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An Upright Man
by Jayne Lester Sergent


I can still see him standing at the bench in his workshop. Tall and tan, in his gray work clothes, his strong, scarred hands building something, a drop of sweat falling from his dark hair onto his brow, wrinkled in concentration. He seemed to relax by working. He was always making something, furniture, toys, something. He worked as an electrician Monday through Friday, and after work, he would come home, have dinner with his family and then retreat into his workshop in the basement. He had even made the workshop with his own hands, spending the better part of two years digging out a basement under his two-story house. He did all the work himself, pouring concrete, installing the wiring and plumbing, painting and finishing the walls and floor until it suited his demanding expectations.

Many people who met Virgil for the first time were intimidated by his appearance. He was a huge man, over six feet tall and with bulging muscles and a natural scowl on his face. His mouth, turned down at the corners, made him appear angry, even when he wasn't. He had little formal education, but after getting to know him, it didn't take long to realize how intelligent he really was. He had an abundance of common sense, the kind a formal education doesn't always provide. Quiet by nature, he didn't speak unnecessarily. The saying, "still waters run deep" always reminds me of him. He never gossiped or engaged in trivial conversation and talking to him on the phone was an exercise in futility unless one had called to ask him a specific question. He didn't offer his advice, but if asked, he gave it willingly, his wisdom apparent in his straightforward answers.

Virgil was a law-abiding man, who always did what needed to be done without complaint. He never paid a bill late or miscalculated his checking account balance. He didn't spend money on frivolous things, preferring instead to buy things like land and insurance policies. His children thought he was cheap, until they grew older and needed financial help. He was always there for them, financially, physically and spiritually. He taught them lessons in life, not by preaching to them, but by example. He had a strong sense of family, and that family included some people that weren't born into it. More than one of his children's friends became like his own and he cared for them and looked out for them from then on.

Five years ago, on the first day of spring, Virgil died, leaving behind a wife and three heartbroken adult children. He left them well provided for and his wife is able to enjoy the same style of living she always had. But in the end, he couldn't insulate them from the thing that hurt them most, the deafening silence of his absence.

I think of Virgil often. His voice still as clear to me as it was when I was a child, his child. He was the epitome of strength. He was the single most important person in my life. I was so fortunate to have him for so long and I will always remember his lessons. I can think of him now without tears, only with love, laughter and gratitude.

I love you, Dad, and I will miss you forever.

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