As many of you already know, my father passed away last Monday, December 15, 2008. He was 80 years old. It was quite unexpected, though he had been sick for sometime. But no matter what, I don't think you're ever prepared.My father will be remembered by many people... and in as many different ways as there are people who knew him. To some, he was a kindly old man; to others, he was a selfish, set-in-his-ways taskmaster. However he is remembered, he, like anyone else who has ever walked this earth, should be remembered.
Gilbert Earl Tapley was born on Tuesday, June 19, 1928 at home (like most babies of his time), which was a farm, in Johnson County, Georgia. He was the youngest of six children of his mother's and 10 children of his father's. Shortly after his birth, the country went into the Great Depression, and his parents lost their land when they were unable to make the payments to the bank. Soon after, his father passed away. Daddy was only 7 years old. After that, his mother had to raise 5 boys and a girl on her own, during the depression, with no home to call their own. They moved constantly, did sharecropping or anything else that would feed them. (He told of the Christmas where his mother could not even afford to buy him a 5 cent rubber ball.) Daddy's older brothers apparently spent more time ordering him around than being father figures. Inevitably, Daddy began to run "wild" and get into trouble. When he was 14, he attempted to syphon gas from a pick-up truck, and his mother turned him in because she just couldn't handle him anymore. For this offense, Daddy spent 14 months (including his 15th birthday) in the "boys' home" (or juvenile as it's called now) in Milledgeville, Georgia. He escaped once, made it all the way to Jacksonville, Florida by hitchhiking and got a job. After several months, his aunt turned him in, and he was returned to Georgia to finish his sentence plus more for escape. At least this experience had the desired effect: He was a law-abiding citizen the rest of his life.
All of these events and circumstances shaped the man he became. A man who had to be in control; who did not trust women; who hoarded money and belongings alike because he knew what it was like to be poor; who had a difficult time maintaining relationships of any kind; and who had too much pride to even bow before God.
He married at 17; had two children by the time he was 20. He divorced twice during his lifetime and had strained and sometimes nonexistent relationships with his two older children. By the time he ran off with my mom when he was 34 and she was 20, he was quite set in his ways and it was his way or the highway. He was just fortunate that my mother lived with that for 46 years.
Daddy was a carpenter by trade, though he quit working when I was four and didn't return (and then only part time) until I left home at 18. Was it really due to his health or because he hated taking orders from bosses? He loved cars and trucks, tractors, horses, land, money, fried fish, fresh sliced tomatoes, mirrors, clocks, and most of all, chocolate milkshakes made by my mother. He craved being "thought a lot of" and being important. He had to be the center of attention. And he had to be in charge.
My father was a complex man. I have no doubt he loved... as best he could. He could be very kind and giving one day... and downright mean the next.
Unfortunately I do not have the patience of my mother. There were many strained times in my father's and my relationship... even years when the relationship was nonexistent. However, in the last few years, from the time he had his stroke and open heart surgery in 2003, I was a good daughter, and I was there for him and my mom. I have no regrets when it comes to my father.
I don't know where you are, Daddy, but I sure do hope you have found some peace... I think you deserve it.
