Like father, like son

Joseph Wendyl McWilliams II.  That’s me.

That’s the long version of me anyway, I’m usually just Joey. But I am named for my father: Joseph Wendyl McWilliams.

And it is a distinction about which I could not be more proud or thankful.

My dad is a man of God. He is a loving father, kind to a fault, and was a great example of honor for my brother and me as we grew up.

He’s a big sports fan as well. When I was young, there was no ESPN, but when there was a game on, it was on in our house.

In the fall, Saturdays meant college football and maybe, just maybe an OU broadcast. Sundays, after church of course, meant the NFL. And Monday nights were reserved for Monday Night Football, and it was a big deal to get to stay up until halftime to see highlights of all the games from the day before – again no ESPN, no SportsCenter.

And Dad watched all my games. From my first tee-ball games in Kindergarten, up through high school. I wasn’t bad athlete, up through my freshman year. When Dad came to a game, he had a good chance of seeing me with lots of action on the baseball diamond or the basketball court.

My love for sports was cultivated as Dad and I talked on the way to and from the games about what just my games and the rest of sports. Because he was there with me.

But by my sophomore year, my attention was scattered. There were academics, and music, and speaking competitions and more to go along with sports. And Mom passed away.

Others caught up to me in sports and my playing time diminished. But that didn’t mean Dad stopped coming. He was there in the stands, whether or not my name was in the box score.

Dad worked for the local cable television company. I remember, as most boys do, wanting to be like him.  And I told him that one time. I’ve never forgotten his response.

He didn’t want me to do what he did.  I was stunned.

I know now, he didn’t want me to do his specific job. He didn’t want me to climb all the towers and utility poles or crawl under houses. Or be on call for 24-hour days at times. Or constantly be ready to go when a storm came up, so he could get the cable lines back up for the town to continue to get to watch television.

So I stayed away from television, and even radio. But God would bring me back.

It turned out that I would work with the venue after all, but I would be in front of the camera, and not as much behind the scenes. My voice would be on the radio, but my hands weren’t the ones fixing it if it was  broken.

After Dad retired from working in the cable television business for 45 years, he decided he wanted to write a book. I didn’t know Dad could write. Not sure he did either.

Dad’s book: Dark Corner and Beyond

But he did it. And he was published. And it is so cool.

And I didn’t know I wanted to write either. But I can. And I do.

And although publishing my work means clicking the “Publish” button on the software, my stories are out there to be read as well.

The one place I knew I was like him was in serving in the church. And again, often dad would work behind the scenes, although sometimes out front, and I was often in view as a youth pastor or pastor or television host. The similarities were always there. I didn’t see them.

I always thought I was more like my mother. Our personalities were very close and although I’m much taller than she was, but there are many ways I look more like her than Dad.

But in recent years, I have realized just how much like him I really am.

The love for God is foremost, but there is an strong enjoyment for the following of sports. And that we have spent so much of our lives working with a broadcast and/or publishing medium, it amazes me now how much like my father I really am.

And as I said before, I am so proud and thankful.

As my children grow up – they are now 19, 18, 10, 8 and 8-years old – I hope they see in me a love for God and their mother, true love for each one of the five of them, and honor, kindness and loyalty. And maybe a love for sports, too.

And that they remember the good from when they grew up.

In the last few years, Dad has dealt with dementia. It has not been something I would ever want anyone to go through.

Dad is the middle of his two sons and their sons.
L-R: Jake, Joey, Wendyl, Tyler, Matthew McWilliams

He still knows me when he sees me, but the conversations are so much more one-sided, as he doesn’t say much anymore. The memories are still there, I know it; they just have been hidden away for a time, until we celebrate together one day in heaven.

So it’s up to me to remember for both of us now. And I will do just that. But my memories have been colored a little as I’ve grown up and now I see things for what they’ve been all along. I just didn’t recognize those years ago that I am my father’s son.

I’m a lot like my dad.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you.