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An
Upright Man
by Jayne Lester Sergent
I can still see him standing at the bench in his
workshop. Tall and tan, in his gray work clothes, his
strong, scarred hands building something, a drop of sweat
falling from his dark hair onto his brow, wrinkled in
concentration. He seemed to relax by working. He was
always making something, furniture, toys, something. He
worked as an electrician Monday through Friday, and after
work, he would come home, have dinner with his family and
then retreat into his workshop in the basement. He had
even made the workshop with his own hands, spending the
better part of two years digging out a basement under his
two-story house. He did all the work himself, pouring
concrete, installing the wiring and plumbing, painting
and finishing the walls and floor until it suited his
demanding expectations.
Many people who met Virgil for the first time were
intimidated by his appearance. He was a huge man, over
six feet tall and with bulging muscles and a natural
scowl on his face. His mouth, turned down at the corners,
made him appear angry, even when he wasn't. He had little
formal education, but after getting to know him, it
didn't take long to realize how intelligent he really
was. He had an abundance of common sense, the kind a
formal education doesn't always provide. Quiet by nature,
he didn't speak unnecessarily. The saying, "still
waters run deep" always reminds me of him. He never
gossiped or engaged in trivial conversation and talking
to him on the phone was an exercise in futility unless
one had called to ask him a specific question. He didn't
offer his advice, but if asked, he gave it willingly, his
wisdom apparent in his straightforward answers.
Virgil was a law-abiding man, who always did what needed
to be done without complaint. He never paid a bill late
or miscalculated his checking account balance. He didn't
spend money on frivolous things, preferring instead to
buy things like land and insurance policies. His children
thought he was cheap, until they grew older and needed
financial help. He was always there for them,
financially, physically and spiritually. He taught them
lessons in life, not by preaching to them, but by
example. He had a strong sense of family, and that family
included some people that weren't born into it. More than
one of his children's friends became like his own and he
cared for them and looked out for them from then on.
Five years ago, on the first day of spring, Virgil died,
leaving behind a wife and three heartbroken adult
children. He left them well provided for and his wife is
able to enjoy the same style of living she always had.
But in the end, he couldn't insulate them from the thing
that hurt them most, the deafening silence of his
absence.
I think of Virgil often. His voice still as clear to me
as it was when I was a child, his child. He was the
epitome of strength. He was the single most important
person in my life. I was so fortunate to have him for so
long and I will always remember his lessons. I can think
of him now without tears, only with love, laughter and
gratitude.
I love you, Dad, and I will miss you forever.
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