Monte E Wilson, Jr. (1926-1988)

Today is the 22nd anniversary of my Father's death. Barely a day goes by that I don't hear his voice in my head. Most of the time that is a Good Thing. Even when it's not, I burst out laughing.

Dad was a very strong man, with an authoritative presence. All of his beliefs were typed in capital letters. There was Truth, and there was Error and dad felt called to let you know when you had swayed too far from the Truth ... until the last years of his life, that is, when illness and plenty of time to reflect on his life mellowed his soul and softened his heart.

No one had more influence in my life. One look of disappointment from him was tantamount to divine rejection. Conversely, a nod of approval was a kiss from God. Strangely, my fear of of my father never stopped me from arguing with him. And man did we have some blowouts. Whether it was theology, politics, philosophy or football, it would end up sounding like Zeus and Ares throwing lightening bolts across the heavens. This is probably why I was never intimidated by professors and famous ministers. After all I had battled with Zeus and had lived to tell about it.

Dad wasn't the kind of father who lovingly "lost" a game of monopoly so as to make his children feel better about themselves. You won on your merits--and he argued the same way. He once told me that he had no problem admitting he was wrong, but he wasn't about to roll over and play dead simply because someone wept or yelled louder than he did. He was utterly fearless in his defense of his faith and beliefs.

The last week of his life--he knew he had less that 7 days to live--was an amazing gift from God. I was at one of the lowest points of my life and had no where to turn for advice, and dad was dying. Not wanting to burden him, I kept my troubles to myself ... but he sensed my turmoil, told me to spill my guts and then counseled and prayed with me. His wisdom and tenderness were lifesavers. Talking to him each day that week was like talking to someone who was already living in heaven.

I think it was Mark Twain who, after the death of his daughter, said that it was like a house burning down where you spend the rest of your life discovering what you lost. That's how I still feel after all these years of having lost my dad. No doubt he would chide me for my sentimentality. But, hey, this is one argument I can win. Finally!

Copyright, Monte E Wilson, 2010