He’s my dad. My father (we never called him anything but dad) was born into a farm family in Northeast Georgia. Even though his name was James everyone in the family went by their middle names. So growing up he was known as Ray. Dad was the first of three boys raised up to work hard and taught to love God and each other. Growing up on a farm meant all of the family had chores to do, yet I know there was time for fun too. You could always dam up the creek and make a swimming hole.
The church was the community and a large part of the family’s social world. They didn’t live too far away and you could always count on them being there. In the late summers the whole family would load up and go off to camp meeting. Living for a week in “tents” as they called the primitive cabins and gathering in the evenings under a large wooden arbor. That very arbor, which dates to the civil war, is still in use today.
Upon becoming a young man my dad moved away from home and to Atlanta. Taking a day job at Sears and a second job at nights working in the world famous Varsity. Dad’s job there was opening the Coke bottles people would order.
Dad joined the Air Force and began his first career. It was at this time when he became known to everyone by his first name thanks to Uncle Sam. Most people shortened it to Jim and that is what he likes to be called today.
One of his first assignments took my father to Orlando Florida. He met my future mother after being drawn to a church by the gospel music quartet they had. Dad joined that group and somewhere along the line so did my mom. They later married. The group sang every weekend live on the radio and around the area. They even recorded a record.
The military has a way of sending you to live everywhere in the world except close to home. My family was no exception. We lived on both sides of the country from top to bottom and places in between. And we were sent outside the states too. Some of our best years were spent on the tropical little coral rock, called Guam. But no matter where we went, it always became home for us.
His love of gospel music stayed strong in my father’s life. About every place we ended up, dad found a group to sing with. And he collected records. Hundreds and hundreds of records. I have never spent more than a few minutes at his house before dad has the latest releases playing. I am sure that is where my music collecting obsession began.
Through it all my dad was always involved with his church. Growing up there was never a question if we were going to church on Sunday. It’s what we did. And dad sang in church every time he had a chance.
After “retiring” from the Air Force, dad started his own music group. For more than 27 years we climbed into the ole’ bus and headed out to sing somewhere. It was our way of life. I guess we sang a couple thousand times and recorded several records. The last one in Nashville.
The music group retired from active travel a few years ago, but that did not stop my dad. He leads the music at his home church every week. And all you need to do to get him to sing a special number is ask.
What a blessing we kids shared. A Godly father who led us by the example in the way he lived. Our mother and father taught us to do thing the way Jesus taught. Who could ever have more love in a family? Thanks dad, for being the man you are. I love you.