Phil Major

He was my Dad.

And he leaves behind a complicated legacy.

Don’t misinterpret that word, “complicated,” because it does not imbue negativity, but complexity.

For he was a complex man.

One of my high school friends once described him as a Renaissance man. Once I got a better grasp of the term, I had to agree.

Preacher and Biblical scholar. Accomplished at carpentry and auto repair. Ran a gas station employing dozens of high school and college students. Counselor as a later-in-life career. Well-traveled. Physically active and loved sports. He enjoyed jazz and classical music and read more books than you can imagine.

When he retired from the Methodist conference, each retiree got to make a few remarks and have the attendees sing a favorite hymn. He said he would have preferred the “Hallelujah Chorus” but let us off with “A Mighty Fortress.”

He touched more people in a positive way than could possibly be counted – hundreds, maybe thousands. And he never met a stranger, whether they were eight or eighty.

When a grand celebration was held upon his 70th birthday at the facilities of Mercy Ships south of Garden Valley, many of the people he had touched since his return to East Texas a decade before stood up and spoke about him.

As the eldest child and only son I felt a duty to make a few remarks. I was not about to get all maudlin, so I just told a funny story about him from my grandmother and said simply, “He’s my Dad.”

And he was, in just about every sense of the word.

He and my Mom provided us a comfortable home, almost “Leave it to Beaver” idyllic. It was solidly middle class. Plenty of playmates in the neighborhood. We could walk to our elementary school. We had clothes to wear, food to eat, took some great vacations and never wanted for much. We were in church just about every time they opened the doors.

It seems that most every Christmas the special item circled in the Sears Roebuck catalog would appear under the tree – a telescope, an aquarium, a slot car track, an electric football game.

He took me to Cowboy games, often with friends. After his church league softball games, we always stopped for milk shakes. He told bedtime stories.

He contributed not only to the family but to the larger community, probably in more ways than I will ever know. And there was no hint in our household of prejudice or bigotry.

But then came the divorce after 25 years that shocked a community, and things changed. As I was just weeks from college graduation and had not lived at home for more than two years, I was least impacted in terms of daily living. The older of my two younger sisters was finishing her second year at junior college but did return later to live with Mom. So it fell to the younger sister to bear most of that impact, as she was still in high school.

It’s hard to say there is ever a benefit to a divorce, but the one that still resonates is that our parents were suddenly individuals, and we got to know them in a completely different way.

Then he remarried and we welcomed another wonderful lady into our lives along with a step sister and brother.

Not long after that, his first grandchild came along, our son, and Dad was pretty good at being Granddad as well.

He was able to remain active into his 80s, running the ministry he and my step-mom established near here for 25-plus years. Unfortunately the past few years had seen memory and physical declines, which was tough to watch from a man who had been so active, involved and engaged.

We knew his time was getting short, but the news of his passing last Wednesday still came as a shock. Perhaps he decided to fore go the continued slow decline and check out.

As that same friend – who worked at the gas station – told me the other day, AJ cleaned up, turned off the lights and locked up.