Wiedmer: A Father's Day lesson for every day

This 2010 photo shows the Rev. Clementa Pinckney at Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, S.C. Pinckney, a Ridgeland Democrat and pastor at Mother Emanuel AME Church, died Wednesday, June 17, 2015, in the mass shooting at the church.
This 2010 photo shows the Rev. Clementa Pinckney at Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, S.C. Pinckney, a Ridgeland Democrat and pastor at Mother Emanuel AME Church, died Wednesday, June 17, 2015, in the mass shooting at the church.

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That's so Dad! Readers share favorite memories of their fathers

Seven years have passed since I last spent a Father's Day with my dad.

In the final weeks of his 25-year fight with emphysema, the last 10 of those years tethered 24 hours a day to an oxygen machine, he insisted we do what we almost always did on his day: We watched the U.S. Open together. Or at least a portion of it, since Tiger Woods had to go to Monday on a broken leg to defeat Rocco Mediate in a 19-hole playoff.

Not that this column is about that Open being Tiger's last major victory to date, though that in itself seems a bit surreal this weekend.

Instead, less than two months after Tiger's win at Torrey Pines, my father passed away at the age of 79. But I was lucky. I had him around for 51 years, far more than long enough to realize the wisdom in his proclamation: "About the time you turn 35, you'll be amazed at how wise I was."

And I was amazed. If I'd only starting listening to his advice from the time I was 21 instead of about the time I turned 41, oh, what a more prosperous, less stressful existence I could have led.

But at least my mother, my sister and I had him to lean on for the vast majority of our lives. His goodness, toughness, intelligence and unimpeachable character were more than enough to encourage our dreams, discourage our fears and help my sister and me become at least a fraction of the parent he always was.

Too bad the daughters of Clementa Pinckney - the pastor and South Carolina state senator who was brutally murdered in his historic Charleston, S.C., church Wednesday night, along with eight other black people who had gathered there for a prayer service - won't be able to say the same.

Too bad that the final Father's Day memory for Eliana Yvette Pinckney and Malana Elise Pinckney will always return to this past week, to a hate monster with a gun, to the night they learned that their 41-year-old father never was coming home again.

Too bad we can text and tweet and face-time each other until our fingers bleed, but we won't or can't rally enough Americans to force into law the notion that not everyone in this country deserves to carry a gun, that it needs to become a privilege rather than a right, one earned through background checks and mental evaluations.

Because however or whenever your living relationship with your dad ends, it should never come to a close because another human being on friendly soil snuffs out your father's life with a bullet.

We shouldn't even need to have these discussions on Father's Day. We should be accompanying our dads to church. Or to their favorite fishing hole. Or a baseball game. Or settle in as my dad and I always did to watch another U.S. Open, something always cooking on the grill to be enjoyed the minute the tournament ended.

And the U.S. Open always has provided memorable moments. Some are excruciatingly painful, such as when my father's favorite player, Arnold Palmer, blew a seven-stroke lead with nine holes to go at the 1966 Open, eventually losing to Billy Casper. Some are awe-inspiring, such as Tiger's 15-stroke win at the 2000 Open at Pebble Beach. A few are even gut-busting funny, as when Lee Trevino tossed a plastic snake at Jack Nicklaus at the start of their 1971 playoff.

Then there's the one that will warm your heart forever: Payne Stewart's one-stroke victory over Phil Mickelson over Pinehurst's No. 2 layout in 1999. Stewart would die in a bizarre airplane ride four months later, but on that Father's Day, victory finally secure on the final hole, knowing that Mickelson's wife was expected to give birth to their first child in less than 24 hours, he cupped Phil the Thrill's face in his hands, exclaiming, "Good luck with the baby. There's nothing like being a father!"

In the world beyond sports, there apparently was nothing like being a father for Clementa Pinckney.

"That was his life," close friend Dr. William McClain noted Thursday. "Those girls."

His life appeared destined to be known far outside the boundaries of South Carolina. He was first appointed a pastor at 18. He rose to student body president of Allen University. At 23, he became the youngest black ever elected to the South Carolina state house. Four years later he reached the state senate.

Fellow state senator Marlon Kimpson called Pinckney "the moral conscience of the General Assembly."

Said another, Katrina Shealy: "He was quiet until he spoke with that beautiful Barry White voice. His words were always well thought out, not just words."

A lot of us have probably thought of our own fathers as possessing that beautiful Barry White voice - strong, deep, reassuring. Able to comfort and scold, teach and preach, console and congratulate with equal aplomb. It's a voice you cling to in times of trouble. A voice that warms your soul, as comforting as hot chocolate or a soft blanket.

Yet another voice left shattered by the Mother Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church slaying must also be mentioned, if only to show the remarkable ability to forgive the seemingly unforgivable.

Sharonda Singleton was also a minister in the AME church. A speech therapist and track coach at Goose Creek High School about 20 miles north of Charleston, she also lost her life Wednesday night.

Said her son Chris, a baseball player at Charleston Southern University, with words almost unfathomable in their grace: "Love is always stronger than hate. So if we just loved the way my mom would, then the hate won't be anywhere close to what it is."

And far more fathers and mothers of all races would still be walking the earth to share their wisdom and their love with their children well into those offspring's adulthood rather than being buried during their childhood.

Contact Mark Wiedmer at mwiedmer@timesfreepress.com.

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