Dear Dad,
Robert Grady Pittman (my Father) was born on this day in 1925 and died in March of 2006. Not a day passes I don’t think of him. By the world’s measures he was an ordinary man, but for me, the youngest of his three sons he was a remarkable man who fought in WWII, came home and used his innate entrepreneurial savvy to build a business in the burgeoning post-war furniture industry fueled by hundreds of thousands of other G.I.s returning, marrying and moving into new homes that needed to be furnished. Dad was handy and could fix anything, loved golf and fishing. He was gregarious, the kind of guy that made a good first impression and quickly endeared himself to others. Dad was idealistic yet practical — a philisophical man of many contradictions.
I wrote this Letter to my Father a few years before he died and wanted to share it hoping it resonates with you as a Son or Daughter, or as a Father yourself.
Dear Dad,
I have missed you so much lately. I had a dream about you last night.
You arrived at a party where I wasn’t expecting you, walked in the door, a little unsteady, but under control. You looked great — deep blue shirt, and your favorite khaki slacks. You were tanned and had a smile on your face. At first I was stunned to see you up and about because you’d been stuck in bed in that nursing home for the past 3 years. I walked over to the sofa where you were talking to Chris (my middle brother), and gave you a bear hug. As usual, I felt your beard scratch against my cheek. It was so good to see you, and to find you feeling better.
But it was just a dream.
Instead, you are still in that nursing home room, marking time. Every day is pretty much the same, broken into intervals punctuated by nurses visits, and on weekends a brief visit from Mike and Pat (eldest brother and wife). I wish with all my might that I could do something to help. Something to change your circumstances.
I’ve been organizing old family photos lately and scanning them for a family web site project. There are so many photos of you beginning with your high school years. What a strikingly handsome guy you were. I hardly recognize you without your glasses which you didn’t wear back then. It’s funny to think of one’s parents having a life before their kids are born, right? My earliest memories of you are when I was five or six, I’m in the driveway watching you get out of your car, just returning from a business trip. You’re smiling, reaching for me. Crisp white shirt, and dark tie, and your distinctive glasses. Daddy’s home! In my Saturday morning cartoon brain, I think you look like Mr. Peabody, the cartoon Beagle with glasses, so I say “Hi Mr. Peabody!” You smile that bemused smile of a parent who has come to accept that he doesn’t understand half of what his little kids are talking about — pop culture is hard to keep up with.
You were always coming and going. Selling furniture throughout the South. Making friends in every town. Sometimes you took me along. I was your partner, your sidekick. I have the fondest memories of those trips — just you and me. In particular there was a snowy night passing through Asheville, North Carolina, the roads were very slippery but you were determined to make it home that night. We stopped at Buck’s Restaurant near the tunnel and had dinner and blueberry pie for dessert. I can still taste that pie. While paying our bill,we paused in front of the glass case where gum and mints are displayed and there I spotted a kid-sized (toy) hunting knife sheathed in a leather case. At that moment, I wanted that knife more than anything else in the world. You saw the look, and a few seconds later you were attaching it to my belt. I was so excited I couldn’t sleep the rest of the trip.
With that knife you taught me how to carve and whittle. On a subsequent road trip, sitting in the back, I whittled away on a small twig. New to the craft, I cut gashes in several of my fingers and was a bloody mess. At some point you noticed I had a problem and pulled the car over and wrapped my bloody fingers with your fresh white handkerchief. You showed me what I was doing wrong, and after that, I was a pretty good whittler and rarely ever cut myself.
We went fishing hundreds of times when I was a kid. You loved to fish.
We would sit on the dock, or in the boat for hours rarely speaking except for you giving me pointers on casting. I really cherish those memories. You were so patient with me, in fishing and in practically everything else. I studied you and how you carried yourself and I suppose that is where my abundant patience came from.
Claire and Joe (my kids) are growing up too quickly and are beautiful and smart children. You would be so proud of them. I think of you so often when I am with them. I wish they could have gotten to know you better — every kid needs a grandfather, and they had too little time with you before you got sick. If you were able I know you would spoil them. There was nothing you wouldn’t do for your boys or mom when I was growing up — even if it meant spending money you didn’t really have. Looking back, I have wished that we talked more about important things, but I understand now that that was difficult for you. You expressed your love through giving things, and you took great pride in your gifts. Remember the time you became furious with Uncle Dave because he wouldn’t let you pay for the Thanksgiving turkey? We can laugh about it now, but you were so offended when you gave a gift that wasn’t accepted. I didn’t understand that then, but now it makes sense. If I ever seemed ungrateful, I apologize. You were so generous with me and I thank you for that.
I have to go now, but I just wanted to tell you that I am thinking of you and smiling as I remember the times we spent together in my childhood and youth. I love you and hope you are able to replay the happy times we enjoyed to while away the hours. We have so many wonderful memories.
With love from your youngest,
Terry
Dad’s birthday was April 16, 1925.
Dad died in March 2006. After the funeral his body was cremated and his ashes were sprinkled at several of his favorite trout and bass fishing streams in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina.
