, , , , , , ,

My dad, Everett Wiley Wilson, was born on Independence Day (July 4) in 1919. This is a photo of him from WWII, defending our freedom.

God bless him, and men and women like him.

When dad was born on July 4, 1919, in Austell, Georgia, his father, Wiley, was 34 and his mother, Sarah, was 30. He married Dorothy Mae Frey, my mother,  on January 21, 1943, in Atlanta, Georgia.

They had three children during their marriage.

He died on May 15, 2009, in Lilburn, Georgia, at the age of 89.

Many of us were fortunate to be raised by a responsible, moral, conservative father — imperfect though he may have been.  He scoffed when his children cried, “that’s not fair.”  He taught us work before play, the value of money, self-respect, right and wrong, and the limits of government and the power of personal responsibility — if not in words, by his example.   I am grateful for many blessings, but a conservative father is chief among them.

I use the word conservative with a small “c”. While he voted Republican most his life, politically he was probably a Libertarian. He listened to Neal Bortz every day after he retired. His conservative world view did spill over into his politics. My own father never organized anyone.  He expected people to organize their own lives, and their own communities, free from the obstacle of tyrannical government preferably.

He never presumed to rule over another, nor did he expect anyone to tell him how to live his life.   He never lectured from stadiums grandiosely flanked by Greek columns, but his words resonated.  He never padded a resume, nor embellished, let alone created, his own history.

And yet, his history speaks volumes.

My father grew up with strong, Christian, and Jewish, honorable men who served and defended this great nation, knew demanding work (he was 10 when the Great Depression started in 1929), God-given liberty, and right and wrong.  My father grew up when Sunday was reserved for family and church; before helmets were required to walk to the mailbox; and before putting the playground bully in his place with a discreet right hook was criminal.

He knew how to change the oil in his own car, and how to farm and garden before leftists commanded produce for social change.  He watched great men land on the moon, and even greater men returning from war.  He understood why soldiers fought those wars, and he was grateful and humbled. He would never brag about anything.

When I asked my dad how he was doing he would say “I got up this morning”. For him, hat was a good day.

He fought in World War II and didn’t like to talk about it. He grew up before MTV was around to bash Christians, and glamorize teen pregnancy, victimhood, immoral behavior, and hedonistic drunkards from the Jersey Shore.   To my knowledge, my father never dealt drugs, ate dog, nor perfectly recited the Islamic call to prayer.

He was a great man of GOD. I honor him and miss him.