life, though our time together was way too short. My Pop Pop died when I was 7. I still remember being held up to look over his casket and yelling in my brain, “Get up! You can’t leave me!” Ironically, with a sentimental smile on my face, I know he never did leave me. His memories are etched in my heart forever.

Memories Of Pop Pop

My Pop Pop.

The memories I have of Pop Pop are pristine, crystal clear. Like the long walks we use to take on his Burrsville, DE farm. I was about 6 when we were walking in his woods. I think he was tracking deer. His life dream was to bag one, but he never did. We came across a really nice branch, and he asked it I would like learn to shoot. I couldn’t believe it! He found an old tin can, set it up on a branch, and showed me how to aim. I remember the heaviness of that rifle and closing one eye tight. Trembling, but with great glee, I pulled the trigger. The gun’s power scared the devil out of me and almost threw me to the ground. But miracle of miracles, blamed if I didn’t hit that can. Dumbstruck, my Pop Pop gave a whoop of glee. “You did it!” He was so proud. We didn’t high 5 back in those days, but if we had, our palms would still be stinging.

I wonder if he ever knew how much I loved him. How I looked up to him and worshipped the ground he walked on. Tender-hearted, calm, and loving his farm life, he taught me what it was to be loved and accepted. To be worthy. To know that even if I did bite him one time, he loved me down to my toenails anyway. I yelled to my Mom Mom, “Pop Pop bit me!”, she yelled back, “Oh, he did not. Pop Pop would never bite you!”, he retorted, “I did, too…She bit me first!” Yep, I learned that you get what you give. I never bit anyone again. After this little episode, he put me on his lap, teased me, and tickled me. He gave me the world.

My Dad’s Legacy

Dr. Judy on the Harrington Journal steps in Harrington, DE.

Legacies come in so many packages. My Daddy, after his long stint in WWII bought and restored our town newspaper, The Harrington Journal. He taught me never to quit. You never admit defeat. You do it until it is done. He and my Mom both were like that. Work, feel good about the finished product, meet your obligations, and then get an ice cream! Daddy would always get a big chocolate malt. Even though he often worked from 8a.m. till midnight, he was so proud when the paper was put to bed for the week. He went to work in chambray shirts and jeans. His hands were up to grease most of the day. He cussed and fussed over his old printing machines, but he creatively kept re-rigging them until miraculously, they fired up. I thought he was a god! I remember many nights falling asleep way up high on the enormous printing press. He wouldn’t stop until every machine was up and running. Humorous, technically innovative, and quite a character, my dad would have been so amused to know how big a pedestal I had him standing on.

Even with all his work, when he came home for supper driving his VW Beetle with no heat, he would stop for a second if he saw me waiting for him. I still remember those days when I was about 8. He had been a boxer and a baseball player. He had made a little pseudo-gym in a rickety old building near the printing office. I watched in awe at how long he could punch that bag. Then one jaw-dropping day, there they were…Boxing gloves, just my size! Can you imagine how proud I was? The only kid in town with her own real boxing gloves. I was special. I wonder if he knew how grateful I was. He vociferously retorted, “Stand up for yourself!… Hit ‘em where it hurts if anyone comes after you!” Isn’t it funny after all the years, I can still feel his warning words. He couldn’t say “I love you”, but his actions spoke volumes. Sometimes love comes in little girl boxing gloves.

Pop Pop’s 3 little words, “You did it!”
… Daddy’s four little words,”You can make it!” Lasting legacies.

More than anything else, my dad like to dance. Even though I was only a little kid, he would jitterbug with me at the local teen snack shop. He would give me 25 cents which was big money in those days. Together we would pick out the songs we wanted to dance to. The teens must have thought we were nuts. An almost 50 year old guy dancing with his little girl. I was the happiest kid in the joint.

When I was 10, we finally moved from our too-old-to-remodel house to a small new home my Mom had lobbied for. I had a backyard with a basketball hoop. I was in heaven. Daddy, in his very serious sports voice, would show me how to shoot hoops. I remember his support, “Now, you are short like me. You need to shoot this way. Shoot with 2 hands, not one. Try again. You can make it.”

Later came baseball, a sport he had played until he was in his 40′s. Teaching me to pitch, play catcher, and hit, he took pride in my learning. Playing golf with his rusted, archaic left-handed golf clubs was a real challenge. So was digging the holes in the neighbor’s pasture watching out for the pony and donkey doo doo!

As the second-born girl, I wasn’t the boy he had wanted, but the two of us were like ham and eggs anyway.

Daddy died when I was 26. After his horrific car accident, the ER doctors said, “He will never make it through surgery”. It was hell for him, but for10 long agonizing months, he was still in the ring fighting. Sheer will. Gutsy little man as tenacious as a junkyard dog.

My Pop Pop and my Daddy were not in my life long. Both kind, generosity, persevering, courageous, optimistic, and grateful, these men left me with lifelong legacies lovingly tattooed in my psyche. Positive psychology personified way ahead of its time. Pop Pop’s 3 little words, “You did it!” … Daddy’s four little words,”You can make it!” Lasting legacies.