In honor of Father's Day, I have invited my good friend Bob Wilson to be a guest blogger. I know his beautiful story about his father will move you as much as it did me.
By Robert
Wilson
©Robert Wilson,
6/2015
My father was a man of principle.
He didn’t smoke, or drink alcohol (although he could swear with the best). He also was unwavering in his belief that a man should be honest in all
his dealings and keep his word, no matter what. My dad loved farming, and
he was an excellent farmer. He also had a deep love for draft horses,
keeping a matched team of Belgian geldings and a Percheron mare long after the
area farmers had started using tractors exclusively. At my mother’s
urging, dad bought a grocery store and a house in town, but he kept the farm
and spent as much time there as possible. One day, when we were cleaning
out a fence row next to the road, a realtor drove up. He told dad that he
had a client looking for a farm to buy. Although he didn’t know dad, his
prospect knew of the farm and he was interested in making an offer. The
realtor asked dad how much he wanted for the farm. Dad told him that he
wasn’t interested in selling.
The realtor was persistent. At
least once a week he would catch dad at the grocery store or at the farm and
badger him to set a price on the farm. One day, out of frustration, dad
set a price that he thought was higher than anyone would pay for the farm.
The realtor’s client accepted the price dad set. Dad felt that he
had no choice but to sell him the farm. Mother was thrilled, but
dad’s spirit never recovered.
Several years later, dad visited me
in Indianapolis to go to the Indiana State Fair. In Indiana, we had
county fairs that were bigger than the state fairs in many eastern states.
We were going to the state fair to see the horses and dairy cattle and go
to the Grand Circuit Harness Races. Dad didn’t bet on races, but he loved
to see the trotters and pacers compete. That day, as a bonus, the
Budweiser Clydesdales were going to appear in an eight-horse hitch.
Before we took our seats in the
grandstand, we walked through the horse barns, and we noticed that the 10
Clydesdales (8 for the hitch plus 2 alternates) were housed under a separate
tent. There was a sign with the horse’s name over each stall. Dad
would read the name of a horse, say it out loud, then carefully examine the
horse from every angle, say the name again, and then move on to the next horse
and go through the same routine.
Before the first race, the
eight-horse hitch came trotting down the main stretch in front of the stands.
Dad named every horse and it’s position in the hitch, and then turned to
me, beaming, and named the two horses that weren’t in the hitch. Dad was
animated and happy the rest of the day. That was the first time I had
seen my dad happy in years, and it was the last. Every time I read Name
of Horses, by Donald Hall, I think of my father.
Robert
(Bob) Wilson was an Indiana farm boy with an adventurious
spirit. After high school, he sought travel and experiences. Bob toured
the U.S. as a professional actor, he was an instructor and the first
writer/director for the Army Air Defense School’s Educational TV Network.
After the Army, he became a specialist in designing and implementing
large scale IT systems, eventually retiring as the Principle Systems Analyst
for Advanced Technology Systems. Now retired, Bob has returned to his
first love, the theatre, working with community theatres in the Northern Neck
of Virginia.
Contact Robert at rdwilson837@gmail.com
