By Charles Deweese
Several years ago my father, Philip Deweese of Asheville, N.C., issued an imperative, but ironic, challenge to me: “Son, don’t ever turn 65.” Although temporarily startled, I knew what he meant.
After turning 65, he had experienced multiple health problems: prostate cancer and a prostatectomy, a heart attack and six-bypass heart surgery, a table-saw accident and the loss of one and a half fingers and diabetes, which resulted in three amputations and serious vision loss. Diabetes would lead to kidney failure and my father’s death in March 2007.
Little did my father or I know that in the weeks prior to his death I had developed abdominal lymphoma, which would not be officially diagnosed until July of that year. I was only 62. His scenario for me had already broken down.
Following eight chemotherapy sessions, I learned in early 2008 that I was in remission. In June of that year, the lymphoma returned. I was only 63. After completing further and more powerful chemo sessions, I learned in late September of that year that I had entered my second remission.
Then in June 2010, only a few days ago, my urologist told me that I now have carcinoma. How interesting. I am 65, so my father finally got it right. I am currently considering various treatment options.
Philip Deweese, the author’s father, at the 2006 college graduation of his grandson, Jamie Deweese, whom he raised from infancy. “One of my father’s last wishes was to see Jamie graduate,” the author said of the day. “That was my last trip with my father and his last trip anywhere.”
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Since June 20 will be Father’s Day, I have been reflecting on my father lately. I owe him a lot. Though he did not finish high school in the 1930s, he strongly supported me through college and seminary. Powerful memories of my relationship with my father linger: the times we camped out together on the Blue Ridge Parkway, the nights that he sat in the stands rooting for me when I played Little League baseball, and the cottage prayer meetings we attended in the 1950s.
I particularly remember mid-afternoon, November 25, 1961, when he and I sat in the main lobby of St. Joseph’s Hospital in Asheville, listening to a group of doctors and nurses march down the hall in our direction only to tell us that my mother, age 36, had just died from a traffic accident that morning. An intoxicated driver had sped through an intersection and hit our car. I know because I was driving our car.
So, as I approach Father’s Day in 2010, several thoughts occur to me.
First, if your father is alive, consider visiting or calling him and tell him that you love him. It doesn’t matter if he is in a pulpit or a prison, if he is rich or poor, if he has hurt you or helped you. Just tell him that you are grateful that he made it possible for you to exist, achieve, and be a person of faith.
Second, my question is not what my children owe me on Father’s Day. My question is what I owe them. Mary Jane and I have two married daughters. Both are happily married. They have provided us with seven wonderful grandchildren. I intend to talk directly to my two daughters on Father’s Day and tell them how much joy they have given me, how much they have taught me, and how much I love them.
Third, as a father never, even in jest, tell your child not to turn 65. Who knows? Your child or children may make their most significant personal accomplishments and grandest contributions after turning that age. For example, W. O. Carver founded the current Baptist History and Heritage Society in 1938 — when he was 70.