As this weekend rolls around, millions of people across the globe will observe one of the most revered annual holidays and pay tribute to their respective family patriarchs on Father’s Day this Sunday, June 20.
The first Father’s Day was celebrated on June 19, 1910 in the state of Washington. However, it was not until 1972, 58 years after President Woodrow Wilson made Mother’s Day an official observance, that the day of parallel honoring of fathers became a nationwide holiday in the United States.
An estimated $20.1 billion is expected to be spent this year on Father’s Day, which is the highest projection on record, and up from the $17 billion that was spent in 2020.
In addition to the United States, Father’s Day is also observed in several other countries, including Mexico, Canada, New Zealand, Australia, South Africa, Brazil, United Kingdom, France, Greece, India, Pakistan, Ireland, Venezuela, Singapore and Argentina.
Traditionally, it was not uncommon for many American households to consist of a multitude of children. American men often fathered broods of kids in the range of six or eight, and into the double-digits like 10, 12 or even more. That made for typical families in those days that seem extraordinarily large compared to today’s standards.
My dad, who was born in October 1937 in rural Arkansas, was one of eight children in his family – six boys and two girls. I suppose some of the reasoning back in those days, particularly in more rural or agricultural environments, was the economical aspect of raising your own labor force and to keep as much of your immediate family as possible directly involved in certain types of physical work.
Fast-forward in time to 1959, when my brother was born. I came along as the middle child four years later in 1963 and then my little sister in 1967. Even with only three siblings, times often felt pretty tough growing up – so I can’t fathom my dad having to feed, clothe, educate and share everything in life with five additional kids.
Don’t get me wrong – we may not have gotten everything we wanted or asked for, but we never had to do without necessities. There were plenty of folks who had it rougher than we did, but we definitely never had to worry about choking on any silver spoons either.
I guess you could say we grew up in one of those textbook environments, and we managed to emerge as adults able to say that we did our best with the hand we were dealt. It could have been better, but it could’ve always been worse, too.
My dad’s lifetime of employment was working for pipeline companies – hundreds upon hundreds of them over the years. As far back as I can remember, pipeline is the only job he ever knew.
Although he was technically classified as a pipe bending and engineering superintendent, I never saw a job function he couldn’t do or a piece of equipment he couldn’t operate. He was an absolute self-taught master on a side-boom, track-hoe, bulldozer, skid-steer, bending machine, hydraulic mandrel, arc-welder, you name it.
We literally moved more frequently than many military families because of the transient nature of pipeline work. It requires you to follow the next job to the next location, it doesn’t come to you, and that usually involves traveling to a totally different town, state or even region of the country within the course of a few short days.
Besides being extremely talented in all aspects of his work, my dad was one of the most generous people I’ve ever known. He was a constant source of help to many of my friends and countless guys around Columbia and Marion County who needed a job and were willing to work.
During the three decades spanning the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s, my dad was renowned for not only getting people hired, but also letting them travel with him to distant job locations, covering their temporary living expenses and even loaning them money to get established until they could afford to sustain themselves with a steady paycheck.
When another job was about to start, he only had to pass along the word of upcoming pipeline work, and I’m certain he helped a lot of people get through some tough times. Many became long-time friends and worked repetitive jobs with him over the years.
Later in his life, as with most folks, things had to slow down. It’s the unfair and unbalanced cruel reality of nature that allows our minds to continue thinking we can, while time, gravity and mirrors collect their tolls and send our bodies out to pasture.
In April 1993, I had just left The Columbian-Progress after working here for eight years to assume a cost-accountant job in Hattiesburg, and I got the devastating news that my dad had suffered a suspected stroke. Long story short, it was actually a brain aneurysm that, within about the next five hours, led us from Marion General to Wesley Medical Center in Hattiesburg to University Medical Center in Jackson, where we later learned that he was one of five aneurysm victims who arrived that day – but the other four had not survived.
So after a 12-hour all-night full-blown brain surgery, and calling in every relative within a 500-mile radius to camp out in the entire ICU waiting room, my dad popped up almost like nothing had happened – at least long term.
He had no memory of what recently transpired, and although he had full use of all his reflexes, motor skills and general mental faculties, he looked me straight in the eyes and clearly spoke to me about things from when I was about seven years old, but as if it was yesterday. That was simply the strangest experience for me.
He gradually got better and better, eventually came home and even went back on a few pipeline jobs after that. But it was obvious things weren’t the same, nor could they ever be. Time marches on.
He always had a knack for growing things, both plants and animals, so he ended up raising a few hens to gather their eggs, growing a few vegetables here and there – mostly for friends and family, but he also sold a few around the little market at courthouse square.
He and a buddy also partnered up and got into the pea-shelling business for a while at a little gathering spot near the intersection of Gates Road and Improve Road. Not exactly rocket science, and I never understood it, but he always seemed to really enjoy shelling those peas for people.
He always maintained his mule-like stubbornness, in spite of obvious self-contradiction. He would sit at home and take his regular oxygen breathing treatments on a nebulizer and then walk outside and smoke a cigarette. All we could do was shake our heads, as he told us to mind our own business.
Not too long afterwards, his health continued its downward spiral, especially with major breathing issues, and he was ultimately diagnosed with COPD. He eventually lost his struggle and passed away on Jan. 12, 2015.
An old quote from famous baseball player Wade Boggs always fit my dad. It goes… “Anyone can be a father, but it takes someone really special to be a dad.” There was a time when you couldn’t say or hear the name Pee Wee O’Fallon without smiling – he just always seemed to have that effect on people.
My dad was old-school, he was admittedly too trusting and naïve of other people – but he’d always say… “If they need it and I’ve got it, why not share?” He had a boyish grin, the twinkle of a leprechaun in his eye, a heart of gold and a wit sharp as a razor blade.
I’ve never experienced anyone like him before or since, and I’m overwhelmingly proud to have the honor of calling him my daddy. Happy Father’s Day to Poppa Pee Wee!!
Danny O’Fallon is the publisher of
The Columbian-Progress. He may be
reached at (601) 736-2611 or
dofallon@columbianprogress.com.
