WebWalker's Blog

I feel like a brand-new mom who has just put her only child on the bus to go to kindergarden "all by himself." Took Mom to the airport and put her on an airplane to go visit Tommy in Denver. Stayed by her side all the way to the departure gate itself, and saw her safely ensconced in her seat on the airplane. She was as nervous as a 6 year old child. It didn't help matters that we forgot to tell the TSA that she had a pacemaker, so it set off all their alarms and then she had to go through a full body search. It was totally ridiculous, an 86 year old woman whose pacemaker you can literally see through her skin, and they are searching her for terrorist devices. Can someone PLEASE bring back the days of profiling, the days of reason?!! We're supposed to be looking for terrorists, not 86 year old wheelchair occupants. Anyway, she's finally off on her Great Adventure to visit kids and siblings. She doesn't plan to come back home for a couple of months. She's be...

Father's Day 2006. Not like it used to be. Section 54, Lot 786 is where we gathered to place five vases of flowers above Dad's headstone, with a garland of red roses (his favorite color roses) surrounding it. Mark was kind enough to use his cell phone camera to take this photo for the blog; the rest of us had been too distracted to think to bring a camera. In attendance were Emily, Susan, Jimmy, David, Loni, Mark, and Nicholas.

Today is Dad's birthday. I'm feeling so sad, and I know I am not alone in that emotion. He would have been 88 years old today. The headstone marker for his grave site arrived yesterday; they were in the process of placing it at the time Jimmy and I and Mom were there visiting, at about 10 am in the morning. Jimmy and I went back today to put more flowers for Dad's birthday, and we took some photos. Here is one; click on the image to see it larger. Tom and Janice are supposed to be here later this morning - they are coming to celebrate June's birthday with her (gonna be a ripe ole 25 years old), and will stay tonight and tomorrow at Mom's house. She spent last night alone in her house; she is slowly getting stronger. On Tuesday I will go with mom to her checkup with her doctor, and then she hopes to go visit her sister in Chicago on Thursday or so... depening upon if and when Tommy can get her a freebie ticket on the airline.

Following is a copy of the letter from Ariel in memoriam of his grandpa, Tom Tate, read for him by Brent Weston at the gathering on April 26, 2006: As children we tend to idealize our elders, and then our first (and harshest) lesson in life is when we realize that they aren't perfect ... Just human. In my special long-distance relationship with Grandpa this never happened -- he was always my unshattered ideal to aspire to. For me he was: Honorable Pragmatic Strict with others -- but demanded even more of himself Creative Artistic A mechanical genius A pilot -- and A Gentleman. The times we spent together in just a few short trips -- spanning a lifetime -- were always magical for me. I could never get enough of talking with him about his experiences -- or drilling him with infinite questions, that sometimes caused him to pull the few hairs on his head that he had! And I will never forget that look of despair on his face when trying to explain something terribly complicated to me as ...

The following is a copy of the letter that Vernon wrote in tribute to Dad, which was read on April 26, 2006 by Mason Womble for Vernon: I remember Tom Tate from Oakland, California, in 1954, when we both attended a large church where he played a trumpet in the church band. Sherry (my wife of 39 years) played a clarinet in the same band -- we were both 8 years old and that was over 50 years ago. About 12 years later, when I asked Sherry to marry me, I came to her father's house to formally request her parents' permission. Tom cleared his throat after dinner and said, very seriously, that he "understood that I would like to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage." When I flippantly replied that I would like to have more than just her hand I got a swift kick from Sherry while Tom sternly corrected me, announcing that this was "NOT a laughing matter." Well, after all she was his eldest daughter ... Although we also laughed while working many long nights tog...

For those who were not able to attend in person, Sherry has shared a copy of what she said at Dad's funeral on April 26, 2006. Dad's Legacy First of all, thank you to everyone who came to share with us in this Gathering to Celebrate the Life of Tom Tate. This is NOT a funeral -- he didn't want one. He DID want the sounds of Dixieland -- the music of his childhood -- and you heard Dixieland as you came in this morning. We will sing a song in English and a Psalm in Hebrew, from the land of Israel, where he lived for five years and a place that was always close to his heart. We will attempt to express our enduring love for him: some of us will share our thoughts about who he was and how he made us laugh, how he made us think, how he inspired us all. Thomas Marion Eugene Tate was born in West Eminence, Missouri on June 10, 1918, the firstborn son of Harry Richard Tate Sr. And Hazel Elizabeth Orsborn Tate. He and his younger brother Richard grew up in the south. He graduated fro...

In going through some papers in Dad's office, I found the following, and had to chuckle at our father's humor. I don't know whether he is the original author of this piece, or if he 'collected' it; either way, he made me smile. Thanks, Daddy. I was doing some research on our geneaology and dug up some scoop on the Tate family. How many of these relatives do you know? First, there's old man Dic Tate. He wants to run everything, while Uncle Ro Tate tries to change everything. Then their sister Agi Tate goes around stirring up all the trouble she can, with plenty of help from her husband, Irri Tate. Whenever new ideas are suggested, Hesi Tate and his wife, Vegi Tate, want us to be like all the others. Devas Tate provides the voice of doom for the clan, while Poten Tate wants to be the big shot. Regurgi Tate goes around repeating everything he hears, always seeking to make it sound better every time he tells it. Of course, the real black sheep of the family is Mr. A...

Dad's gravesite on Memorial Day 2006.