It’s been eight months since my father, Melvin Wesley White, passed from this world. In a powerfully symbolic setting, Dad drove to Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton Catholic Church with Mom to a healing service. As they pulled the car up to the handicap parking spot and exited the car, they found the closest entrance locked. My Dad had poor knees and walking was already difficult. He shuffled, more than walked, his six-foot tall frame along the outer edge of the church past the pillars. Reminiscent of Jesus’ Stations of the Cross, he stopped at the second pillar, exhausted. Eventually they continued another fifty feet to the entrance. Blue cushioned chairs leaned against the wall to the left next to the registration table. They approached the table, Dad sat in the chair, let out one last gasp, and slumped over on Mom. As symbolic as possible, Dad left this life in his Father’s house.
Back Home in Odessa, Texas
Grief, sadness, disbelief, contentment in recalling fond memories started that July 12th, 2017. Just as quickly as I arrived to Nisswa, Minnesota, less than 24 hours, I was back on my way to Minneapolis where I would catch a flight the next morning back to my family in Texas.
Our entire family earnestly arrived to Texas to celebrate Dad. We carried the chair from church that was his last resting spot back to the house and feted his life every night with Crown Royal and stories. As could be expected, I experienced a range of emotions. Disappointment of stories not told. Relief that Dad wasn’t suffering anymore. Heartache for his lack of presence. Concern for my Mom.
Eventually, the essence of the man who was my father sticks with me. Growing up in Oklahoma without a father figure himself, he was a fiercely loyal, loving, and proud father, overlooking imperfections of his kids. He was ornery with a happy disposition on life. He loved playing practical jokes on everyone. So I will end with a short story about Dad. This is the same man when I served him some skunky T-Town beer, retorted without pause with, “This beer has three after tastes . . . and they’re all ass!” He didn’t finish that beer at my University of Tulsa grad party in 2000.
Back in the summer of 2001, I left to volunteer with the Irish Christian Brothers in Peru. When I left my parents in Texas, my Dad was clean-shaven with a head of white hair. Over the next 14 months while I lived and volunteered in Peru and Bolivia, he planned and began working on his next prank.
When Mom and Dad arrived to Peru in October 2002, I waited outside of customs and immigration at Jorge Chavez International Airport. Sixty yards away in the distance when I first could see passengers exit immigration, I eventually saw a couple that appeared to be my parent’s age and stature, yet that man walked just like my Dad, but didn’t quite look exactly like him. This man had a big, full white beard covering his big, toothy smile. Come to find out, in anticipation of this very moment, Dad grew his beard to surprise me and play a little joke. In all the conversations leading to their visit, never once did he mention it. True to Mel White nature, he played the long game for a prank.
Over the next 15 years, he wore that same beard.
It’s interesting the moments that stick with you and this was one of them.
In honor of him, I decided that for the rest of 2017, I would grow a beard just like him.
Love ya and miss ya Dad.
Three Generations of Melvin White
August 28, 1935 – July 12, 2017
