Shop with Sherry – Pinterest
________________
“Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.”
― L.M. Montgomery, The Story Girl
This was my father, Jim Wheaton.
My brother and I were raised by two ‘only children.’ My dad was embarrassed to show emotion, having learned early that he needed to protect himself from people getting too close and possibly hurting him. (He fell off a horse when he was 3, permanently damaging his left arm, making it almost useless, and the cause of relentless cruel taunting from other kids.) He defended himself by developing an incredible sense of humor.
He learned to look at a situation as if he were watching a movie. He made himself see the humor in the situation, learned not to take himself too seriously. He learned to make the other children laugh. They learned to look past his disability and accept him because he was so much fun to be around.
He passed this sense of humor and attitude on to us. I learned to appreciate the stories he would tell, the jokes, the puns, the sarcasm he used regularly, the snide comments. Humor became a survival skill that I have used throughout my life. If I can see the humor in the situation, I can deal with it.
He ran a one-man advertising agency in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where I grew up. He used his humor in his work, creating ads that made people not only remember and try products of his clients, but earned him a following as an entertaining guy – a celebrity of sorts – on the radio. He billed himself as the “second worst radio voice” (the first being a florist who just read her own words in a scratchy voice as an ad.) He won numerous awards from the local advertising organization, winning an Addy Award for lifetime achievement in advertising.
When I was making a final presentation in my class for a Master’s Degree as a Reading Specialist, my theme was skills to build intelligent judgment of advertising claims. I asked my dad to be my featured speaker. I finished my talk presenting my dad, as Jim Wheaton, Advertising man, and the room went nuts, wanting to hear the man behind the ads. He finished his presentation by saying something about the joy of being asked to speak, and “how proud he was of his daughter, Linda Lewis.” The place erupted. They had no idea we were related. I couldn’t speak. This was the first time he had ever said he was proud of me. I knew he LOVED me, but this was a moment that still makes me tear up as I type.
When my dad died, he wrote on a napkin, “Remember me laughing.” It was a long time before I could, but I do. Even though I’m living by myself now in Thailand, a country strange and fascinating to me, I am not alone. I can FEEL him looking down at me, particularly when I’m sticking my neck out – feeling uncomfortable – reminding me he’s proud.
I remember him. I honor him. I brought him here with me in my mind and in my heart. I’ll never feel alone.
creativeartworksblog 