I like to think of Dad as a timid adventurer. While he was largely content to stay close to home and surround himself with familiar people and things, deep down he had a spirit of wanderlust. He drove motorcycles for many years. His midlife crisis car was a burnt orange MG Midget that met an untimely demise (thankfully he and mom did not). And his retirement dream, partially realized, was to travel around the country in an RV. There were trips to Alaska, France and Spain. While the adventures may not have been numerous or extraordinary, they satisfied the curiosity of the farm boy from White Castle, and, more importantly, inspired others, like me, to pursue my own adventures.
Of course, when it came to choose between relocating for work to either Greece or Magnolia, Arkansas, Dad opted for Magnolia, much to the disappointment of my sister and I. Hence the temerity.
O.J. was a supporter of social justice causes and invested his time and energy in helping the less fortunate. There is a story, embellished perhaps, of he and mom being gassed at a civil rights march in college. In recent years, he volunteered at the Baton Rouge Food Bank and would gladly cook up his notable jambalaya or gumbo for a worthy cause. The fact was, Dad would help anyone who asked, and many who didn't- the Vietnamese family resettling in Baton Rouge with barely a suitcase, to the neighbors in need of a sitter. The exposure to those with less wealth and more hardship taught me appreciation and humility. And his willingness to always help taught me what it means to be a good friend and neighbor.
O.J. was an avid sportsman. He was an original member of the White Castle High School football team. He ran track, an activity which cost him his two front teeth. Some of my earliest memories are of dad in a striped shirt, refereeing church league basketball games. He was always willing to play catch when he got home from work. Most significantly, for me at least, he coached our little league softball team for several seasons. Those were the glory years of my childhood, and the memories of “the great catch”, “the clutch hit” and “the championship game” are still vivid in my memory as I'm sure they are in the minds of so many of the other boys on those teams.
He coached like he parented, like he lived- modestly, calmly, with a clear purpose and staunch work ethic. Mostly, he was a quiet, gentle man who welcomed everyone and made them feel at ease in his presence. Several friends have commented to me how he always made them feel welcome and comfortable, never judged.
O.J. wasn't a great man and he certainly wasn't perfect, but he was good and kind and patient and he touched the people he came across and we are the better for it.
