My father and I never sat down and had that conversation that begins with, “Daddy, I think I’m gay.”  And honestly, I’m glad that we never did.  As much as I loved my Dad, I would have been very uncomfortable discussing my sex life with him. We didn’t have to have that conversation, but I have no doubts that he knew.  The main reason I know he knew is by the way he treated and accepted my lover of twenty-five years.  During those years, Fred Lowe was embraced as part of the Edmonds family.  He and I were included at every family gathering right along with my brother and his wife.  Plus, Daddy and Mama were guests at our home in Nashville many times.  We were even referred to as a unit – J.B. (my nickname) and Fred or Fred and J.B.  That’s just the way it was:  no questions asked.  We never had to experience that dreaded and agonizing ordeal of explaining why we weren’t married or why we didn’t have girlfriends.

            In 1945, when I was five months old, my father – Ashur Jewel Edmonds – was stricken with crippling arthritis which left him paralyzed from his neck to the base of his spine.  My mother – Addie Jane Edmonds – was told by her family to leave him and let him return to his mother and father to take care of him.   My mother reminded her family of the wedding vows she had taken:  for better or for worse and in sickness and in health.  So, she stayed and they remained together until death did they part.

            Before his illness, Jewel Edmonds was head bellhop at the most prominent hotel in the city of Bowing Green, Kentucky.  By the time I came into the world, he had worked and saved to purchase our first home for a grand total of $1000.  Before his illness, he had had the reputation of being the best looking man in the city.  While attending the Kentucky State College, his suave looks had earned the nickname of The China Doll.  His beautiful caramel colored skin topped with a mane mixture of curly, wavy, and straight hair was indicative of his African, Native American, and Irish heritage.  His handsomeness was only bettered by his warmth and charm.

            After Daddy’s illness, my mother and father simply reversed roles.  She became the family breadwinner as a school teacher.  He became the househusband.  And on his crutches, he actually did anything and everything that could be done without bending.  He prepared breakfast before Mama, my brother Marshall, and I went off to school.  He got me dressed and ready for school – combing my hair and even brushing my teeth.  He fixed my lunch to order when I walked home from school at noon.  And when the family came home from school in the evening, our dinner was already prepared and waiting on the table. 

            During the spring and summer, my Daddy always had a vegetable garden.  Being unable to stoop, he supervised Mama, Marshall, and me in the planting and weeding of the garden.  However, he would go up and down the rows tilling and cultivating the soil as he supported himself with his crutches.  He also kept the hedges and shrubs trimmed making our yard a neighborhood showplace.

            In the fall, Daddy always canned green beans, tomatoes, and other vegetables.  He also made grape wine and corncob wine.  He rarely drank the wine, however.  He preferred to drink Jack Daniels!  He proudly served his creation to visitors and guests at Christmas time or gave it away as gifts.     

            If my brother or I ever got sick with a cold or the flu, Daddy always knew the cure – a heaping spoonful of sugar with two or three drops of kerosene!  One dose of this at bedtime, and we woke up feeling great the next morning.  The only childhood disease I ever had was the mumps.  My Daddy boiled the jaw bone of a hog.  After the bone had thoroughly cooked, he cracked the bone open.  He then scooped out the greasy (and smelly) marrow and rubbed it all over my neck glands.    My glands did swell, but I never had any pain.  And all during my bout with the mumps, I ate everything I wanted and even drank orange juice.

            Daddy cut our hair.  Daddy upholstered our furniture.   Daddy helped us with our homework.  Daddy repaired the vacuum cleaner, the yard tools, the washing machine, the sewing machine.  My Daddy even shined my shoes until I was grown.  (By that time, my Fred had assumed that task.  To this day, I still cannot shine shoes!)

            No, my father and I never sat down and had that greatly feared father and son chat about my sexuality.  The conversation was not necessary; he knew.  I’m sure he was clued in by the drag shows that I would do for him at the tender age of nine or ten.  On a given rainy afternoon wearing some of Mama’s old dresses and shoes, I would reenact one of the popular give-away television shows of the day (The Big Payoff).  He got an idea, also, from my preference to paper dolls rather than football.  He would even help me with my paper doll creation projects!  And I’m sure that he knew the night that he had to hold me and console me as I screamed and sobbed.  My eleven year old heart had been broken.  The handsome hero of the television movie Daddy and I were watching had just been fatally shot.

            “Is he going to die?” I screamed through my tears and gasps for breath.

            “No, J.B.,” Daddy tried to allay my fears.  “He’s going to be all right.”

My young mind was painfully envisioning the dreaded day when my Daddy would die.

            Daddy died in 1986, and I experienced the worse pain I had ever known.  Today, that pain has been replaced by beautiful mental pictures and videos.   When I think of Ashur Jewel Edmonds, I remember a handsome man with a big, warm heart.  I remember a man who loved and enjoyed life even through his constant pain and discomfort.  I remember a man who loved his wife and sons more than anything else on earth.  I remember a man with great love and respect for a Supreme Being.  I remember a man who gave so much and yet asked for so little.  I remember seeing him cry sometimes, but more so I remember him smiling and laughing – a lot.

            My Daddy was an excellent vocalist.  He used to love to sing Thomas A. Dorsey’s Peace in the Valley.  One line says:

No heartaches to defile, but just one big endless smile

And that’s how I’m envisioning Daddy right now – with just one big endless smile.