Chase strode to the pulpit, and as he adjusted the mic, he looked out at the congregation, his kind smile warming their hearts. “Even at six feet, I’m still the shortest Tennyson boy,” he joked, “but I’m a little taller than Melinda.” At this, the congregation chuckled and immediately felt at ease.
Chase scanned the page of the open Bible and then looked up. “The reading my mom chose for this morning is from the book of Ecclesiastes, and although it’s often read at memorial services, I feel like it’s especially appropriate for my dad—whose life and livelihood depended on the seasons.” He proceeded to read the well-known words, and when he finished, he looked up.
“Well, I can absolutely attest to what Melinda said—my dad knew his Bible verses! But what most people don’t know about him is that his knowledge and his interpretation of the Bible were rooted in the fact that his own dad—our grandfather”—he looked at his brothers as he said this—“was also a minister, and John Tennyson Sr. wasn’t a kind, gentle soul like Melinda. Reverend Tennyson was a fierce, Bible-thumping, fire-and-brimstone, true Southern Baptist minister—a stern man who insisted that his two sons memorize countless Bible verses and Psalms and sit through endless church services. In recent years, when I found this out from my mom”—as he said this, he looked down and smiled at the woman sitting next to Gage—“I began to see my dad in a new light, and I began to understand the influences that had shaped his thinking.
“When I was little, sitting on my dad’s broad shoulders—with him holding tightly to my ankles—I was on top of the world. Nothing could hurt me. My brothers would all traipse along after him, but I got to ride on his six-foot, four-inch frame . . . and I always knew, without a doubt, that he loved me.
“Growing up in the shadows of my mischievous fun-loving brothers, I watched as rules were set and broken, and as storms rolled in . . . and out, but peace—thanks to our mom—always seemed to prevail. My brothers paved the way, and by the time I came up through the ranks, I got away with just about anything.” He paused and looked at Liam. “Even being gay.
“As you might imagine, this revelation didn’t go over well in our house. My dad—whose faiths and beliefs, as Melinda said, were old-school—had a very hard time understanding and accepting this news, but when he started quoting the Bible to prove his point, I pulled some Bible verses out of my own back pocket. I reminded him that every time he planted his corn next to his alfalfa . . . or wore a silk tie with a cotton shirt, he was sinning . . . because in Leviticus 19:19, it says that you shall not plant your field with two kinds of seed . . . or wear clothes woven from two kinds of material.” Chase smiled. “This revelation set him back on his heels because the Bible really does say that—and this is certainly an outdated commandment—I mean, who made up such rules? Was it really God that said that? Or was it some self-righteous Pharisee? So, we talked at length about the change in thinking that happened after Jesus came along, and how the New Testament was about love . . . and not about rules and vengeance.
“As Melinda said, God did throw some hard lessons my dad’s way, but he was—as we all must be—pliable . . . and he did change.” Chase looked at Gage and smiled. “And I wasn’t the only free-range chicken that went off the farm.” Everyone chuckled at this and Chase grinned. “Just one of the many colorful and politically incorrect phrases our dad liked to use when he was characterizing people he thought were making risky decisions. But I wasn’t the only son who forced our dad to grow and change, and to consider life from other perspectives.” He paused and eyed his brothers. “We all did, in one way or another . . . because you can’t raise six sons without having a little hell break loose!” At this, everyone laughed, and then Chase’s face grew solemn as he continued.
“Another hard lesson came our dad’s way when, on a beautiful summer day—much like today—tragedy struck our family. When Cale died, it seemed like everyone in town was mourning, but no one mourned more than our parents . . . and especially, my dad . . . because he blamed and never forgave himself for what happened.” Chase looked up. “No parent should ever bury a child . . . and even though this tragic accident changed our dad, he kept his faith.
“So, this past weekend, my brothers and I . . . and our sweet mom . . . had the amazing opportunity to spend quite a bit of time together, reminiscing about the old days, remembering our dad. Although he seemed to always be serious—‘as serious as four heart attacks and a stroke,’ another saying he liked to use when he wanted to express the gravity of a situation—he also had a sense of humor and a smile that could move mountains. My brothers, Gage and Matt, recalled the time Dad and Dutch took them—and Cale—up to Bristol Motor Speedway to see a NASCAR race, and how Terry Labonte—who’d stopped for fresh tires with just five laps to go—had taken the lead, when Dale Earnhardt Sr. came up behind him and—as he so loved to do—bumped into him and spun him around so he could take the checkered flag for himself. . . . And as great as it was for my brothers to see their favorite driver win, what they remember most about that moment was seeing their ever-reserved dad pumping his fist in the air and shouting, ‘Woo-hoo! Bump and run, baby! Bump and run!’”
Chase smiled. “Now, Dad’s
