A Long Overdue Tribute to My Dad

I mentioned quietly here a couple of times last year that my dad was diagnosed with a grade 4 glioblastoma – the same type of tumor that John McCain has. What I haven’t shared in this space, though you might have caught it on Instagram, is that my dad died earlier this year, on January 31. I spent the last week of his life by his side and was honored to be in the room when he took his last breath. I wrote the following as a pseudo-eulogy back then, but held it close to the vest until now.

I’m working on some new posts – the next one will be a hopefully educational tell-all (probably multi-part series) covering our experience of how Sarah Kate learned to drive with hand controls and what that means for her and our family in terms of a car – but I didn’t feel I could move forward with my writing without first acknowledging our family’s loss.

Some years ago, my employer sent me to a training class on negotiation skills. All of the participants were told to write down the name of someone they considered to be a master negotiator. The other attendees wrote down names like Winston Churchill and Nelson Mandela; I wrote “my dad”. The facilitator found that hilarious – so hilarious that he shared it with the class. My response was, “If you knew him, you’d understand.”

During his lifetime, my dad negotiated with everyone – students, contractors, friends, salespeople, horsemen, teachers, and tradesmen were all engaged. What made him so good at it wasn’t a desire to triumph over an “opponent” or to get the most out of a deal he made – he was a master negotiator because his aim was for both parties to be happy with the outcome.

But Daddy wasn’t just a master of negotiating transactions…he was a master negotiator of life. He always found a way. When he was the seventeen-year-old drum major for his high school band, the director departed midyear and wasn’t replaced, so Daddy took over the band. Years later, when he was principal at that same high school and needed a bus driver on short notice, he recruited a student with experience pulling a horse trailer and driving tractors to do it (yes, it was a totally crazy idea…but it worked out!)

He always worked to bring people together, from his time as principal of the very first integrated class to graduate from Thompson High School in deeply divided Alabama, to end-of-semester teacher get-togethers, to the horse sale or trail, to his professional life. He found jobs for people, helped people buy their first homes, and offered his own home for couples to exchange vows or friends to celebrate birthdays or retirements. He connected riders with the right horses, friends with common interests, and poor college students with a roll of carpet for their dorm room floors. His view of the world was of a complex tapestry, each of us connected to each other in some way, and one of his gifts was to identify and forge those connections.

We are all imperfect and broken in different ways, and my dad was no exception. But Daddy’s flaws were easy to overlook, because he so generously overlooked the flaws in others. He saw potential in everyone, even at times when they didn’t see it in themselves, and he took steps to help people realize their potential. Sometimes it was a house call to the parent of a wayward student, and at other times it was writing letters in support of someone who’d gotten themselves sideways with the legal system. He helped people negotiate the rocky patches in our lives without judgment or harsh words, whether through concrete actions or simply talking us through it. Because he believed in each one of us, we were able to believe in ourselves.

As dedicated as he was to his friends, he was even more devoted to his family. His marriage to his wife, Betty, in 1976, following what I believe was the only rocky patch in his life, created a union of two spirits that was deep, genuine, and lasting, built on friendship, mutual respect, laughter, and love. It was perhaps one of the best deals he ever negotiated, because he not only found the great love of his life, but he gained a second daughter, as well. As my stepsister, Rhonda, put it so eloquently last Father’s Day, Daddy saved them when they didn’t know they needed saving. I suspect he would have said the same thing about them.

My husband joined the family in 1996 and became the son my dad never had. Daddy could never convince him to love riding horses, but they did bond over a shared love of guns and bird dogs. Daddy and Scott would go bird hunting, and Daddy would always bring a shotgun for himself, but he would never shoot – he simply wanted to be with Scott. Their relationship may have developed because of me, but it was not dependent on me.

But one of my dad’s greatest joys was his two grandchildren. He doted on them and spoiled them, bought them gifts at every opportunity and sat in the floor to play with them. He bought them ponies and took them to the zoo and attended plays and swim meets and did all of the things that grandfathers do. But he also spent countless hours in doctor’s offices and hospitals while they saw specialists and underwent surgeries, and supported them – and me – through all of the challenges they have faced.

As Allen Fulton’s daughter, I have to be honest – I grew weary at times of having to share him with what seemed like the entire world. But as an adult, I see more clearly how generous his nature was and admire him for it. Today I have been married for over two decades to a wonderful man whose nature is similarly generous toward others. When it mattered, my dad would drop whatever he was doing for Betty, Rhonda, Scott, me, or my children.

My daddy led a charmed life – I told him so right after his diagnosis. The waters always seemed to part for him when he needed them to – for him, things felt neatly into place. My aunt Russ, his older and only sister, told me that it was her fault because she was ten years older and she spoiled him when he was young. She could be right, but I think a big part of the reason that his life was so good was because he was such a positive figure for so many people.

We miss you, Daddy.

“At the hour of death when we come face-to-face with God, we are going to be judged on love; not how much we have done, but how much love we put into the doing.” – Mother Teresa