Abi: The Preacher. [24/30]

One of the nicest people I ever knew was my Papa. He was a preacher for a Baptist church, and even though I protested his religion he never spoke ill of me of forced anything on me. I know he’d would mention I should attend church more, but it was more like: “we miss you there.” Nana would be the once to kind of be insistent on the topic and using the idea of God wanting me there.
Or at least this is how I recall it.

My Papa was a soft spoken man, which is amusing given that Nana was the polar opposite and seemed to run the working of the family (well, from my view it seemed so).

What I always respected about him was he never seemed to dwell on the idea of damnation as much as he would dwell on the idea of salvation. It was not preaching of fire of brimstone, it was always the lessons available through the Bible (or the Word Of God).

I never heard my Papa yell. I never heard him angry. I think Nana did enough of that for them both.

Right after my first daughter was born I remember staying at their house for a few days with Zozo. One day, while the little one was napping, he was discussing how the reality of the End of Days that wasn’t seen when he was younger… I remember very little of it, honestly, because I’ve never invested so much in that religion, but I remember he pointed out some very interesting things that made the Bible painted future seem very plausible with our current times and technology. (I’m sure if I took the time to look into it I’d remember it more.)

What I cherished about growing up was Christmas at Nana and Papa’s. He used to read ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas for years on end, before any gifts were passed out. I remember that if someone made a noise, he’d start again at the beginning… which meant insanity among my uncles. My uncles by themselves are pains, but get them all in one room: be scared.

I think, in retrospect, of all the supposed Christians I have know, my Papa was the one who truly seemed touch by his God. I seriously never recall too much of a negative outlook. I know he had aged, near the end, and his body was nothing like it used to be, but he didn’t seem to complain much… actually I don’t ever recall him complaining at all.

I remember how he’d speak to John, how he was so friendly with him, and how John always loved to talk to him. They would talk about cars, or John would talk about work… It was nice that John had someone within the family to talk to, like they did.

My Papa used to me a car mechanic, and he owned his own little shop down the hill from their house in Rockledge before they moved (where they had lived, I think they had said, some 42 years or something). I want to say the shop had originally been his dad’s, but I don’t recall anymore.

I remember the garage. It had a very distinct smell to it. I remember back in the day, when the garage was opened, that he’d be sitting at his desk most of the day.

Someday I wished I got more time to talk to him, because I know so little about him, and what little I do are things I didn’t learn from him but from my mum or Nana.