"WARD, SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH THE BEAVER...."

"I'll go talk to him, dear..."

This was a running joke in our household for most of my childhood, because of my family's Nuclear Family appearance. Mom & Dad met in the '50's, lived in a little house in a mostly quiet little neighborhood, had 2.5 kids, stayed together, and loved their mostly trouble-free boys to death. OK, maybe we didn't have a white picket fence, but I did have a chubby, wisenheimer best pal named Larry, who actually started the Leave It To Beaver jokes in our house.

But this one ain't about me. Seeing how it's Father's Day and all, I figured this would be an opportune time to tell you about mine. I'll try my best not to make this a 4-page weeper, which I very easily could, as most of you know. I just wanted to lay out some stuff for y'all about a great man that I love & respect immeasurably. And if it's too long and sappy for you -- tough, it ain't for you anyway! It's for my Dad.

He was born Dennis Wallace in 1934 in Mayndardville, TN, a little burg about 45 minutes northeast of Knoxville. He was born smack in the middle of the Great Depression, and was the second-youngest of 6 kids. He's taken me by the place where their house was out there, just a little half-acre chunk of land with a creek in back, where they got water, as there was none running in the house. He describes his childhood at that time as a generally happy one -- one of those things where they couldn't be unhappy, because as kids they didn't really know they were poor. That's just the way it was -- everybody they knew lived the same way, and there were no "rich people" to show them otherwise. Then, unfortunately, in an event that would irreversiably shape the life any tow-headed 8-year-old boy, his father passed away.

Their oldest brother, Ralph, was already in high school, and was already working to help support the family. But, as my Grandmother had few employable skills (as was the case with most women in those days), the next oldest boy was only about 9 years old (my Uncle Ed), and opporunity for money was virtually nil in little Maynardville, they had to pack up and move into the big city of Knoxville.

From the age of 8, my father was working to help support his family. He & his brother Ed worked at a bowling alley, as pin-setters (it wasn't automatic back then) until the wee hours of the morning, walking through the middle of downtown both ways -- uphill, in 8 feet of snow, having to fight grizzly bears, of course -- and still getting up every morning to go to school. Obviously, there were no child-labor laws in those days, and my Dad & Uncle's tales of working there -- the unbearable heat they had to work in, up & behind the lanes, and having to develop quick hands so they could get the pins set before the next ball came careening down the lane, so they could come home with all 10 fingers -- have been a great source of entertainment for my family.

From then on, the family had the tragedies and triumphs of many Depression-era families -- my Grandmother "took in borders" for money, briefly remarried and moved the family to Missouri, where my Dad picked cotton to help support the family. They came back to Knoxville (sans new husband) after a year or so, where all 6 of the kids worked hard and graduated high school in Knoxville, no small feat for a family under those circumstances. Their oldest sister passed away in early adulthood, their oldest brother Ralph got a degree from The University of Tennesee, became a military man, fairly successful businessman and general "man of the world". The two younger sisters, Joyce and Aileen, got married fairly early, and stayed married. In fact, there has never been a divorce on that side of the family. My Dad and his closest brother in age, Ed, went into the military, got married, and Dad had 2 kids. Both went into the dental business, my dad as a salesman for 40 years, Uncle Ed as lab guy, making dental supplies.

After all the tragedies of his childhood, the trials of his adolescence, and the challenges of his adulthood, he had every right to be a bitter, hard-nosed person. And sure, he had his moments, but he generally chose not to be that way, and is a cool, funny, and very likeable guy. But my brother and I knew, as much as we hated to admit it, that while all Dads have stories of their tough childhood, our Dad's were very real, and not just told to us for drama. If he said, "Boy, you better eat every bite of that food -- in my day we didn't have food to turn away", you knew he wasn't just blowing smoke, that they really didn't have much to eat. For a Depression kid, especially in his circumstances, not eating every bite of food you were given was an insult to your family, and to the country for that matter. Of course, this didn't stop me from holding a green bean in my mouth for an hour, refusing to swallow it out of spite -- but I was a dumb little kid, what did I know? Unfortunately, that one didn't quite work out for anybody -- I still won't eat a vegetable without a gun to my head.

As with most parents, mine too probably feel that their kids don't understand the sacrifices they made, the work they put into raising us relatively intelligent and jail-free, and the qualities they instilled in us. But I try my best not to be one of those kids. For those of you that know me, or read these Soapboxes, you probably know my penchant for being opinionated, preachy at times, but I always try to be fair-handed, and try to instill humor where I can. I attribute most of those qualities to my Dad. You think I can get preachy? You oughta sit and watch the news or a ballgame with dear ol' Dad for a couple of hours! He's the king of the soapbox -- I just get the lead from him. Although without a college degree, he's one of the most intelligent men I've ever known, and that intelligence is never absent from his opinions. He almost always has an opinion, and can always articulate it intelligently, persuasively, and passionately. Hey, he wasn't a badass salesman for nothing! On the subject of preachyness and opinions, I will credit my Dad with another thing -- although born in the South and Southern to the bone, he never fell into the trap of racism, religious fanatacism, or political conservatism that many men of his generation did. There was no cussing at home, period, but you would just as soon say the "f" word as the "n" word in our house -- racial slurs were considered as vulgar and unacceptable as the other stuff. He had plenty of opinions on politicians, but never on their politics. As far as religion goes, our Mom took us to church every Sunday, but Dad only went on holidays and our baptisms. I think this is pretty universally Dad-typical: he gave us the old "me & the good Lord came to an agreement a long time ago...." Which I took to mean, "He agreed that I don't have to go to church on Sundays, and I agreed to work my feet to the bone to feed your skinny butt, and not lock you in your room till you're 25". Which is probably pretty close to the truth. I feel that one of my (far too few) good qualities as a person is my ability to be observant, analytical, but always fair. I am always able to see both sides of an argument or issue, come to a reasonable conclusion, and hopefully articulate that conclusion with some flair and humor. It's what enables me to write these Soapboxes, as well as write songs. And I attribute a good portion of that to my Dad.

OK, you gotta take the good with the bad. Dear ol' Dad also gave me a lot of my stubbornness, which is occasionally a blessing, but most often a curse. And that whole "analytical and preachy" thing? It can easily morph into "hyper-critical and asshole-y" with very little effort. It's caused me many sleepless nights, and hasn't exactly been a blessing in my relationships with the gals. Three marriages (OK, shackin'-ups) in 15 years isn't exactly a stellar record. Also, my habit of being a shameless flirt and relentless skirt-watcher is another byproduct of my Wallace DNA. That's not necessarily a fault, I guess, but it doesn't exactly help in that whole relationship thing.

Wow, short paragraph, huh? Although I have PLENTY of other faults, those are mostly my own. Trying to come up with some bad traits I got from my Dad is a chore. The good traits come easy.

I also have to mention -- and thank my Dad (and Mom too) for -- the happiest memories of my adolescence, and something that still brings me great joy today -- sports. We were sports-crazy from the day I was born until I graduated high school. My brother & I both played baseball and basketball our entire lives. My Dad was also the coach of at least 3 of my brother's teams, and at least 3 of mine. He coached us until we were each 12 or 13 years old (my brother's 5 years older than me). Up until that time, we spent most of our lives at Fountain City Ballpark -- playing games, practicing, playing cupball, and just being little ragamuffins and making general nuisances of ourselves. That was probably the happiest time of my childhood, that time when you're totally care free, your greatest worry is that the concession stand is out of grape bubble gum, or how many hits I got today. I was always good at sports, and my folks encouraged that in me, without ever being "those parents", pushy and weird and over-reaching for their kids athletic success.

One of the most impressive things my Dad did during those coaching years was coach the teams to really help us stupid lttle kids. He was a very good coach -- we almost always won our leagues -- but it was always about teaching kids to be good people, work hard, and play fair, while also being a great competitor. You should always play to win -- he was always fond of hollering "If we don't care who wins, then why are we keeping score??" -- but getting to play hard and compete well was always more important. And, probably most impressive to me, was that he always went out of his way to help the poorer or more "underprivileged" kids. I guess it was because of the way he grew up, with little money, opportunity, or encouragement for doing what he loved and had talent for. But whenever there was a kid who obviously couldn't afford things, he helped buy them a glove or whatever they needed. When a kid had deatbeat parents, or parents who worked all the time, we always gave them a ride to games and practices, however far we had to drive or what part of town they lived in. He ALWAYS had time for those kids -- black, white, or whatever -- and would go to great lengths to make sure that they had a good time and positive experience while he was their coach, and even after. He always made time to take us all for pizza or burgers, or to play golf with him, or just come to the house to hang out and help with some chore. To this day, some still call or stop by the house to say hi, and even thanks. Of all the things there is to love about my Dad, his love for kids, especially those with a tougher life, and his willingness to go the extra mile for them, is something I couldn't be prouder of.

Here's a few more sappy sports things about my Dad: We couldn't afford a batting cage in the backyard, but my Dad nailed half a tire to a tree for me to practice my power swing. They got us a "Johnny Bench Batter-up", one of those plastic balls, attached to a long plastic arm, which was tethered to a pole embedded into a solid bottom, all tied together with a heavy-duty rubber band. You hit it, it went in a circle, and the rubber band brought it back the other way like a pitch. When it got worn out and kept falling over, Dad poured concrete in it so it could get another summer of use. And Dad worked other magic with concrete, of course. We didn't have a garage to tack a basketball goal onto, so Dad just dug a wide spot in the backyard, about 10' X 10' and about a foot deep, and he, Joey the grubby fat kid next door, and I poured concrete in it. He got a telephone pole-type thing (from God knows where), stuck it in the concrete, put a backboard & rim on it, and presto, we had ourselves a basketball court! I spent MANY hours out there, at all hours of the day and night, for many years. We've had lots of great family Kodak moments and memories out there -- seeing my Dad watching me shoot baskets from inside the house, trying to play my best while he was watching. Him teaching us how to play "Horse": and "Around The World", which he virtually always beat us like a drum at. My Dad was doing the old "double-around-the-back-layup" WAY before I ever saw it in the NBA! We had lots of family and neighborhood get-togethers out there, and now my little niece and nephew are out there goofing around just like we used to. All because my Dad had the motivation, ingenuity, elbow-grease, and plain old love to pour some concrete for his kids.

Now I'm a big fat sports addict, and I play my Dad and brother in fantasy sports leagues online. My uncle's doing it now, too, although he doesn't have a computer -- he just knows his stuff, and calls Dad to tell him what changes to make for his team! (As a side note, Dad & Uncle Ed are still avid bowlers -- they are both in their 70's and still are great at it. Dad often bowls in the mid-100's, and my uncle [even with eye problems] is winning tournaments, bowling in the high-100's or so!). They also brought us up die-hard Tennessee Vols fans, and although I'm in Longhorn country, and am a big fan of their teams now as well, my blood will always run Big Orange. I'm eternally grateful to my folks for giving the love of sports to us, and my kids will hopefully have that same love, thanks to them.

And lastly, but certainly not least, one thing they gave me has had the biggest effect on my life -- music. Both my parents are great singers, although they never did it professionally or in any organized way as adults. My Mom taught me to harmonize when I was in elementary school, and the four of us always sang together in the car. My brother is a good musician, as well -- plays piano, some guitar and trumpet, has a great tenor voice, has directed his church choir, and has been musical director for several plays in local and regional theaters. It was always a treat -- although a painful one as a youth -- to hear my dad & his brothers sing their "goofy old songs" at family functions, often in great 3-part harmony. They had that blend that only brothers can have, and in retrospect it was just plain cool. So besides a general love of music, I also gained a love for good singing at a very early age. One of my favorite memories was "busting" my Dad singing along with the radio, when he thought nobody was listening. It was Roy Orbison, the song was "Crying" -- and my Dad was hitting every freaking note! It wasn't caterwauling, or goofy, it was a guy with a great voice singing his butt off without worrying about seeming silly. There's some crazy high notes in that song, and Dad's a baritone/bass to boot! I realized right then that my brother's & my talent for music wasn't some weird fluke, it was straight from them. And again, they always encouraged our music, without being over-the-top "showbiz parents". They paid for our lessons, attended and cheerfully endured every single concert, recital, and play. They bought our instruments, paid for our lessons, rented our tuxes, and financed our travels. And all with attention, enthusiasm, encouragement, some deserved beratement, but virtually no complaint.

And through all that, they also gave me my love for country music, and for good songwriting. I have distinct memories of my Dad's reaction when "He Stopped Loving Her Today" first came out -- he listened to the lyrics and the story, marveled at George's singing, and chuckled with Mom in appreciation of the song's ending. That was the point -- to Dad, a song is a real thing, with dimensions and purpose. He actually listens, which is one thing sorely lacking in today's audience. He also has a creepy knack for picking out hits or good singers; occasionally we would be listening to some brand new song on the radio, and he would just point and say, "That one's a hit", and inevitably it would go to #1, and it's catch-phrase would be on sleeveless t-shirts at state fairs everywhere within a month. Or he would point and say, "That singer's gonna be huge, you watch, " and all of a sudden there's The Judds or Randy Travis at #1 for the next 5 years. I can't even begin to articulate my gratitude for the music they gave me as a kid: Elvis, Conway, George, Willie, Dolly, Tanya, Loretta, The Statlers, Roy Clark, Freddy Fender -- not to mention Southern comedy stuff like Homer & Jethro, Jerry Clower, Brother Dave, and Andy Griffith -- were always in heavy rotation on our house and car stereos. Every single morning we had WIVK, one of the biggest country stations in the southeast, pumping through our little kitchen radio, from birth to college. And I bless my folks every day for all of it.

See? I told you this wouldn't be a 4-page weeper -- it's 6 pages. I'll just leave it at this:

My Dad was a great infielder for Central High School in Knoxville, and was offered a partial scholarship to UT (not something frequently done for baseball players in 1952), but the family just didn't have enough money to send him to college. He graduated, went into the army, afterwards got a job driving a delivery truck for Keener Dental, and eventually became a salesman for that company. This is one of the most impressive facts about my father: he began selling dental equipment somewhere around 1960, and kept the same job, with basically the same company (a couple of buyouts over the years) for over 40 years, until he retired in 2002 at the age of 67. He was also very, very good at it, received several awards, and was considered the best at his job for many years. In today's world, where upward mobility is king, and stability is seen as stagnant, this is an unheard of feat. But in his generation, a job made a man -- keeping a steady job, feeding your family, and keeping a roof over their heads were the definition of success. And I agree -- my Dad didn't get a college education, didn't make tons of money, wasn't allowed to do what he loved most as a profession -- but he made it so that his sons could. I learned immeasurable amounts from my Dad, and have plenty to learn still. I spend my days trying to be a successful man, professionally and in life in general. But all I have to do is look at my Dad. He is -- inarguably and unequivically -- the best example I could ever find of a true success as a father, a husband, and a man.

Roger