The Timeshare Beat: Jerry Sikes; With Regard to Father

By the time that President Lyndon Johnson had proclaimed the 2nd Sunday in June to be Father's Day the man I called Pop (my Father) had been gone for almost 2 years (July 8, 1964). Those who have followed my thoughts in this column over the years have become familiar with my Pop as my mentor. It is in his honor on this Fathers Day some 40 years later that I chose to revisit some of my memories of Pop, his thoughts and our experiences together. Revisiting them may cause you to think of your own father.

It was about 1920 when the father of a large hardworking family, sharecropping on a small farm a few miles outside of Palma Kentucky, scratched his leg while crossing a rusty barbed wire fence. In a matter of days he was dead from blood poisoning and the family, unable to maintain itself, was split to the far winds. As fate would have it, one male member of this family had become friends with the Poe twin brothers whose family operated the General Store at the Palma crossroads, and their family took him in. He was about seven at the time. Over the next few years, he worked at the Poe General Store while finishing his meager schooling. Early on, life dealt him a bad hand and he had to become self-reliant. He discovered several things about himself; he was good with people, he had an innate capability to earn their trust and he liked to drive. He became friendly with the fuel delivery truck driver and talked his way into a job driving a fuel truck and then driving passengers, between Kentucky and Michigan, for Brooks Bus Line. He married a childhood sweetheart, moved into a house about a mile and 1/2 down the road from the general store and began to raise a family. He had an infectious laugh and loved to whistle. People always knew when he was around because they could hear him before they could see him. Self-confidence? While he never achieved monetary wealth, he achieved riches beyond his station. He was indeed the best-liked, most trusted and deeply respected individual I have ever known. He was my Pop and he taught me above all else... "You've got to do your own growing, no matter how tall your father was." [With Regard to: Self Confidence 6/8/01]

It was late summer in 1937 in a small clapboard house near Palma, Kentucky that a midwife assisted the firstborn son of Wilma and Lola Sikes into the world. The very next morning out on the back porch, sitting on the stoop in the sunlight, this proud and loving father looked into his son's eyes and said softly, "I believe in you, because I know you and I know what you're capable of." Thus the code of faith was passed from father to son. Never for a moment in my life have I ever felt that Faith wavered and I have always tried to live up to that legacy. How could I not? [With Regard to: Faith 3/7/02]

"Keep your head up and you can see what's coming!" Knowing him I am sure that he did not mean that if you saw something coming which you did not like you could run from it. It is my memory that he was not the type to run from anything. I think at the root of what he was trying to teach me was that if I saw what was coming I could be aware, not beware. - "Life is not a problem to be solved but a reality to be experienced." [With Regard to: Life Lessons 7/7/00]

Sunday dinner, which was at approximately noon in rural Kentucky (and after Church), generally consisted of fried chicken as the entree. Now my Pop got to pick first and he always took the back and the neck. Said he liked them!! I assure you that you will never find the neck and the back among the pieces in the largest bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken in the world. The Colonel must also like necks and backs. Many years passed before I came to realize that those necks and backs were taken so that the others around the table could pick from the best pieces. Funny how all the white meat was gone before the platter got to my end of the table, but that's another yarn. Did my Pop's choice of chicken establish another standard for me to live by? Didn't know it at the time but, you bet! Another pearl of wisdom to pass on. You bet! Even though we may be entitled, by rank or position to take, that last piece of cake (leaving the crumbs for someone else), the cream off the top, the best piece of chicken, should we always do so? Are we afraid that if we allow others to taste the best that is offered, they will want our share? Do we believe that if we don't establish our dominant position at every opportunity, others will take that as a show of weakness? [With Regard to: This and That 8/25/00]

Through the years, as Pop searched for ways to guide and teach me lessons, he often referenced my initial ride on the Carousel and the intensity that I exhibited. You see, that was the way he was. Yes, he wanted me to succeed, to get that symbolic Brass Ring however, he also wanted me to learn the lessons which making the effort taught. Pop's lessons: Success can be measured in more ways that just grabbing that elusive Brass Ring, Growth comes from stretching to achieve a specific goal. Enthusiasm generated from the attempts to reach the prize creates lightness and enhances the chances of success, while fear of failure limits the efforts by creating heaviness and consequently causes us to languish in doubts. If you enjoy the ride then the taste of success is much sweeter. If you have to be pulled screaming and kicking toward an objective, upon it's achievement, you will undoubtedly hesitate to make such a journey the next time. For me the lesson learned was that had I not been first attracted to the sights and sounds of a Carousel ride itself, I would never have gotten on board, nor would I have experienced the pure joy of it. If the only purpose was to get the Brass Ring, I could have simply walked around to the post to which they were attached and taken one. Having done so, I would have avoided the ups and downs, the whirling, dipping, spinning, heart pounding, stomach twitching, gut wrenching, fun which came after first grabbing that rail and venturing onto the ride for the pure joy it provided. [With Regard to ... The Brass Ring 11/10/00]

As that new day was being born, Pop and I finished our breakfast, put the dirty dishes in the sink and I followed him out the back door. Once outside, Pop stretched a little, breathed in some of that fresh morning air through his nose, exhaled and said: "Yep, this is the day!" "What day?" I asked: "What's so special about this day?" He looked down at me and replied: "This is the day we turn the Bottoms!" My heart leaped, because the "Bottoms" was a 5 acre field which flooded every year or so, but contained the richest (Ohio River Valley) top soil in the world and I had never been showed (taught) how to plow or allowed to drive a hitch on my own. The field was about one hundred and fifty yards long, so it took Pop and Gray about 8 or 9 minutes to get to the far end, make the turn and come back to where I set on that log. By then, the sun was full up and the smell of that, light chocolate brown fresh turned earth, had permeated the air. As Pop and Gray approached, I took a deep breath, suppressed a yawn and asked: "Can I try now?" "No!" he responded, "Watch us again." and away they went to make another pass, and then another and another. Finally Pop realized that my "bottom" was getting tired and my attention was beginning to wander. After he made the turn he brought Gray to a stop and asked: "Are you ready to make some passes?" Was he kidding? I had waited all my life for this moment. Pop started to show me how to put the traces over my shoulder and I shrugged him off, knowing full well that I knew how to do it myself. I chucked to Gray and off we started however, the plow just began to skim over the surface of the field. I yanked back on the traces and Old Gray stopped. I looked over at Pop and he said: "You have to dig the point in." I chucked to Gray and off we went again skimming the surface. I tilted the plow handles up, the point bit deeply into that unplowed ground, yanked Old Gray to a dead halt, and me over the plow crossbar. "Not so deep!" he said from my log. I spit the dirt out of my mouth, squared everything up, chucked to Gray again and followed those instructions. A lot of "learning" occurred that day... The obvious was the lesson on how to drive a mule with a big plow hitched to him and turn a field with rows that were true. The ones that bring a tear to my eye after all this time are, the coffee fixing's and how good a simple lunch could be. The less obvious was the lesson on teamwork. Yes teamwork. You see, that was the real lesson that my Pop was intent on teaching that day. Yes that is What Really Works! The combination of senses which allowed me to smell that fresh plowed earth, taste mom's sweet strawberry jam and creamy peanut butter, feel the power of Old Gray transmitted through the rough handles of that plow and see the pride in Pop's eyes as he sat on that log and watched me make turn after turn and pass after pass. The combination of a God Given Day, our "Bottoms", that big old Plow, a mule named Gray, that Loved one to bring a forgotten lunch, a Pop like no other and a Kid with stars in his eyes. What a team! Look out world. [With regards to: What Really Works 1/5/01]

As a kid I would not have been caught dead sitting in the front row in any class at school, that was for the teacher's pets and other geeks. In the back I could pull Mary's hair, throw spitballs, pass notes and generally avoid paying attention to the stuff Mrs. Jones was writing on the blackboard. Back then I was just not committed to becoming informed. Along the way somewhere I learned that on the front row I became less distracted and thus better able to assimilate that which caused me to be there in the first place. The back of the room is like taking a "spit bath" which at best was a "hit and miss" proposition or a "lick and a promise". As my Pop would say: "You're not going to get clean if you're not committed to getting wet." [With Regard to: The Front Row 7/1/01]

Part of the learning process (for me at least) involved things like testing the waters, taking a mile when an inch was given, a tendency to sass and to blame, doing enough to just get by, stubbornness, insolence and sometime selective hearing. Some would say that I just had to learn the lessons the hard way including a trip or two out back with Pop or another dose of Mom's castor oil. We learned firsthand that things like greed, deceit, shortcuts, lying and cheating, ultimately had payoffs, which were unpleasant. All of these just added up to lessons about respect, honesty, manners, fortitude, effort, attitude, values and ethics. There were rules, regulations, restrictions, codes, customs, edicts and commandments. One knew that if you got caught stepping over the line or in violation of any of these, the piper would have to be paid. Because these concepts were always applied evenhandedly and with loving intent, the outcome was something one might identify as integrity. If I was not aware of the consequences such as Mom's Castor Oil or trips to the shed with my Pop, (in this day and time some well-meaning group or individual may have titled some of those hard lessons child abuse) I may have attempted to get away with more stuff when I was still living at home. Without those lessons, I may have walked the edge on several issues after I was out on my own. Who knows when I could have stepped over the edge and ended up in the slammer, hooked on drugs or worse, hurt someone. The truth is that Family Values (as provided by Mom & Pop) led to whatever integrity I demonstrate to the world at large. The reality that my Mom and Pop knew was that the lessons leading to integrity needed to provide real benchmarks not just words which sounded good or looked good on paper. Those benchmarks need real measures and the necessary reminders, such as Castor Oil or Trips to the Shed, when we don't "measure up". [With Regard to.. Integrity 7/18/01]

The best I can remember it was the summer just prior to my eighth birthday when my Pop introduced me to trees. When Pop led me from our back yard out into the woods that day, he had with him a gnarly old stick from our oak tree that he used as a walking stick. As we entered the woods I began looking around for a stick of my own liking, so to be like Pop. I picked up and tried out several. Some were too long, some were too heavy and others too flimsy, however, I kept on looking and it was obvious that I was paying little attention to anything else. After a while, Pop called a halt to my search, pointed out an old log near a thicket of brush and indicated that we were to sit down. "Why?" I asked. Pop responded: "We are going to sit a while, just look around, listen to the sounds of the woods and if we do it right, just the right stick will let itself be known to you." Now most of you know that a boy just short of eight years old has a difficult time with just sitting and listening, much less listening for some stick to talk to him. As always, my Pop was both inventive and patient. After I stopped fidgeting, I began to hear all the different sounds and really see the area surrounding that old log. I looked over to Pop and found him sitting, his elbows resting on his knees; head hung looking (or so I thought) at the ground immediately in front of his feet. I soon realized that he actually had his eyes closed and was just listening to the sounds and seeing the woods in (what he called) his mind's eye. I, too, closed my eyes for a few moments but soon heard a distinctive rustling and quickly opened my eyes and looked over toward that thicket; however, I could not determine what caused the sound. Once again, I closed my eyes and very soon that peculiar sound came again. I got up and eased my way over closer to the thicket and that instant I thought I caught a slight movement out of the corner of my eye. Looking toward what I felt was the source, I reached down and picked up a stick and used it to part the leaves on the bushes so that I could see deeper into the bramble, thinking it could have been a rabbit. It quickly became apparent that whatever had made the noise was no longer there. I walked back over to the old log and no sooner had I sat down, Pop got up and began to follow a path deeper into the woods. Because of that sojourn on the log, I was much more in tune with the environment than myself or how I was walking. Pop seemed to be in no hurry to get to any particular place or to converse with me so we went on at a leisurely pace. We kept up this silent stroll for about 10 minutes, then Pop looked back at me and said: "I see you found your stick. [With Regard to... Trees 11/9/01]

FINAL THOUGHT
A few weeks ago I received a package in the mail from my sister. That package contained several letters from my Pop to Mom. Until I received these letters, I didn't know they even existed. Sister indicated that those I received were only about half of those that were uncovered. I am looking forward to the opportunity to read the rest of them. The letters I received began in August of 1960 and ended in May of 1962. At that time my Pop was working in the construction trade and that required him to work out of town for extended periods of time. Anyone reading the letters would get the sense that Pop was missing his family and hated to be away from home. Pop continued this out-of-town working for the next couple of years and made trips home as often as possible.

He always loved family time especially the holidays when extended families could get together and enjoy each other thus Independence Day was one of his favorites. For many years he and my Uncle James would rent a park halfway between Paducah and Mayfield and put on a celebration. They would dig a pit and barbeque ton's of meat, set out great tubs full of RC Cola and Nehi Soda's, hire a Country Band and folks from miles around would come and party all day. It was fitting that Pop was home for the weekend on the 4th of July 1964 and fully enjoyed one of his beloved family gatherings. Little did we know that it would be his last?

On Second Thought

My Pop may not still walk around this world in the flesh however; his spirit lives on within all those who had the opportunity to get to know him. When Rod and Andrea provided me the opportunity to write this column for The Beat, they facilitated the opportunity for others, who never met Pop, to gain a sense of his who he was and what he meant to me.

Happy Fathers Day Pop…