The Phillips Family

Isaac posted this on Facebook yesterday. I thought some of you who don't have Facebook might like to read it too.

Thoughts elsewhere on November 5th
Yesterday at 11:32pm

In the midst of this election, amongst thoughts public and private of the new president (some happy, some angry), I couldn't help but to feel uneasy. Perhaps the political air was too thick. People reveling, some proclaiming their ignorance openly. Mostly though, my thoughts were not on the election, as prevalent as it was. They were on my late father, Gary Phillips. Today would have been his 54th birthday.

I felt like sharing with everyone a bit about him because he was very dear to me, and much more I to him. He grew up in Augusta, Georgia, but made his way to Columbia in the early 80's. I was born when he was 30. He and my mom divorced when I was pretty young. In fact, I don't actually remember a time when we were all together. I think I was about 4 or 5 when my mom, sister, and I moved into a trailer on our own. Over the years, I would visit him every other weekend.

I learned a lot about my father. I always thought he was hilarious. Most people found him very funny. His usual, cooky behavior bought him the name "Wildman" that he would keep for the rest of his life. The name seems so appropriate. He loved the wild. He cherished open skies, trees, plants, and even animals. Many animals appeared at his door and he couldn't help except to take them in, no matter how much he told himself that he shouldn't keep them. He felt strongly for the wild. He likened it to his slight (1/32) Cherokee heritage.

My dad was also a writer. When I say writer, I mean a writer of all types. He wrote short stories, essays, letters, memorandums, poetry, songs, and even one full novel about King Arthur (that I am in the middle of reading). He was a great writer. I hope to later include quotes from some of his work as I continue to organize and read it all.

The most important thing I learned from my father was love. As a person that most would not consider to be a Christian, he understood and showed love better than many Believers I know. He chose many times to not better himself in order to be with me. He got it and I understand it now so much more because of how he showed it to me. He had his rough side. He was very crass, had a fondness for certain illegal substances, and had some serious anger issues that I even carry today. However, I can't ignore the love he showed. I honestly don't know if I'm going to see him again. I can't sit here and think I will and wish for it or think that I won't and despair. Neither does me any good. I can only hope that I take the love that he showed me and give it to those close to me, praying that God helps me to leave behind the bad things I got from him and cultivate the good.

I loved my dad. I still do when I think of him. It still hurts that he's not here because I've gone through a lot of hard stuff in the past 4 years that I really could've used him for. Sometimes I'm mad about him being gone and sometimes I just desperately miss him. Feel free to ask me about him. I love to talk about him.