Charles Weldon Knowles

This is from Dad's memorial service: One night when Dana and I were little, a cat showed up at our door. It was a big striped tom cat with battle scars and chipped ears. He was sitting at the sliding glass door, meowing, and when we saw him we said, oh please please can we let it in. I don’t know why but Dad let us let him in and we fed him some scraps from dinner. A little later, we found Dad sitting in the living room with the cat on his lap. We ended up keeping that cat. Dad, who was not exactly a cat lover, named him Love and gave him a home. When we were thinking about Dad this week, this story came to mind. That was a smart cat. That cat recognized something in Dad just like so many people throughout his life who saw his love and compassion, his heart for others, and his sense of fun. And Dad saw beyond the battle scars and chipped ears just as he did for everyone he encountered, from the students in all those classrooms where he taught to the people he met on his mail routes. He touched their lives and he touched ours. We were truly blessed. We’ve laughed and cried all week at the things we’ve remembered and loved about him. We’ve laughed about all those Christmas mornings when we’d come barrelling down the stairs at Granny and Papa’s house to see what Santa brought. Dad would be there to greet us with his Super 8 movie camera equipped with super bright lights so that the grainy movies we’d watch later would show us blindly stumbling around the living room looking for our gifts. We’ve talked about how he would let us drive on the way out to Viney Grove, whether he was teaching Mike how to drive or whether he was letting Dana sit on his lap and steer when she was too little to reach the pedals. We’d always stop at the Viney Grove Store and buy a “pop” and maybe some peanuts and then go on our way to Memaw and Grandad’s house. And we’ve all laughed about riding in the back of his truck, sitting on the concrete blocks he had back there to give him traction on snowy roads out on Cove Creek or on Skylight Mountain. Sometimes he would take us out to Granny and Papa’s and drive us around in the field just for fun. We’ve missed his amazing guacamole, his biscuits and gravy, and his pizza. And we all loved Grandpa eggs, which is what Alex and Maria called his special scrambled eggs and cheese concoction. Dad liked to cook and he let us help if we wanted, stirring the gravy or spreading the mozzarella on the pizza. And probably some of the things we loved best to eat came out of his garden. For Dad, the garden was a year-round project. We’ve laughed about how much we hated his compost heap out by the garden especially when we had to carry out the bucket, but that made his garden the envy of the neighborhood. There were rows and rows of corn, and the fattest tomatoes and the most prolific okra. We talkd about walking in his footsteps when he plowed the garden and how he let us follow if we stepped right in his big footprint in the soft soil. He loved to take giant steps in the middle of the row to see our dilemma when we had to jump and then he would look back and have a big chuckle. We talked about how we played with us, everything from card games to badminton. He was the adult who had fun with us, but boy did he hate to lose. I remember the badminton birdie whizzing by my head and Dad laughing when I ducked and he got the point. He was a great bridge player but with us, it was spades and especially rummy and we laughed the entire time because although he played to win, he loved to tease and joke around. He could also laugh at himself. We told the story about the time he went for a walk in the Battlefield Park after an Easter Sunrise Service and left his truck parked at the Latta Barn. When he came back later, his truck was gone because Elton Skelton found it, drove his truck home and told Mom that Dad was missing. Dad had to walk home. I think he was probably a little bit mad but he laughed about it over the years. And one time after Mother died, he let Dana have a pet rabbit for some reason. He went to Fayetteville to buy rabbit food but came back later empty handed, and he sheepishly told us that he got to the store and was walking down an aisle when he realized he was wearing one black shoe and one brown shoe and just decided to come home without it. He was so cute. He was our gentle giant, always ready with a hug, a laugh, a prayer. And Dad’s hugs were more like big bear hug transfusions of warmth and peace. These last few months it was harder and harder for Dad to speak. He laughed, he cried and his eyes sparkled, but the words wouldn’t come. But just a couple of weeks before he died, one of Dana’s friends came over for her birthday. At one point Dana walked into the living room to find her friend Abita sitting on the couch next to Dad’s chair. They were holding hands and she had tears in her eyes. She’s been battling cancer for over a year now, and she later told Dana that it was the most extraordinary thing--Dad reached out and took her hand and wouldn’t let go. She said that he was talking to her through that touch and that look. And she knew he was saying, Honey, it’s gonna be all right. And now he’s where he wanted to be for so long. I had a dream about Dad several years ago. Jesus was welcoming him to heaven, and there was a line of people stretched far in the distance waiting to greet him. Dad turned and asked why they were standing there. And Jesus said, “They’re here to thank you. You made a difference in their lives. They’re here because of you.” I have no doubt that’s exactly what happened. He made a difference in the lives of everyone he met. We were all blessed.