Forever Your Biggest Fan

A Servant’s Heart

The older I get the more I realize which pieces of my parents I am. The parent/child relationship has to change before the child can really understand who their parents are and what they have passed down. This one’s for you dad.

Thomas Hampton Faulkner was born on December 14, 1955. He is the son of Thomas and Susie Faulkner, and the middle child between an older sister and younger brother. I don’t remember the exact date he was given his first drum set, but soon music and drums became his life. Growing up in a social elite family, being a creative was not the cool or accepted thing. He was often misunderstood by his family, and quite frankly, I believe, he has been misunderstood the majority of his life.

Like with most drummers, he definitely walks to the beat of his own drum, and always has a song playing in his head. See the peculiar thing about my dad is he can’t read music. He didn’t get to play drums in the high school band because he didn’t understand how to read all the notes and beats. Yet, music runs through my dad’s blood. You let him listen to a song and he can play it to perfection after a couple of tries. Even to this day when they learn a new song at church my brother burns it to a CD (yes, I’m dead serious) and gives it to my dad for him to learn. My folks just bought a new car and their one requirement was that it came with a CD player. Yes, we all find this comical, but this is the same guy who had a flip phone up until about 5 years ago.

Aside from drums my dad loves sports. When I was a kid my dad, brother and myself would spend hours playing H.O.R.S.E. or Around the World in the driveway. My brother and I were relentless in pursuing the ever elusive goal of beating our unbeatable Dad. He taught us how to shoot a basketball. He has the prettiest follow through and can sink every side corner 18 foot jumpshot, which would always be his kiss of death to us kids. For years at family gatherings everyone had the goal of beating Uncle Tommy aka Dad at H.O.R.S.E but very rarely was this goal accomplished. Even now, every time we are at Mygar’s (my Dad’s mom) house a game of H.O.R.S.E is played just to see if Dad can be beat. He admittedly has grown a little less competitive, and loves to see his grandkids win and then rub it in their parent’s face (especially my brother’s son Zeke ) that they beat Papa T! He taught us how to have a love for the game and that defense wins championships.

Dad is the reason I love sports. When I was in high school, him and I would spend evenings in front of the TV watching football or basketball. He would blow up at a dumb call and Lord help us if Kansas State was playing. I don’t know a more loyal and faithless fan of his alma mater. Just like he has music in his blood, that blood bleeds purple, but some days I’m not sure you would ever know it. When it’s a tense game or well any game, he gets his fingers to shaking. Folks this is a clear indication that my dad has something on his mind. He gets them to moving, next he’s bound to start pacing, which is quickly followed by him throwing his hands in the air and professing he can’t take it anymore. He will shut the TV off and leave the room. This will happen about 10 times throughout the game. Don’t believe me, just ask my mom.

Yet, even when he knows his Cats are bound to lose, he will never go against them. He’s loyal like that. He taught me that you just don’t give up on people, no matter how bad they have mistreated you, you keep showing up and believe in them.

I always knew I got my career drive and determined (stubborn) attitude from my mom. She paved the path that let me know I could be an amazing mom and also have a thriving career. She showed me how to be a girl in a guys club. Being a female was her secret weapon and she taught people how to not underestimate her and her abilities. I’m stronger because of what she had to go through in the corporate world.

However, the older I’ve gotten I’ve realized how much I am like my dad.

I get my words from my dad. He majored in journalism at K-State, and showed me how to create a picture with nothing but words. He can write the most beautiful eulogy for a complete stranger because he listens and can put a person’s heart, personality and life on paper. For several years he would send a mass group of people his “Thought of the Day,” and while most of them left us laughing there were always the heartfelt ones that rendered the audience speechless. It’s not like my dad is the biggest talker, he lets my mom handle that, but when he does add his opinion or commentary it is bound to be memorable. He is the reason I am a Words of Affection person. It’s not because we had long drawn out conversations. It’s because he always knew what I needed to hear and when I needed to hear it. It was always the “I’m proud of you, doe eyes” or the “just breathe for a second, honey.” Now I hear myself repeating these words to my girls. He paid attention to the details of who I was.

We share a trait that I know he would have rather not passed down to me. See we have this thing called an addictive personality. Sometimes this trait has cost us greatly. However, it is also our story of triumph. He took the trait that was meant to destroy him and turned it into the biggest blessing he shares with hundreds of others. The act of service. My dad has a servant’s heart.

The parallel of a drummer and his position of being a Funeral Director is not lost on me. The drummer is never in the spotlight. He sits behind the rest of the band, and at times is completely disguised behind the drum set. Yet, it is his beat and rhythm that drives everyone else. He is the backbone to the song. He is there to serve everyone else. As a Funeral Director, you are never the spotlight. Most often you are there to console, to solve conflicts and to help families move forward. You are there as the backbone and to serve the families in a way that allows them to best remember their lost loved one. My dad carries both of these titles. I have seen him bury babies, best friends, colleagues and family members. He is always behind the scenes, keeping the beat and ushering everyone else forward. Heck, I am privileged to see his service every Sunday at lunch. After everyone has eaten and are sitting around the table chatting away, my dad silently clears the table. He picks up all the plates, then the food and does all the dishes. He is never asked to do this, he just does. He serves, silently.

While I am still figuring out the triumph to my story, I am so blessed to have a dad that models it out for me every day.

So, Dad, on this day of celebration and as you begin to think about the years ahead, know the impact and the groundwork you have laid for us and the generations that follow. May we have the ability to find our servant’s heart and always be confident to march to the beat of our own drum.

Forever your biggest fan,

Doe Eyes