Several years ago I was visiting Union County’s nursing home. I happened upon a gentleman I knew. I stepped inside his room for a short visit. I was not surprised that the man didn’t seem to recognize me, as we had never had occasion to be around each other a great deal.
What did surprise me is what he said when I told him who I was. He looked at me in amazement and said, “I thought you were dead.”
I found a certain humor in his comment, more at my younger age than I would now. I know that elderly folks are often confused.
“No, that was my brother,” I replied. My half-brother Billy Howard had recently died. The man would most likely have known my brother better than he knew me.
It occurred to me some time later that the man thought I was my father. He had known my father well, and Dad had died several years before my encounter with the gentleman. I have been told all my life, even now when I am almost sixty and Dad has been dead forty-three years, that I am his “spitting image”.
This very day, I called a lady to arrange an appointment for eye services through the Lions Club. I identified myself and proceeded to get her scheduled. She asked me about a minute into our conversation, “What did you say your name was?”
I identified myself again, and she exclaimed, “I thought you were dead! You were my sister’s teacher in school.” I asked her who her sister was, and when she told me I knew her immediately. I had not recognized the lady’s married name, and she now answers to a different first name in her adult life than she did in school. She told me, “I’m glad you’re still alive.”
I replied that I, too, was glad that I was still among the living.
May I point out that I was twenty-three when I was her sister’s third grade teacher.
In my mind I can wander back to that time. One day, just before lunch, with no explanation, the principal walked into my classroom and removed the child to the other third grade room. After I took the class to lunch I asked the principal what the problem was.
He said, “Frank Mincey was your father?” I replied that he was. The principal said that the child’s mother had called and asked that her daughter be removed from my classroom—she had known my father, he was nothing but a drunk, and she didn’t want her daughter in my room. I told the principal that I couldn’t help who my father was or what he did.
After lunch, again without explanation, the principal returned the child to my class. Later in the day, I asked the principal why he moved the child back. He told me that during lunch the girl had come to him, crying and begging not to be moved.
I told the principal that was fine, but what would keep the girl’s mother from calling again? The principal said that wouldn’t matter.
The incident reminds me of a Scripture: “. . . visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children, and upon the children’s children, unto the third and to the fourth generation.” (Exodus 34:7b KJV)
My mother and sisters were somewhat scandalized at the incident, but I just “took it in stride”.
I wondered why the child insisted that she be put back in my class. She was remarkably quiet and rarely spoke. I’d like to think it was because she loved me as a teacher and felt secure in my class, but I would be overly flattering myself to believe that. Perhaps she was afraid of the other third grade teacher. Perhaps she didn’t want to leave the friends she had in my class. I don’t suppose I’ll ever know for sure.
I do know one thing—the sweet little girl, who had challenges of which she herself was not yet fully aware, either didn’t know that my father was an alcoholic, or it didn’t matter to her.
“But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 19:14 KJV)
Can you remember what it was like to be a child, when you were still bathed in the wonder and innocence that is so often shattered by the trials and tribulations of growing into an adult? Sometimes, if I think hard enough, it seems I can almost return to those wonderful days of yesteryear, when the biggest problems were handled by adults, and worries were fewer and farther between.
To be a child! Patsy Cline recorded a song with a great message, “If I Could See the World (Through the Eyes of a Child)”. Look it up on YouTube—it’s definitely worth a listen. I end this article, Dear Reader, with the lyrics of that song. (Source: https://www.google.com/search?sca_esv=7485c90aae8489da&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS… Retrieved June 16, 2025)

If I could see the world through the eyes of a child
What a wonderful world this would be
There'd be no trouble and no strife
Just a big happy life with a bluebird in every tree
I could see right, no wrong
I could see good, no bad
I could see all the good things in life I've never had
If I could see the world through the eyes of a child
What a wonderful world this would be
If I could see the world through the eyes of a child
Smiling faces would greet me all the while
Like a lovely work of art
It would warm my weary heart
Just to see through the eyes of a child
I could see right, no wrong
I could see good, no bad
I could see all the good things in life I've never had
If I could see the world through the eyes of a child
What a wonderful world this would be

ANSWER TO QUESTION OF THE WEEK # 63
A burglar stole all my lamps. What was my emotional state? (ANSWER: I was delighted.)

QUESTION OF THE WEEK # 64
Why is my friend no longer allowed in record stores? (See next week’s article in historicunioncounty.com for the answer.)

FATHERHOOD PER EMAIL

When a kid says "Daddy, I want mommy," that's the kid version of , "I'd like to speak to your supervisor."

I just got a present labeled, 'From Mom and Dad,' and I know darn well that Dad has no idea what's inside.

SON—So how come there aren’t any circuses around now? FATHER—Because all the clowns got into politics.

Kids today don't know how easy they have it. When I was young, I had to walk 9 feet through shag carpet to change the TV channel.

Teach a child to be polite and courteous in the home and, when he grows up, he'll never be able to merge his car onto the freeway.

Inflation is so bad that parents in Beverly Hills fired their nannies and learned their children's names.

Becoming an adult is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.

I don't have grey hair. I have wisdom highlights.

Shout-out to everyone who can still remember their childhood phone number but can’t remember the password they created yesterday. You are my people.