When I was younger my dad and I fought…quite a lot. I thought I needed to hear “I love you” more.
But what I didn’t understand then was, he was saying “I love you” all the time.
When he woke up before the sun to work on an assembly line.
When he practiced softball with me in the back yard.
When he made chocolate chip pancakes for us, and our friends, on the weekends.
When he played Rummy, Yahtzee and lots of other games with us.
When he took us, and our friends, on summer camping trips.
When he was there to help me study for all my tests (even if it seemed like torture then).
When he showed up for all our school and sporting events.
When he took me to CMU football games and answered all my questions about football.
When he taught me how to drive.
When he packed my lunches and included silly notes. “Jodie, eat your lunch every bite or you’ll get no supper tonight. Just Kidding. Love, Dad.” Yes, I still have it.
When he spent his weekends driving me from and back to CMU during my college years.
And so much more.
He was a man of few words, but he always made them count. And if you got him on a good day and the right topic – music, religion, politics – you know the usual taboo subjects – or his grandkids, the conversation could last a while.
But what he lacked in words he made up for in generosity. The thing about Byo’s generosity, if you were blessed by it, you didn’t always know it. And that’s how he preferred it. He didn’t want the credit. He just wanted to help.
And I know many people and organizations were touched by my dad’s generosity. Whether he was donating his time, his treasure or his talents, he made a difference in ways that I’ll never understand. Whether it was spending time with his little brothers through his volunteer work at Big Brothers, Big Sisters for more than 20 years, ringing the bell at Salvation Army, being a prayer partner at Peace Lutheran, volunteering at St. Andrews Catholic church or supporting numerous other causes, my dad (and my mom too) supported more people and efforts than I’ll ever know. He didn’t care about the money or things that he had, he cared about what he could do for his family and for others and that was true until the end.
As his children, when we weren’t the recipients, Dawn and I had a front row to my dad’s generosity. But there was one time I wasn’t a big fan. After moving off campus my sophomore year, I told him I wanted to bring my bike to CMU, so I could ride it to class. I don’t remember his exact words, but I imagine it was some kind of dry sense humor response that went along the lines of “well that’s going to be hard to do since you no longer have a bike. I gave it to a guy at work, who doesn’t have a car.” It was great news for his co-worker (who I’m really struggling to remember but I think his name was Curtis) but I was pretty unhappy about the whole thing for a minute (or years). For years it was family joke with me saying “remember how I don’t have a bike anymore because dad gave it to Curtis.” Anyway…
This story got me thinking… I feel like my dad had a way of stirring the pot or eliciting strong emotions, but he managed to do it with respect and he came armed with the facts and this calm and cool composure necessary to have (and usually “win” if that was an option) a spirited but civil conversation. I mean, I couldn’t be mad he gave my bike to a guy without a car! He could get you riled up, but he had a good reason for what he did, or why he felt the way he did. Is this making any sense?
Here’s another story. As I was making a playlist of songs for my dad, I recalled a high school story – one that almost got me in big trouble, thanks to my dad and his music influence. I don’t remember the exact assignment, but it was something to do with picking out a song, presenting it to the class and explaining the beat. My dad suggested I used the song “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35”. I mean. Do y’all know that song? Let’s just say it repeats the words “everybody must get stoned.” And do you know what school I went to? Valley Lutheran High School. I don’t remember the grade I got, or any significant punishment, but I do remember Mr. Britton not being thrilled and letting me know. I also remember my dad standing firm it was simply the same stoning the bible references when I communicated my teacher’s dissatisfaction. I strongly suspect he was expecting that conversation, and he was ready to defend it.
So, like I said. He wasn’t always silent. He made his words count. And he was smart about it, ready for debates when they were warranted and almost always delivering his viewpoints calm, cool and collected.
Some other memorable words I recall came in college. It was before a popular music festival outside of Mt. Pleasant called Reggae Fest. He said, “I do tuition, I do books, I even do spending money, I don’t do bail.” So…call mom. Got it. And another time after a neighbor caused a fight at our apartment and I told her to leave and she responded by calling me some unfriendly, body shaming terms. When I told my dad I almost got into my first fight he replied, “If you hit her, use your left arm…your right arm is jacked up enough.” This would have been one year after I had the two metal plates and 13 screws surgically placed to fix the two broken bones from my car accident. Sometimes his advice didn’t come from a parenting handbook, sometimes it was just common sense, and that I can appreciate.
Byron’s words and advice weren’t always spoken. The man loved to send snail mail and I suspect there are many of you here today, celebrating Byron’s life, who had the good fortune of receiving a piece of mail from him. I can’t count the number of news articles, cartoons and other cards I received over the years. Some didn’t say much at all and a couple I’ll cherish forever. And while I won’t ever get mail from him again, he left behind a dozen or more journals filled with newspaper clippings, cartoons and random musings that I’ll be reading through for a long time. Some of it was to capture the times we’re in and others were just the mundane details of his days or sweet details about the kids’ visits or milestones.
Not all of these are going to be easy to read. But I also know we always did the best we could with the information we had at the time. It’s clear looking through some of these entries that my dad was recently fighting a recurring and deep depression. And he was fighting it, by doing devotions, praying and seeking God… but he wasn’t telling us about it, and I feel like if he had, we could’ve helped. We could’ve had his doctor increase his meds or tried something different. We could’ve encouraged him to talk to someone. Having a complex health condition like MS that has stolen your ability to walk is enough to make anyone depressed but then also watching your wife of 50 years go through a two-year cancer battle and everything that came with it is more than one person should bear. But he did. And he did it in silence. So, while I have the mic, I’m going to use it to say, if you’re struggling – don’t just write in a journal and ask if you’re depressed…especially multiple times. If you have to write the question, the answer is undoubtedly “yes.”
Make the doctor appointment, start on medication, find a therapist, talk to someone. You do not have to feel this way. Can Jesus heal you? Sure. But sometimes Jesus’ healing comes by way of human doctors and medication. And that’s okay too. By the way, my dad didn’t have anything against meds, in fact he was on depression medicine and had been for a long time. And he had seen a therapist in the past, and maybe even did during this time and we hadn’t been aware of it. But we didn’t know to revisit it after my mom died. I wish we had. Like I tell my kids, when our body is sick, we go to the doctor and get medicine. Sometimes we need to do the same with our brain and that’s okay. Mental health matters. End of my PSA.
My dad was a man of few words, but he had a great sense of humor, a generous spirit and a deep faith. He would help anyone in need and expect nothing in return. He loved his family and friends and is deeply missed. He may be gone but he will be remembered. And you can keep his memory alive by sending a friend a postcard or handwritten note, performing a random act of kindness or lending a hand to someone in need. You could also take a bike ride or enjoy some of his favorite music.
Check out this playlist we created of some of his favorite music so you can jam along with Byo:
Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5C3CvWq5YIF5vJV46klhcG?si=pxAqhNNERI2ekmdR3NWW9g
You can read his obituary here: https://obits.mlive.com/us/obituaries/saginaw/name/byron-burditt-obituary?id=62155152
My dad’s time on earth was spent being a blessing to others, now let’s try to do the same.
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