This past Sunday our Pastor David's sermon was based on Psalm 128. Pastor David presided over his Dad's funeral using the same Psalm four years ago. Powerful and tearfully touching is all I can say how David talked about his late father. For those of you who may read this I know you never met my Dad but I gotta tell you he was the sweetest man I've ever known. I want to tell you a little bit about my Dad, Pete.
Pete was born March 17, 1919 in Echola, Alabama (Tuscaloosa County). One of 12 children of David and Nancy Crawford. They were farmers and they were poor. The children worked the fields and walked to a one room school house 2 miles away. My grandfather David was 62 when Pete was born and died when Pete was just a boy. Pete was 13 when he became the man of the house. He quit school in the 8th grade because he had to work to provide for his mother. Pete cut and loaded cord wood for less than $1.00 a day. Hard manual labor. He never complained.
The years went by and a friend introduced Pete to Hazel Glenn. They married on Christmas day. He was 22 and she was 18. The year was 1941. Pete was drafted and he fought in WWII. He was in Europe for 4 1/2 years. He was one of the soldiers that landed at Anzio in 1944. Look it up, Anzio was bad. He sent money home to Hazel and his mother. He was devoted.
Pete made it through the war and made it safely home. He and Hazel started their family. My sister Joan was born in October 1946 (she's still upset about her name because of the movie star Joan Crawford, she was teased a good bit). Pete's mother died in 1947. They had me in May 1951. Pete's family was always his number on priority. It was until the day he died.
Because of Pete's lack of education he worked shift work at the paper mill in Tuscaloosa. He did it for 34 years and then the mill shut down because of a labor strike. Because he was frugal and saved his money he and mom made it ok. He got a part time job at a nursery (Pete could grow tomatoes in concrete). He never complained.
Pete loved to work with wood. He was a craftsman. In 1963 he lost his index, middle and ring fingers in and industrial accident at the mill. It was his right hand. He was right handed. I can remember crying like I had never cried before when I saw his hand. Pete adapted like he always did. Once it healed he went back to work at the mill and continued to work with wood the best he could. He taught himself how to write with his left hand. He never complained.
Pete died of cancer in 1987. He was so sick. He suffered for month after month, eight to be exact. He was bedridden. When I would visit he always smiled and asked how I was doing. When Pete died he weighed 90 pounds. He never complained.
The only time I verbally told Pete I loved him was on the day he died. He couldn't respond because he was in a coma. I now tell the members of my family I love them every chance I get. If your reading this please think about how important it is to express your love to your family.
The reason I'm telly this story is because Pete deserves to be remembered. To the members of my family who never met Pete you missed out on meeting one of the most humble and sweetest man who has ever lived. He loved his family, he sacrificed for his family and he provided for his family. This past Father's Day sermon reminded me of how much I miss and love Pete, my Daddy.
God Bless
Glenn
