My father would have been 100 years old the other day, if he were still alive. I wrote this remembrance when he died back in 2012, and I think it is the best thing I ever wrote. The lessons from his life are more relevant and important than ever. Honesty, dependability, modesty, humor. We need way more of these things. So I post my essay here hoping it may speak to you in a meaningful way.
February 20, 2012
My father, Dr. McHenry Shreve Brewer, passed away last night. My mother called me this morning, then I spent the day driving the back roads from Atlanta to Louisville. As I slowly drew closer physically and mentally to the home where I grew up, I had plenty of time to think. Now, sitting in what used to be my bedroom, and then later became his study, I realize that I have some things to say.
First and foremost, I am so proud to be my father’s son. I always have been. I remember as a boy glowing with pride when someone would mention my father or when he would come around to play 21 (for you non-Kentuckians, that is a basketball shooting game) with us. Why? I suppose I could sense how much he was loved and respected, and by how many. As an adult I am more conscious of some of the reasons why, what a truly great man he was, and what tremendous gifts he gave to me.
My father was fun. He was funny. He loved to play all sorts of games. He typically described himself as a "pathetic weakling". Physically that was somewhat true, and he played it up for all it was worth. I suspect this lack of macho-ness and his self-deprecating humor were calculated, though. It let him get away with stuff. If also made it all the more wonderful when he did manage to win something. Like the time at a cocktail party when he challenged a macho former UK basketball star to a game of 21 - and beat him. His physical non-intimidation factor was the setup to many a punch line.
In all other ways, he was anything but weak. My mother said it very well just this evening. When the chips were down, my father came through. Always. Children know their parents well. I imagine lots of children grow up knowing their fathers well and knowing that they really aren't all that admirable. Well, not me. If the temptation was to lie, my father would tell the truth. If the temptation was to be selfish, my father would be generous. If the temptation was to stray, my father would be faithful. If the temptation was to be mean, my father would be kind. I grew up knowing this as an absolute certainty. And if the temptation was to be pompous, my father would be modest - usually in a way that was funny.
My father was also - and this deserves a paragraph of its own - quite extraordinarily non-materialistic. He took unreasonable pleasure in a great bargain. At one point he located an outlet for flawed Brooks Brothers shirts. He could buy them for a dollar! Or maybe three for a dollar! And the flaws were minor! Like buttons up the front spaced 4 inches apart, 4 inches apart, 1 inch apart, 7 inches apart ... who would notice?! And then there were the cars. The lime green Ford Fiesta, the Ford Tempos - each one lovingly kept well past any rated life expectancy and dreaded by golf club managers throughout the south who really did *not* want that thing parked in front of their club.
I honestly can't remember ever having a cross word with my father or him having one with me. Apparently, many men and boys have as a dominant narrative in their life a struggle for their father's approval. I never felt the tiniest hint of that. Growing up I never gave it a second thought. Of course it was OK for me to be me! Of course he approved! Only later did I realize how not-taken-for-granted this is for most boys and men. (And by the way the real me wasn't always so impressive. You should see my kindergarten report card.)
My father didn't give me a lot of lectures. We didn't even have many serious talks. But there were two things that he would talk to me about seriously, and repeatedly, over the years. The first is that the key to life is accomplishing things that are helpful to someone other than yourself. Being of service to others was basically his message. The other thing was the importance of honesty. I still think those are two of the keys to life, and they are deeply important to me. But the unspoken lectures taken from the example of my father's life are equally important and add the color to what otherwise might seem excessively earnest. Humor! Friendship! Love! Those are very much lessons from my father's life too.
I will miss my dad - I have already been missing him as he has pretty much been unable to communicate for some time now. My mother has shown devotion and good cheer in astounding abundance as she has made his final years as comfortable as they could be. Somehow now that he has passed on it is easier to remember him as he used to be rather than as he has been recently.
Regrets? I regret that my own children did not have more of an opportunity to know him as he used to be. I also regret that Mac never would let me tell him how grateful I was to have him as a father. I guess it offended his sense of modesty - he just didn't want me to say it. But I think he knew.
Many, many times in my adult life I have met people who know and remember my father from somewhere - from Lebanon Kentucky, from Davidson College, from the New York Hospital, from Louisville, from the Southern Surgical Society, from High Hampton, from Mountain Lake. Always they sing his praises. Usually they make a joke at his expense. Always they say that I must be proud to be his son. I am. I am fiercely and deeply proud that McHenry Brewer is my father. I have been blessed.
- Charles Brewer
At my college graduation...
You were a lucky man, your father was an amazing man, and you will use your genetic heritage to improve life- sometimes it is the small things that make the most important changes