I grew up in Nashville, Tennessee. My dad, John Harold Wallace, has a family the goes back for generations in Tennessee. My mom’s family is from Illinois. We own a farm in Illinois with my four cousins that has been in our family for generations. My mother’s brothers have all passed and my mother, at age 96, is the corporate president. She does an amazing job. After our required annual meeting this week, my brother John and I chatted about our family a bit. Our uncles (my mom’s brothers) were quietly successful men who loved their family. When we were around them they all had an even demeanor, except for the occasional laughter during their polite, congenial conversations. Although our uncles were wonderful people, I’m sure that our cousins never experienced the same level of daily surprises my brother and I experienced with our dad. In our phone call John and I laughed about how fortunate we were to have had our dad and now that he has passed we have a host of legendary stories. I will share one of my favorites on this Father’s Day.
I showed beautiful American Saddlebred horses all over the southeast when I was young. One particular show in Kentucky would produce a memory that I would remember and tell over and over again throughout the years. It was a hot July day when my mom, dad and I were racing down the highway to make it to my three gaited pleasure class at the Kentucky State Fair. We were running late and as we came to our exit on I-65. we were stopped cold by a very long line of traffic. My trainer, Bob Breeding would have already groomed and saddled my horse Bouquet. I just could picture him standing there waiting for me. I’m sure my dad could picture it too. For a few minutes the three of us sat there, each in our particular Hell of complete anxiety. I sat there mortified that I would miss the class.
My dad was not having it. He told my mom, “ Jean, you drive” , then he hopped out of our grey Mercedes and hurried down the exit ramp. My fourteen-year-old self slumped down in my seat as my dad started directing traffic. My dad always meant business. It took ten excruciatingly embarrassing minutes until we reached the bottom of the exit ramp. My 6’ 4” dad then hopped in and we made it just in time for me to participate in my class.
My dad had a huge influence on my life. His hard work and love impacted my life and continues to do so even after his death. My dad’s employees called him Mr. Wallace. My mom called him Harold. My brother and I called him daddy, and my friends just called him John Wayne.
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