Let Them Eat Sandwiches

I was sitting around reminiscing about my father. March 14th was his birthday. And something just kept eating at me.

My father, John Erickson, was born in Port Arthur, Texas, on March 14, 1943. He would have been 83 years old. Man, how time flies. He passed away June 14, 1988, from a heart attack—gone before he hit the floor. He's been gone 38 years now. Again, time. It seems like yesterday, getting that phone call and Mom coming to tell me. I was 19 years old.

The number 14 had a strange significance in his life. He was born on the 14th, my parents were married on the 14th, I was born on the 14th, and he died on the 14th. That's a lot of 14's. Not that it means anything, but you know how life's patterns fascinate us. It's the reason Wheel of Time is such a popular book.

On this particular March 14th, I sat on the back porch wondering about a lot of things. You tend to romanticize the dead, but even after all these years, I still find myself fascinated by my dad. He was a hard worker and a good person. He spent most of my childhood working long hours. As long as I can remember, my dad always owned his own businesses. He and my mom worked a lot. They owned a real estate company, a bar, a used car lot, rental houses, a grocery store, and a restaurant. My mom always said she could sell a house in two hours and my dad would take two days. The difference was my dad would be best friends with the people buying the house.

They also partied pretty hard when not at work. My brother and I were typical latchkey kids—we pretty much raised ourselves. Mom and Dad would come home tired or drunk or both. For about four years, we were trail riders. Like everything my dad did, joining wasn't enough. It started with one horse and led to owning a wagon and donkeys. He had to form his own club along with some friends: the Pop-a-Top Trailriders. My brother and I were exposed to all kinds of things during those years—some good, some bad. Always entertaining. Like I said, my dad was a good man. He cared about people and liked to have fun, but he wasn't perfect. He was always joking with people and messing with them. Kinda overdid it at times, but that was him.

Even with all the partying, some of my first memories are from church. My parents raised me in the Church of Christ as a young child. As with everything, my dad was fully committed. He taught the teen Sunday school class and was deeply involved. One of the things they did was invite every family in the church individually over to our house for dinner. They formed bonds with everyone. They planned outside gatherings, like ice cream parties and picnics. They hosted Bible studies at our home. It all turned sour when one of the elders in the church turned on my dad and got up in front of the congregation, condemning everything my dad had done. The church had a major falling out, and we left. We stayed away from church until I joined Vidor Church of Christ as a teenager and was baptized. This brought the family back. Even though my father would have more trouble.

See, behind all this was a sadness. A sin my dad could never shake. Prior to the Church of Christ and trail rides, something occurred that haunted him. He never spoke of it, but later, after his death, my mom told us about it. My dad always talked about his biggest fear—that us boys would be punished for his sins. He was always waiting for a tragedy.

When my dad first moved to Houston, he was in a car accident. Someone in the other car died. I won't get into details. My dad was found to be at fault. He ran a red light. As punishment, he lost his license for a year and paid a fine. That was it. Maybe if he had been punished more, he wouldn't have carried all that guilt. As it was, he was let off with a slap on the hand.

In my opinion, this one event shaped his whole life. He overcompensated and fixated on being a good person. He drank so much and smoked three packs of cigarettes a day. It was the reason he tried to help so many people.

The reason I'm telling you this is to frame why we should show compassion and acceptance. See, my dad lived Mark 12:30–31: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment greater than these." My dad took this verse to heart.

As a young man in church during my teen years, I was always told not to give people money. "They'll just use it to buy drugs or beer. They'll take advantage of you." Then there was my dad—someone always owed him money. He was always giving things away to people in need. As a young person, I thought this made him weak. People were taking advantage of him. My father made sure we had what we needed, but then used everything he had left to help people. He and my mom would fight about it—that he wasn't taking care of the business. I bought into this idea that it's better to feed people than give them stuff. Heck, we even carried sandwiches in our church van to hand out to the homeless if they bothered us while we were driving around. Our church was on the highway, so inevitably a homeless person would show up. Some wanted to just send them away, but we offered food and a place to clean up before telling them to have a nice day and that Jesus loves you. I'm sure most of the homeless people and transients appreciated this. But what if there was more? What if we truly treated them as Jesus treated us? The song "What If God Was One of Us" has been on my mind lately.

Sell Your Possessions and Give to the Poor

Matthew 19:21: "Jesus answered, 'If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.'" I had heard this scripture since I was a child. People always tried to explain it away. Even at a young age, the explanations always seemed hollow for something that's so clear. "It was only talking about that situation," "It wasn't for everyone," etc.

What would this look like in practice? I have no doubt that if we truly believed God will provide, more people would do this. Instead, go on any online investment group, and 80-year-olds will tell you, "You can't touch your nest egg because you might need it." Really? What if you don't make it to 80? What if 45 years, like my dad, is all you get? Maybe you're lucky and get 49 years, like my brother-in-law—cancer sucks! Even luckier, you get 55 years, like my mother-in-law, or 65, like my mom. What good is treasure laid up on earth? What good are unfulfilled dreams? What will you tell Jesus when he welcomes you and asks what you did on earth? Will your answer be, "I had a big 401k"? Or will others answer for you? Will you not be able to say anything because of the mass of people who testify on your behalf?

As I said, my dad drank a lot and smoked three packs a day. It's no wonder his life was cut short. There may or may not have been other drugs involved as well. I'm not sure if he was trying to cover physical pain or psychological pain, but it was definitely there. Like I said, my family tried to get back into church after I was baptized. My dad was reluctant but tried. Of course, an elder of the church showed up at his grocery store and told him he had to stop selling alcohol in order to join. That was that. My dad sat on the foot of my bed after working 16 hours that day and told me that his relationship with God was between him and Jesus. That men and churches just did not understand his love for God and their relationship. It was perplexing when I was young. Those people loved me, hugged me after I was baptized. Why would they shun my father?

Things I Will Always Remember

From my dad's funeral and the week that followed: His death was quick. Somehow that was a good thing—at least in others' opinions. I remember just wishing I could say goodbye. Aunt Ruth at the funeral asked repeatedly where John Edwin was, and people had to inform her he was the one in the casket. She would then say, "Poor John Edwin." The chapel was bursting with people. People were standing in the halls, and some had to stay outside. The place wasn't nearly big enough.

A lot of it is a blur, but one thing that will always stick with me was the feeling of peace I felt when I saw my girlfriend at the time—my future wife. Knowing an outsider was there for me was a lifeline to sanity. It filled my heart. She showed up for me. I've had to repay that several times, but she is my rock in this world. Little did I know she was thinking about breaking up with me. I guess out of tragedy, love blossomed. Love wins.

The stuff I remember that at the time felt like people being selfish—but looking back, they had to testify. Their souls needed it. Person after person came up and told me how my dad had helped them. They were broke and couldn't feed their kids—he gave them food. They were out of gas and needed to go to work—he gave them fuel. Their kids needed school supplies—he gave them money to go get some. It went on and on. When they were having a bad day, they would stop by the store, and my dad would always cheer them up. After a hard day, they would stop at the restaurant, and my dad would drink a beer with them.

The biggest one was probably a man who I knew was friends with my dad, and I had gone to school with his kids. He pulled me aside and told me that after his divorce, he had decided to kill himself. He had it all planned out. He stopped by our store to buy a six-pack, to get his courage up. As my dad checked him out, my dad asked what was wrong. The man tried to just leave, but my dad ran out and stopped him. My dad closed the store, and they sat and talked for hours. He said my dad saved his life.

After the funeral, my mom started digging into financial records. So many IOUs at the grocery store—everything from milk to beer. Then there were the rental houses in Houston. One couple hadn't paid my dad in five years. They were old and living on Social Security. My dad had just let them live there for free. My dad was not a businessman. He cared too much.

Needless to say, it was a mess. Mom did the best she could to carry on, and us boys dealt with things our own way. My grandmother was a wreck, losing her only child. Like I said, my future wife kept me sane and was the biggest blessing of my life.

Want to Trade Places?

1 John 3:16–18: "This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters. If anyone has material possessions and sees a brother or sister in need but has no pity on them, how can the love of God be in that person? Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth."

I worked with incarcerated adults for 33 years. Not my original calling, but it's where life and God led me. My father's example lived through me, and I hope I was able to fulfill God's calling. I always tried to treat people with respect and dignity while upholding the tenets of my job. One of the main things that came from that whole experience is that I don't fear people. I know people can be dangerous, but most are not evil. They may do evil things at times. Violating a law does not make you a bad person. It does not separate you from God. Everyone can be saved. I've seen street criminals and gang members reset their lives and become different people through the Lord. No matter if it's Hindu, Muslim, Christian, or Jewish. Even the ones who have some blended view of things. I've even had good conversations with Satan worshipers and people who think we're part of an alien experiment.

I will never forget one investigation I was doing. The lady admitted to breaking the law and violating the licensing requirements of her position, but she did it for her son. I won't get into details, but it was something that I felt like every parent alive would probably do. I was interrogating her and having a hard time not crying myself. She accepted responsibility and paid the price. Was she a bad person? Not in my opinion.

Did my dad have life figured out? No. In fact, at one point my brother told me that it was a hero complex or something. We often romanticize the dead. That is probably true. My father wasn't perfect, but he did get one thing right: He loved people. It didn't matter their station in life or what color they were. He liked to have fun and experience life. He worked a lot, and at times made more money than they knew what to do with. At other times, we loaded everything we owned in a Pontiac Firebird and headed to live with Grandma. The thing that never changed was love. Even when we were teens, he could come home joking with us and would kiss us before going to bed. We missed that.

After a long day of work, I walk out of the federal prison. I had done some interviews and was interviewed myself about another case. A lot on my mind. Had to get home for a kid's soccer game. As I walked down the sidewalk, I saw someone approach out of the corner of my eye. It's some homeless guy. He says, "Get your head up, it's a beautiful day." I reply, "Yes it is." The man says, "It could be worse, you could be me." I just replied, "I guess so." He then says, "We could trade places. I can show you where I sleep. I can then go to your place and try out living there." I laughed and said, "Maybe not today. I'm good." He then said, "Well, I guess not. You have any money? I need a beer. Wouldn't you need a beer if you were me?" I just laughed again and said, "Good point." Yes, I gave him ten dollars, and he thanked me for the money. I didn't give him a sandwich, and I knew what he was doing. But he was right. People live where they are. No matter if it's a choice or society, mental health problems or addiction. An inmate told me one time he felt safer sleeping on the street than in a room full of strangers. Sometimes it makes sense.

Over the last 38 years since my dad passed, I've been on mission trips. I've worked with people who had societal problems. Helped some along the way. The one thing that has stuck with me always is that everyone deserves respect. Doesn't matter if you like them or agree with them. This world is so fractured today. I wonder how my dad would respond. I know one thing: he would love my kids and great-grandkids. He would probably still be working hard and loving life.