Remembering Another March 18

I’ve always been told that parents should not have a favorite child, and that is true for me. But I must admit to having a favorite parent!

My father, Lawrence Bradley, was the kindest, gentlest, and yet most capable and intelligent man I knew. He could build things, such as a new barn, and repair anything around the farm where I grew up. He even installed my mother’s parents’ first bathroom, saving us all from the inconvenience of the outhouse.

Until I was about twelve, we had a milk cow that Daddy milked every morning and night. As he walked to the house with the bucket full of milk, he would swing his arm in wide circles, letting centrifugal force keep the milk in the bucket. I thought that was magical, and I was sure no other dad could do that.

I knew my dad was really a “jack of all trades” because he not only impressed his family with his miscellaneous skills, but he consistently held three jobs—high school science teacher, farmer, and church song leader. The teaching job produced the money we lived on, and the farming was more for his enjoyment than for much profit. He had a small, 50-acre farm that was partly tillable and partly better for cattle grazing. He also helped his father farm a larger farm that had been in our family for over 200 years. We were proud that we had a “Tennessee Century Farm” and a sign to prove it.

The local song leading paid nothing, but in the summers he would lead singing for gospel meetings held in area congregations. One summer, he had ten consecutive weeks of song leading every night, going from one country church to another. I loved going to those meetings with him, but especially so when I was the only one who went. I loved being with my dad all by myself.

As I got older, I helped with the farming, often driving the tractor to harvest wheat or to pull a wagon to pick up bales of hay. Today bales of hay are huge rolls in the fields, but back then the farmer would cut his hay or straw and leave piles that a baling machine, pulled by a tractor, would press into bales and tie with baling twine. Then the bales would be transported to the barn. I couldn’t pick up a bale, but I could drive the tractor while the men loaded the wagon. Occasionally now folks use bales of straw more for Halloween or fall decorations.

He was a remarkable musician who played many instruments by ear, especially the piano, organ, fiddle, and guitar. His most unusual instrument was a saw, played with his fiddle bow. (Not on the side with teeth, of course! I was recently asked how it didn’t cut the bowstrings…)

Forty years ago on March 16, my father taught school, went to a gospel singing and led a song, then had a massive heart attack. He died on March 18, 1984—an incredible loss to our family but also to many others whose lives he touched.

Two years ago, my husband and I were on a cruise that had stopped in Nova Scotia. On an elevator, we struck up a conversation with a young couple from Tennessee and soon she was telling me about being in my father’s biology class the year he died. We were amazed at her vivid remembrance of him and were gratified that he was remembered by more than his family.

Forty years! And those who love him remember and honor him still. Because of his strong faith, we know where he is, and now our mother has joined him. My brothers and I were most blessed to have such a father!