Today, Father's day, I will attempt to do so. It is tough for me, my father has passed away 32 years ago, when I was a young man. There are many unanswered questions- many things I would love to ask him man to man... I never had the chance. There were many years that I resented him- disliked his decisions, wanted to blame him for my challenges- my dysfunctional upbringing. Even though I know in my intellect, that as an adult I am responsible for my actions- there is a part of me that wants to blame Boyd for the trials and tribulations of my past.
Boyd Shannon was an imperfect man. His alcoholism and lack of self esteem created a family challenge that colors the way I see things today. The way I respond to things...
Born and raised in Old Fort Tennessee he lost his father when he was a boy. The third of five brothers and two sisters, he can easily be described as the black sheep of the family. Boyd worked in the Republic Steel pickle plant, as a welder. The coils of steel needed to be cleansed with an acidic solution to get rid of the impurities...Boyd welded the coils together to allow for a continuous feed into the pickling process. On my birth certificate, it list's Boyd's occupation as a pickler. It was the worse place at the plant- the pickle house. Hot in the summer, cold in the winter...mind numbing redundancy.
Boyd hated his job- but like most of that "greatest generation" those that served in World War II, a job was a necessity. He left Tennessee after the war- marrying my mother and moving to Cleveland Ohio to work in the factories. Working at Republic Steel was a good paying middle class job, and many that worked there built a good life. Boyd's alcoholism got in the way. Fortunately or not- depending upon your stance- the unions were strong, and firing Boyd for repeated absences, a few jail drunk tank times and occasional instances of being sent home for being drunk at work was not an option...he retired from Republic Steel at age 62.
I am trying hard not to use this as references to his weaknesses. Age and mistakes of my own has taught me that Boyd did not arise every morning with the sole goal of screwing up his and his family's lives. He wanted to do good- but he did not have the consistency to do so. I think he felt beaten by it- the alcoholism- the insecurity that plagued him... He surrendered. He existed. But he gave me life, he gave me examples of what was right...and tried to do his best.
He gave me life, and in his own way supported me until I left home to join the Air Force... He fished with me when I was five- then things went south. He loved to play the banjo- but stopped playing- and sold his banjo again around the time I was 5 or six years old. His marriage to my mother- 15 years his junior was a nightmare. His life after that point was pretty much mundane- he worked, and went to the bars. Many time I went with him, sitting on the bar stool drinking coca colas... God forgive me on some of the instances when he "stopped" drinking- the tenseness he displayed, had me wishing he would start again. When he did, I was flooded with a mix or guilt, as if I had "wished" this into being.
There are several times I felt proud of him...while on disability- he had a nerve condition that caused him to be unable to walk for a couple of years- he read the Bible- from front to back. He also had occasional burst where he would take us to church- but truthfully they were less than can be counted on one hand. He was able to return to work after a stint in the Veteran's Hospital (again thanks to the unions) and eventually remarried and had a somewhat normal life. He married a Tennessee girl he had dated as a young man,
When he retired at age 62 they moved back to Tennessee. He bought his second house (the first had been foreclosed) He didn't tell me he was moving- I found out when I went to visit him. His landlord told me. Boyd died unexpectedly at age 67, after a night of drinking with an old drinking buddy. He had a heart attack the following day.
His challenges without a doubt made me try a little harder, expect more from myself, and fear alcoholism- even though I attempted to follow in his footsteps as a young man.
For that I love him and honor him this day.
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