The Death of a Real Man
The Death of a Real Man
I knew this day would come someday, but I always thought I would be much older when it came. Life really does go by much faster than we realize. Cicero, the great Roman statesman, taught that the life given to us by God is short; but the memory of a well-spent life is eternal. While my father no longer lives here with us, his memory will always live within the minds of each of us who knew him.
Even though life presented my father with both abundant blessings and abundant challenges, he always held on to his faith, his character, and his honor. No matter what life threw at him, he always strived to do what was right, even it if wasn’t what was best thing for him personally. That is called integrity!
When he fell into hard times financially, he could have declared bankruptcy, kept his house, the barns, and a large portion of our ranch, but he did not feel that was the morally right thing to do, as he owed a debt. So he gave up everything and started from scratch. That was just the kind of man my father was.
Time and time again, I witnessed people who did my father wrong, and he and my mother forgave them and refused to hold any grudges. I never understood this, and it is still one of the lessons that he tried to teach me that I have struggles with today. As my father’s dear friend, Mary Lou, once said, “If you get on Bohdi’s shit list, you’re screwed.” But my father saw things differently. He forgave each and every person who crossed him, not because it was in his nature, (it was his nature to kick their ass), but because of his Christian faith.
I have thought to myself more times than I can remember, how grateful I am to have grown up like I did, with parents who loved me and taught me so much. When I was old enough to play baseball and there was no baseball field in our town, my dad took his tractors and bulldozers to town and made a nice field. Then he took time out of his busy schedule and coached the team.
When I was old enough to hunt, he taught me everything possible about deer hunting and fishing. When I shot my first deer, he spent 8 hours tracking it because he wanted his son to have his first whitetail, and probably would have spent 8 days tracking it if need be. Daniel Boone would have be impressed by my father’s tracking skills on that day, all because he was a motivated father.
I have way too many stories like that to write about them all. He taught me more than he even knew, and more than I realized at the time. In fact, I still learn lessons from his teachings from time to time, even now.
His many lessons have stayed with me throughout my life. I was inducted into the martial arts hall of fame in 2017. There was no martial arts classes anywhere around our small town in rural Mississippi, but I had one of the best martial arts instructors anyone could have — my dad. He taught me how to fight, how to defend myself, and more importantly, when to fight and what is and is not worth fighting for. And make no mistake about it, he could have beat the hell out of 90% of today’s so-called martial arts masters and grandmasters.
I remember when I was being bullied by a boy who was a couple of years older and a good bit bigger than me. Daddy knew I was scared to fight him. One day he pulled me aside and told me, “If I ever hear of you running away from a fight, you are going to get a much worse whipping when you get home than you would have in any fight.
The next day, on the school bus, that guy started bullying me. I turned and hit him as hard as I could right in the nose, and then punched him again in the eye. After which, I prompted got beat up by the older boy, although I did hold my own. Then, 20 minutes later, I got beat again by Mr. Ferguson’s large wooden paddle. But I felt pride knowing that I somehow found the courage to stand up for myself against that bully.
And I learned a valuable lesson that day, as that bully never dared bully me again. He had to go to school with a broken nose and one eye swelled shut by the end of the day. He was shamed that some kid two years younger than him had done that. That lesson has stuck with me ever since. You have to stand up for what is right, even if it is painful or causes you some discomfort. This was just my father’s way of teaching me a lesson about honor, one of many.
My dad always stood for what he thought was right and just, no matter what the consequences were. He was a man of deep convictions, character, honor, and integrity. And out of all the things that my dad taught me, his lessons concerning honor, character, and integrity were probably the most important.
I now write books on philosophy, honor, character, integrity, etc., and many of the teachings in my books come from my father’s lessons, although it took me many years to understand and internalize them.
My father was a man who could basically do anything he set his mind to. He could ride horses that would throw most men to the ground. He built lakes, race tracks, ponds, and baseball fields. He could fix a bulldozer or preach a sermon. He was an award-winning painter and was named Ducks Unlimited Artist of the Year and his paintings were even used for duck stamps. He hunted most every animal we have in our country, was an expert tracker, coached sports, and would catch 70 pound fish with his bare hands, no line, no hook, and no tackle.
He was a man’s man who had the courage to stand for what he believed, but who also had a tender heart which was easily touched. He, like his father before him, went out of his way to help others as much as he could, and helped more people than most people know.
When we moved to our new home on our ranch/farm, we brought a black man, Booker T Coker, and his family with us. My dad built him and his family a home about a half mile from our house. Booker T was a trusted friend who would have done anything for my father and me. We spent many days riding horses checking on our cattle.
When my family came upon bad financial times, my father refused to declare bankruptcy in order to keep our home, barns, land, etc. But he made the bank agree to sign the deed of Booker T’s home and five acres of land over to Booker T so he would always have a home and a place to live. My dad always put the needs of others ahead of his own.
I went back to my grandmother’s funeral just a few years ago, and while I was there, Booker T. heard I was in town and came by my grandmother’s house to pay his respect and to see me. I hadn’t seen him in over 30 years. The man I knew was old and frail, with short white hair. As we hugged and said our good byes, Booker began to cry, knowing he would most likely never see me again.
Booker T died a year later. Before he died, my dad saw to it that he was put into a nice nursing home, bought him new clothes, and then paid for his funeral when he died.
My father loved the mountains and the West, which probably has a lot to do with the fact that I moved out West 36 years ago, and still live in Colorado today. I could always see the joy on his face whenever he came out to Montana or Colorado to visit. I think it was at those times when I could most clearly see his true nature.
His love of the West, of Native American history, of religion, and wisdom, was passed down to me, and I have studied philosophies and wisdom from around the world, including many Native American teachings.
Several of those teachings come from the great Indian chief, Seattle, who the city of Seattle, WA is named for. Chief Seattle stated that, “There is no death, only a change in worlds.”
Having studied philosophy from around the world, I found that this philosophy concerning the physical death is taught in cultures from basically every part of the world. Daddy knew this as well, as he was well-read and loved to study. Through all his trials and tribulations, even when battling dementia, he never lost sight of the meaning behind Jesus’ words “Everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”
The last time I saw Daddy, dementia had all but taken over his mind, but he had very short moments of what appeared to be quick, lucid thoughts. During one family conversation, while Daddy was restlessly sitting in his chair and not mentally aware, someone mentioned something about Jesus, and Daddy perked up and said, “He is enough. Jesus is enough,” and then laid his head back down and re-entered the mental murkiness of his disease. Not even dementia could cause my dad to forsake or forget his faith. THAT is a man with the courage to stand by his beliefs, come what may!
I am greatly blessed to have had such a father who taught me so much about life. And I know that the next time I see him, he will have greater things to teach me than I can even imagine or comprehend at this time. I will miss him greatly and will always cherish all of the lessons he taught me over the years. Bohdi Sanders
