Joe McAdory: Happiness for other people is Dad's greatest reward

Mosquito Lagoon was about three miles wide and three feet deep. Within eyesight of Kennedy Space Center launch pads, the apex of the Indian River was a haven for speckled sea trout and shrimp.

Boat docks were on the mainland side. Sometimes the fishing hot spots were on the other, forcing fishermen to navigate the width of the lagoon – a 10-minute boat ride beneath sun-kissed central Florida skies.

We caught a few trout, which loved to feed on schools of shrimp on top of the shallow salt water. Hoping to hook the larger redfish in the depths of Haulover Canal, my dad and I prepared to make the trip back across the lagoon.

Except the boat’s motor wouldn’t crank. He flipped the starting switch over and over again, but that Johnson outboard refused to comply. There we were, floating nearly three miles from the docks, isolated from civilization. Paddles wouldn’t work; the current was too strong.

My dad figured there was only one thing left to do – jump out, grab the rope and pull the boat back to shore through the shallows. Hard-soled shoes protected against oyster shells or any other sharp objects, but this was a journey that required one step at a time in a race against the sinking sun. My dad persevered and got us back to land, which is good because we didn’t want to be stranded at sea even if it was just the river. The man literally pulled a boat three miles.

That’s just the way my dad is. He’s determined and selfless.

I remember him spending hours every weekend with 2x4s and plywood, building our Cub Scout pack’s pinewood derby track. He was also crafty building a car, as the trophies I for some reason have and not him, can attest. We built one more car together in March. Can’t wait to put it on the track next year.

The only way I could purchase my first car, a 1975 Monte Carlo, was if my father co-signed on the $1,550 loan. He did, and he never had to pay a cent for it. He taught me a thing or two about responsibility.

My dad still serves as my car maintenance confidant, and I’d put his knowledge up against today’s mechanics, who rely too much on computers.

Like most fathers, mine did whatever he could to put food on the table, make the necessary house payments and ensure that his family was cared for. They should always be appreciated for that.

The night I came home with a note from Mrs. Satterfield, my sixth-grade teacher, about how I foolishly tossed a broken pencil across the classroom in an attempt for it to land on David Rector’s desk and cause a distraction, my dad didn’t lash out at me for my stupidity. We talked about my actions, why they were foolish and that I wouldn’t do it again. I learned more of a lesson from reasoning than I would from the wrath of a belt.

My father has always put others first, rarely thinking about his own wants, which possibly included sleep and a tomato sandwich from time to time. Come to think of it, he just wants to make other people happy.

And he’d still drag a motorboat across Mosquito Lagoon each day to make that happen.

Joe McAdory is editorial page editor for the Opelika-Auburn News. He can be reached at 737-2549 or
jmcadory@oanow.com