My dad was a great dad. I’m not saying he was perfect. What man is?
When I was a kid, my dad didn’t like me to use the “nigger” or “kike” word. It wasn’t that he was all liberal and faggoty, mind you (he did sire the INCOG, right?); he just didn’t like his boys sounding classless. Dad was old school southern. That right there, is enough for White multicults to think he was evil.
Funny, how those who claim to be so sweet and understanding, are so willing to label and slime members of their own race. I wonder how that came about?
Truth of the matter is that my dad had plenty of black friends. He actually got a lot of them decent work. And quite a few turned out for his funeral, too. One of his more well-off and educated black friends went to Africa for vacation one year (probably after watching “Roots”) and when he returned from seeing how things really were on the “Dark Continent,” told my dad “slavery was the best thing that ever happened to his kind.” No lie. I heard the man tell my dad that myself.
My old man knew all the best barbeque shacks in the southeast. I’d be driving along in the middle of nowhere (when he was too old to drive, of course), and he would say “turn left here… see that abandoned tobakky barn? Turn right there…. wait till you see a piggly wiggly store and make another right turn… slow down when you get to that statue of the confederate soldier…
Sure enough, we would end up at some rundown little restaurant that had the most delicious, savory GD barbeque you could possibly imagine. And then he would run into someone he personally knew (this happened everywhere) and glad-hand away because he hadn’t them seen in a “coon’s age.”
Of course, all of this kind of thing is enough for idiot multicults to think he was a racist, etc. The brainwashed multicults feel free to slime us Southerners all they please. Isn’t it a major tenant of them not to stereotype? Effin’ hypocrites!
My dad’s hearing was insane. Back during my rebellious hippie period, I called him a bastard under my breath at least a half a block away while walking with another teenaged little brat. I barely even whispered it, I swear. And when I got back home, he gave me a serious whooping for calling him that.
Never figured out how he did it. Maybe it really was his hearing.
I did inherit my father’s gift of hearing and sense of direction. I can hear a squirrel fart in the next holler over, as they say. I can get into a car and drive somewhere I went to years ago, literally half the country away, without a single glance at a map. I always know pretty much where north is. I did get seriously lost once bushwacking deep in a big forest, but eventually figured out where I was at.
Sure, dad wasn’t above a little corporeal punishment. One time he broke his wrist on my face (I think it was the above incident, I don’t remember). It wasn’t that he was a sadist, only resorting to it if I fully deserved it. And damn if I didn’t deserve it a lot back then! But I did escape a few well-deserved punishments, along the way.
The one time I most seriously, most deservedly, needed a good ass whooping, dad refrained. Probably because he might have killed me for what I did (I’ll save the story for another time).
Dad did instill in me a sense of honor and decency. I remember one time he told me that you could steal a man’s wallet or car, but if you killed him, you were stealing the man’s life — as in the man’s future days. The concept struck a big cord with me and may have kept me from committing murder one time (I only thought about it for a second or two).
Too bad African “American” fathers haven’t learned this and passed it on to their progeny. Or maybe such elevated thinking is simply beyond the black race and their base desires and emotions? Maybe because they are now so spoiled and militant due to the insidious evils of PC, they are rapidly reverting back to their inherent nature?
Dad did love fishing. We went fishing everywhere. From the Gulf Stream to inland bass lakes. At one time I was kind of nuts about fishing and nature things. I used to get on his case when he threw cellophane wrappers and stuff off the boat. I didn’t like litterbugs. His generation wasn’t as brainwashed over so many things as mine.
Dad wasn’t into hunting too much. He loved animals and except for, say birding, the idea of hurting animals bothered him. Dad also loved dogs. We always had some kind of mutt or two running around the property. Shitty kittys, too (dad called them that).
Dad was also loyal and completely devoted to his family and my mother. Never once did he go for any strange. No, that was definitely not something him or his close buddies would ever do. Sure, he checked out any hottie strutting around on the beach like all of us straight guys will. Hell, kind of hard not to when they are practically naked right in front of your face.
He loved his boys and all of us never once went without, even when times were difficult. Dad always did his best not to worry his children or make excuses. Used to be that was real important to White people. So what changed?
I miss my dad.