The Eulogy of Tommy Carter
Today, seven weeks and one day after his passing, I'd like to introduce you to the man you wish you'd known.
Before he was "Daddy," he was a little boy in a big family, raised in a small, rural community in Kentucky. His father was a sharecropper, much to the disgust of people like my maternal grandfather who claimed there wasn't anything worse than a man who worked another man's land. My grandfather's hatred and my father's yearning for approval began long before they became in-laws.
Daddy didn't have much growing up. He often talked about he and his siblings having to make their own toys. Every time he told that story, I longed to step back in time to hold that little boy and offer him a shiny new toy. He shared a few stories of how his father beat him senseless when Daddy didn't do something no child his age should've ever been responsible for, anyway. He laughed when he told the story of having to go out to the field to do something (I can't remember what now), and it was hailing really hard. Rather than get pummeled by the hail, he grabbed a metal bucket and held it over his head - he didn't consider how loud the hail hitting the bucket would ring in his ears. I laughed at his laughter but felt my heart break a little at a time with the reality of what he endured as a boy. It seemed from day one, he never had much of a chance, but he overcame. He missed too much school his 7th grade year and had to repeat it. (Most of my aunts and uncles had to repeat grades due to poor attendance from working the farm.) His father urged him to quit school and work the farm, but a curly-headed redhead befriended him and encouraged him to stay in school. She became his friend, his prom date, and eventually his wife to whom he was still married forty-eight years later when he passed.
That little boy grew up to be a man with anger issues and a longing for order, so he joined the Marines. Overnight, a poor boy from southwest Kentucky became a proud soldier in uniform. He spent four years in the Marine Corps during the Viet Nam War, but he was non-deployable because his brother was overseas, and his mother wouldn't sign to let him go, too. So Mimi, thank you for that.
Daddy had a few mottos he lived by. One was, "There's nothing worth having if you're not willing to give it away." He never put possessions over people. If he had something and you liked it or needed it, it was yours. (On the flip side of that, if Tommy Carter owned one thing in his adult life, he had three of them and likely none of them worked quite right. LOL I think not having anything as a kid made him a bit of a hoarder/collector.) This didn't just extend to items- our home was open to anyone, any time, and for any reason. We didn't have a big house, but we made it work when families in the community had to come stay with us for various reasons. Daddy never let them hang their heads in front of him, either. He just clapped them on the back, pointed toward the couch and said, "If you ain't home, you ain't never been there." Daddy taught me from a young age not to get so wrapped up in personal gain that you're willing to use the backs of others to boost yourself- to never do anything you can't look yourself in the eye over in the mirror at the end of every day. And by his example, I learned what true selflessness and human compassion was and how to show it.
Another motto Daddy shouted every time any of us left the house was, "No bail money!" We'd laugh, roll our eyes, or groan- depending on the age of the person leaving the house. What that meant to me was, "have a great time, be smart and safe, but know that if you make wrong choices, you'll have to face the consequences." It was a loving warning, one that we used on the back of Daddy's funeral program as his final words to his friends and family.
Daddy was a man's man... hunter, fisherman, outdoorsman. (I've always said it was God's joke on Daddy that he'd have three daughters and no sons. LOL) Part of our three-acre yard was an archery range, and I don't have any idea how many families came to our home to learn to shoot bows. I don't know how many of his own bows Daddy gave to a new archer to welcome them into the tribe. I always knew when hunting season was nearing as we'd have a regular rotation of people show up to sight in their guns or practice shooting targets.I learned how to spot an arrow hidden in the grass that other people couldn't find. I learned that spending thirty minutes to find a two-dollar arrow was worth it to watch a kid get to shoot one more time before dark just to hear them cheer when they finally hit the target for the first time. He was happy in the country - that's where he belonged. He appreciated nature. When we'd head into town, he would slow the car down to admire deer or turkeys in the fields like he hadn't ever seen them before. The day he died, I saw three deer standing a few miles from the house as though they were paying a silent tribute to him. I slowed and nodded in thanks as my procession of one made its way to my family home.
Daddy was one helluva musician. There wasn't a song he couldn't sing - he had a vocal range that wouldn't quit. That's one thing we shared easily as I inherited his musical gifts. He would play a song and taught me how to tune out everything but one instrument or one voice and focus on that until I could sing its part. Down to the tiniest hint of a cymbal crash. He said it's nice to be able to enjoy a song, but to truly appreciate the artistry, you needed to identify all that made that song work. While it was a joy for him to share this with me, it elated him to share this with his grandchildren. Watching Jacy and Logan grow to be teenagers, become vocalists then guitar players- it was like he was watching the angels themselves sing and play. He was euphoric.
Which brings me to my favorite part of my father- Daddy would do anything for his girls, but when he became Papaw, he came alive again. First came Jacy, then two and a half years later, Logan was born. Mama and Daddy morphed into Nonnie and Papaw, and they had a large hand in raising the kiddos when they were babies. We moved away for a year and a half when the kids were 3 and 1, but living so far away from my parents impacted Jacy harshly. She was so sad, she would hide behind the recliner while I was on the phone with them because hearing their voices made her realize how much she missed them. Logan only knew them from pictures. We made a decision - we chose family over opportunity and moved back home. One of the best decisions we ever made. My kids only remember a life with Nonnie and Papaw in it- weekend trips to their house, getting dirty and exploring, splashing in mud puddles, vacations, trick-or-treating... Two days before Jacy's seventh birthday and three days before Halloween, she fell and broke her leg. She had a thigh-high cast on her leg and was so sad she couldn't go trick-or-treating. Daddy came up and made a chariot for her with pillows, blankets, and a wheel barrel. He pushed her all around town in her chariot so she didn't have to miss Halloween. I have hundreds of stories like that with both Jacy and Logan. If there was ever a man meant to be a grandfather, it was Tommy Carter.
And, oh, he loved his wife. It's a rare privilege to get to witness your parents fall in love all over again. I got to see this when Mama had a double knee replacement in December of 2016.We had ice storms like crazy while she was in the hospital, but Daddy wouldn't be kept from his wife. He was there when she woke up, stayed with her all day, then went home after she went to bed. He'd perch on the side of her bed with his search-a-word and glance at her every few seconds to see if she was waking up. When she did wake up, she'd reach for him and smile before drifting back off into a narcotic-induced sleep. Those were the moments he waited for. He never wanted her to wake up and him not be there. He stood back like a little kid fidgeting and nervous when they walked her for the first time. God, that killed him thinking she was going to be in pain. But she smiled, he gave a small applause, and we watched in disbelief as she walked around on two new knees less than 24 hours old.
Daddy trusted people in a position of authority over him. He trusted their experience and their knowledge without question, especially if he knew nothing about the subject- like medical care. I assume this came from his military training. So when he was diagnosed with liver cancer in June of 2017, he trusted the doctors at the VA to do their level best to intervene on his behalf to treat and fight cancer. The regular surgical oncologist was out for a year overseas, so a team from the University took his place. Daddy was assigned to their clinic.
It is to that team that I direct this blog entry. My dad spent his life being the come-back kid. He beat the odds on multiple occasions both in life and medically. You saw a country bumpkin with a slew of medical issues, and the last four of a social security number. If that's not how you viewed him, that's certainly how you treated him. My family and I begged Daddy to go for a second opinion on multiple occasions and even asked if we could send his records to someone else, and he threatened to cut off all of our contact with the doctors if we went over your heads. Out of respect for you. A respect you didn't give him, a respect you didn't deserve, but he gave it anyway. Since you didn't take the time to get to know him in life and invest in his future, I want you to know who you missed out on. I want you to know who we miss every single day and what an impact he had on so many people's lives. I don't even remember your proper names, but you can mention Tommy Carter anywhere across three counties and probably hear a story about something he did out of the kindness of his heart. Not because he was paid for it. Not because he went to school for it. Just because it was the right thing to do for your fellow man. You could have learned a lot from him.
Daddy passed away in his home early in the morning on April 8th, 2018, five days after his 70th birthday. His passing left a massive void in many worlds, and most of them will never be the same without him. I know he is living large in Heaven's kingdom and no longer sick or in pain, and for that, I'm grateful. Just know that I miss you, Daddy, and I love you. Oh, and no bail money. ;)
Before he was "Daddy," he was a little boy in a big family, raised in a small, rural community in Kentucky. His father was a sharecropper, much to the disgust of people like my maternal grandfather who claimed there wasn't anything worse than a man who worked another man's land. My grandfather's hatred and my father's yearning for approval began long before they became in-laws.
Daddy didn't have much growing up. He often talked about he and his siblings having to make their own toys. Every time he told that story, I longed to step back in time to hold that little boy and offer him a shiny new toy. He shared a few stories of how his father beat him senseless when Daddy didn't do something no child his age should've ever been responsible for, anyway. He laughed when he told the story of having to go out to the field to do something (I can't remember what now), and it was hailing really hard. Rather than get pummeled by the hail, he grabbed a metal bucket and held it over his head - he didn't consider how loud the hail hitting the bucket would ring in his ears. I laughed at his laughter but felt my heart break a little at a time with the reality of what he endured as a boy. It seemed from day one, he never had much of a chance, but he overcame. He missed too much school his 7th grade year and had to repeat it. (Most of my aunts and uncles had to repeat grades due to poor attendance from working the farm.) His father urged him to quit school and work the farm, but a curly-headed redhead befriended him and encouraged him to stay in school. She became his friend, his prom date, and eventually his wife to whom he was still married forty-eight years later when he passed.
That little boy grew up to be a man with anger issues and a longing for order, so he joined the Marines. Overnight, a poor boy from southwest Kentucky became a proud soldier in uniform. He spent four years in the Marine Corps during the Viet Nam War, but he was non-deployable because his brother was overseas, and his mother wouldn't sign to let him go, too. So Mimi, thank you for that.
Daddy had a few mottos he lived by. One was, "There's nothing worth having if you're not willing to give it away." He never put possessions over people. If he had something and you liked it or needed it, it was yours. (On the flip side of that, if Tommy Carter owned one thing in his adult life, he had three of them and likely none of them worked quite right. LOL I think not having anything as a kid made him a bit of a hoarder/collector.) This didn't just extend to items- our home was open to anyone, any time, and for any reason. We didn't have a big house, but we made it work when families in the community had to come stay with us for various reasons. Daddy never let them hang their heads in front of him, either. He just clapped them on the back, pointed toward the couch and said, "If you ain't home, you ain't never been there." Daddy taught me from a young age not to get so wrapped up in personal gain that you're willing to use the backs of others to boost yourself- to never do anything you can't look yourself in the eye over in the mirror at the end of every day. And by his example, I learned what true selflessness and human compassion was and how to show it.
Another motto Daddy shouted every time any of us left the house was, "No bail money!" We'd laugh, roll our eyes, or groan- depending on the age of the person leaving the house. What that meant to me was, "have a great time, be smart and safe, but know that if you make wrong choices, you'll have to face the consequences." It was a loving warning, one that we used on the back of Daddy's funeral program as his final words to his friends and family.
Daddy was a man's man... hunter, fisherman, outdoorsman. (I've always said it was God's joke on Daddy that he'd have three daughters and no sons. LOL) Part of our three-acre yard was an archery range, and I don't have any idea how many families came to our home to learn to shoot bows. I don't know how many of his own bows Daddy gave to a new archer to welcome them into the tribe. I always knew when hunting season was nearing as we'd have a regular rotation of people show up to sight in their guns or practice shooting targets.I learned how to spot an arrow hidden in the grass that other people couldn't find. I learned that spending thirty minutes to find a two-dollar arrow was worth it to watch a kid get to shoot one more time before dark just to hear them cheer when they finally hit the target for the first time. He was happy in the country - that's where he belonged. He appreciated nature. When we'd head into town, he would slow the car down to admire deer or turkeys in the fields like he hadn't ever seen them before. The day he died, I saw three deer standing a few miles from the house as though they were paying a silent tribute to him. I slowed and nodded in thanks as my procession of one made its way to my family home.
Daddy was one helluva musician. There wasn't a song he couldn't sing - he had a vocal range that wouldn't quit. That's one thing we shared easily as I inherited his musical gifts. He would play a song and taught me how to tune out everything but one instrument or one voice and focus on that until I could sing its part. Down to the tiniest hint of a cymbal crash. He said it's nice to be able to enjoy a song, but to truly appreciate the artistry, you needed to identify all that made that song work. While it was a joy for him to share this with me, it elated him to share this with his grandchildren. Watching Jacy and Logan grow to be teenagers, become vocalists then guitar players- it was like he was watching the angels themselves sing and play. He was euphoric.
Which brings me to my favorite part of my father- Daddy would do anything for his girls, but when he became Papaw, he came alive again. First came Jacy, then two and a half years later, Logan was born. Mama and Daddy morphed into Nonnie and Papaw, and they had a large hand in raising the kiddos when they were babies. We moved away for a year and a half when the kids were 3 and 1, but living so far away from my parents impacted Jacy harshly. She was so sad, she would hide behind the recliner while I was on the phone with them because hearing their voices made her realize how much she missed them. Logan only knew them from pictures. We made a decision - we chose family over opportunity and moved back home. One of the best decisions we ever made. My kids only remember a life with Nonnie and Papaw in it- weekend trips to their house, getting dirty and exploring, splashing in mud puddles, vacations, trick-or-treating... Two days before Jacy's seventh birthday and three days before Halloween, she fell and broke her leg. She had a thigh-high cast on her leg and was so sad she couldn't go trick-or-treating. Daddy came up and made a chariot for her with pillows, blankets, and a wheel barrel. He pushed her all around town in her chariot so she didn't have to miss Halloween. I have hundreds of stories like that with both Jacy and Logan. If there was ever a man meant to be a grandfather, it was Tommy Carter.
And, oh, he loved his wife. It's a rare privilege to get to witness your parents fall in love all over again. I got to see this when Mama had a double knee replacement in December of 2016.We had ice storms like crazy while she was in the hospital, but Daddy wouldn't be kept from his wife. He was there when she woke up, stayed with her all day, then went home after she went to bed. He'd perch on the side of her bed with his search-a-word and glance at her every few seconds to see if she was waking up. When she did wake up, she'd reach for him and smile before drifting back off into a narcotic-induced sleep. Those were the moments he waited for. He never wanted her to wake up and him not be there. He stood back like a little kid fidgeting and nervous when they walked her for the first time. God, that killed him thinking she was going to be in pain. But she smiled, he gave a small applause, and we watched in disbelief as she walked around on two new knees less than 24 hours old.
Daddy trusted people in a position of authority over him. He trusted their experience and their knowledge without question, especially if he knew nothing about the subject- like medical care. I assume this came from his military training. So when he was diagnosed with liver cancer in June of 2017, he trusted the doctors at the VA to do their level best to intervene on his behalf to treat and fight cancer. The regular surgical oncologist was out for a year overseas, so a team from the University took his place. Daddy was assigned to their clinic.
It is to that team that I direct this blog entry. My dad spent his life being the come-back kid. He beat the odds on multiple occasions both in life and medically. You saw a country bumpkin with a slew of medical issues, and the last four of a social security number. If that's not how you viewed him, that's certainly how you treated him. My family and I begged Daddy to go for a second opinion on multiple occasions and even asked if we could send his records to someone else, and he threatened to cut off all of our contact with the doctors if we went over your heads. Out of respect for you. A respect you didn't give him, a respect you didn't deserve, but he gave it anyway. Since you didn't take the time to get to know him in life and invest in his future, I want you to know who you missed out on. I want you to know who we miss every single day and what an impact he had on so many people's lives. I don't even remember your proper names, but you can mention Tommy Carter anywhere across three counties and probably hear a story about something he did out of the kindness of his heart. Not because he was paid for it. Not because he went to school for it. Just because it was the right thing to do for your fellow man. You could have learned a lot from him.
Daddy passed away in his home early in the morning on April 8th, 2018, five days after his 70th birthday. His passing left a massive void in many worlds, and most of them will never be the same without him. I know he is living large in Heaven's kingdom and no longer sick or in pain, and for that, I'm grateful. Just know that I miss you, Daddy, and I love you. Oh, and no bail money. ;)
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