Most of us would like to think that when our days on this earth are completed, somebody will remember good things about us. My father was certainly no exception.
C.H., as we affectionately called him, was a most unique person. He was “the glass is three-quarters full,” an optimist tempered with a healthy dose of reality. Daddy had a joke or story for every situation and, typically, could make his point with humor. While he got a charge from anecdotes leaning to the naughty side, his was an equal opportunity sense of humor that sought to make a point by using anecdotes we would remember. Oftentimes, though, his jokes were simply told to have fun.
Daddy loved people. Having been a pharmacist for over 60 years and a lifelong Barrow County resident, he knew a lot of people. For the most part, people loved him, as well. Oh, I’m sure there were a few around that he’d rubbed the wrong way, but he had earned a widespread respect for his giving nature, his sincere caring for others, and his deep and abiding Christian faith.
So it was no surprise that over 250 people showed up last year to say “goodbye” to a man who had impacted so many lives. Our pastor Terry Tippens outdid himself with a eulogy overflowing with stories of personal encounters with Daddy, as well as anecdotes others had shared with him over the years. Terry made sure the tone and tenor of Daddy’s memorial service was one of celebration. We wanted to make sure people left the church with a smile on their faces happy that they had known Haase Arnold. Terry helped us – and Daddy – accomplish that wish.
What most folks don’t know, though, is the fun that continued after a few days when Daddy’s earthly remains returned to us in a little box. Brother Steve and I went by B-Bomb’s to pick Daddy up, along with Mother’s supply of thermometers and other goodies. She loves stuff like that and B-Bomb was happy to oblige, God love him. Of course, everything we took home was packaged in what David Crosby refers to as “the lovely parting gift” – a Smith Funeral Home tote bag.
Since Mother wasn’t sure when or how Daddy and his box would be taken to Rose Hill to the family plot, we had to figure out what to do with him. As we sat in the den trying to figure out something appropriate, our attention fell on Daddy’s La-Z-Boy.
Daddy’s recliner had held the place of honor in his and Mother’s den for lo, unto the past 52 years. Though the recliner itself had changed over the years, the occupant had not.
Now that Daddy would not be needing front-and-center before the television, Mother was the heir apparent. Her new lift chair was sitting in the living room. We all agreed that Mother’s new chair should take the place of honor.
But what to do about Daddy’s chair? You see, it leaned to the right all the time from years of Daddy leaning to the right as he sat in it. We aren’t sure why he leaned to the right all the time. We aren’t sure we really want to know why he leaned to the right all the time. But the fact remains that he did, so it did.
We finally decided to take the chair back to his bedroom and place it next to his bed.
That’s when inspiration hit us. Jean Murray had made Daddy a University of Georgia throw out of UGA tee-shirts. We draped the throw over the chair and put the lovely parting gift containing Daddy in the seat. Atop the box, we placed his favorite moccasins with the hole in the toe he’d cut to accommodate an ingrown toenail and topped the moccasins with his light-up Bulldog baseball cap. He’d worn that cap to the Georgia-LSU game in 1978 so if he fell in a gutter, somebody would see him and pull him out.
Into this arrangement were placed two remote controls. It was flanked with a couple of stuffed UGAs perched on the chair back. Our tribute to Haase was complete — or so we thought.
Mother came into the room, took a look, and said, “Hmmpf. Looks like a shrine.” With that, she turned her walker and started back up the hall to the den. We looked at each other not quite sure we’d done the right thing when she came back into the room with Daddy’s hemorrhoid cushion perched on her walker’s basket.
“Here,” she said. “Put this underneath the box. When I’m feeling lonely, it’ll remind me he could be such a pain in the tail.”
And people wonder why the Arnold kids have such a warped sense of humor.
Helen Person is a Winder resident and columnist for the Barrow Journal. You can reach her at helenperson@windstream.net.
Great site, stick with it!