Why My Dad Should Have Been Arrested

• He let me drive the car when I was too young.

As long as I can remember, Dad let me drive the car. When I was a toddler I remember sitting on my Dad’s lap controlling the steering wheel, while he took charge of the gas and brake peddles.  We did this often when we visited my mother’s parents because it was all old farm roads, though he also did it near home in North Myrtle Beach.  This action will not win you Father Of The Year in 2010.  Britney Spears was ridiculed for months for doing something similar with her child.  She was called an idiot and a terrible parent.  I can tell you my dad wasn't talking on the cell phone, driving down the interstate, running away from paparazzi when I was on his lap.  But Dad did let me drive across  four lane Hwy 17, the biggest road in Myrtle Beach, to pick something up from the store.  

• He spanked me with a belt.

As a kid I had had never heard of restriction or time-out.  I received spankings.  At times I got them multiple times daily, and Dad made them hurt…bad.  I was afraid of spankings from my father.  Dad’s formula for spanking was that one spanking equaled 3 hits.  Most days I came home to 3 or 4 spankings.  You can do the math.  I have vague memories of me trying to soften the blow of the spankings, once by putting on extra underwear (like 10 pairs) and once by stuffing a couple small books in my underwear to pad my backside.  I have two great spanking stories which I will write about later.

• He once slammed me against the wall.

I was always a fairly good teen, but I did have a few rebellious moments.  I remember having a shouting match with my mom which ended in me calling her the "b-word" (the non-edited version).  I think she walked away and cried, but it was a long time ago.  My memory of her crying may be foggy, but my memory of Dad when he got home is still very clear.  He spoke to Mom for a moment and then I heard him walking back to my room.  He asked me no questions.  He just grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and slammed me hard against the wall.  He looked directly into my eyes, and it seemed like he was contemplating punching me.  He simply said, “That may only be your mom, but she’s my woman.  And nobody talks to my woman like that."  I never was punished, but Dad made his point.  I respect my mother because she is my mother, but more so because she is Dad's woman. 

• He encouraged me to fight.

Dad never really saw fighting as that big of a deal.  Sometimes guys just need to punch each other in the head.  I ran my mouth a lot, and therefore I got punched in the head a lot.  It taught me to shut my mouth.  It taught me to take a punch.  It taught me how to fight.  There are a lot of big mouth kids these days who would benefit greatly by being punched in the head.  I remember once telling Dad that I got into a fight.  I was expecting to be scolded or spanked, but he just asked, “Did you win?"  I did, and he seemed proud.  Once I got into a argument with my cousin Timmy.  Timmy and I were always either playing and having fun, or punching each other in the head.   Sometimes both.  For what ever reason Timmy pushed me off of the swing in the yard, and I got up crying and ran home.  Dad saw everything go down.  When I got to the house he told me, “Never let someone push you down; sometimes you have to stand up for yourself and fight back."   I said, “OK."  Then I walked back outside punched Timmy in the head, and walked back home.  Dad was shaking his head, “I did not mean for you to punch your cousin.  I meant for you to stand up for yourself next time."  He then made me go and apologize to Timmy.

• He broke child labor laws.

As far back as I can remember, I worked with Dad during the summer and some random Saturdays.  He ran a stucco company called “Phillips’ Plastering."  I did many random jobs like shoveling sand, chipping cement off the ground with a hammer and scrapper, pushing wheelbarrows full of cement, pulling buckets up to the plasterers using a pulley, or building scaffolds.  I loved when Dad taught me to put the stucco on the wall.  My most dangerous job was to build the swinging scaffolds.  I remember standing on the roof of a 16-story high-rise.  There was a 1-foot wide metal beam hanging over the side of the building.  My job was to lie on my stomach on the beam with Dad holding onto my belt buckle.  Dad would push me out to the end of the metal beam.  My job was to hook a cable on the end of the beam with the 16-story drop below me.  The best part of my work was that I did not start getting a legit paycheck until I was 15 or 16.  When I was 7 years old I worked for $1 a day.  When I was around 12 I talked Dad up to $1 an hour.  I finally made minimum wage when I was in my mid-teens.  I learned a great deal from Dad about working hard and being proud of the work you do.

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Dad did not always obey the rules, and many people would not approve of some of the stuff he did.  Dad was has tough as nails, but he was a kind man.  He was, and still is, Superman.  In addition to lessons I learned from all the things he could have been arrested for, he instilled the things that made me the man I am today.  I would wake up every morning to find him already up, reading his Bible.  He has served as a Sunday School teacher, church deacon, and sang in the church choir all my life; he still serves in this same way.  From age three, he worked tirelessly to have me memorize scripture.  He took me on my first foreign mission trip at 12 years old.  When I ask for advice, he has always, always pulled out his Bible and given advice from his Heavenly Father.  He taught me to love God first, my wife second, my children third, and everything else follows after these.  I often pray that I will be as good as a father as he was and is still, but I usually fall short.

I love you, Dad.  Thanks for raising me.