William "Tony" Draper..."Pops"

Pops and me, 1985

So the new thing in the Draper clan is to have a blog, so I am jumping in with my peeps...and particularly to share an experience I had yesterday, which was also my father's 66th birthday. William Ralph Draper, Sr. was born in Birmingham, Alabama on October 8, 1943. The 4th son of 7, the 7th child of 11. The first college graduate in his family, a great Tuskegee Man. My father, My Hero. Everyone calls him "Tony", a nickname bestowed upon him as a child. These days, I call him "T-Tone" or "Pops".

I had a late day in the office, The Village Vets of Decatur, where my daytime shift blended into the emergency hours at another one of my practices, Animal Emergency Center of Decatur. While there, I met a woman who'd brought her dog there for what was fortunately a minor issue. She informed me that she'd decided to come to my business based on my positive reputation. She told me she'd heard so many good things about my practice and me...very powerful words she shared that made me very proud. Then, she referred to me in a term that I'd never heard attached to me before...she called me "a Decatur icon." Wow...deep. I am sure I was blushing, though that's not easy to see with my dark complexion.

"Decatur icon." That was something else. I am lots of things, but I've not quite gotten to the point of being considered an "icon" of any sort. I'm 42...well, almost 43 years old, and been a practicing veterinarian for 18-plus years. I've been practicing in Decatur for the last 8 of those. While I am surely one of my biggest fans, I would never agree to iconic status- in Decatur. Maybe Tuskegee...and infamously at that:). But Decatur? There are certainly Decatur icons...the first and foremost that comes to mind is Mayor Emerita Elizabeth Wilson...one of the greatest individuals I've had the pleasure of meeting. I'm certainly no Elizabeth Wilson...maybe some day, but I have a long way to go. However, as I may have thought this, I did not express it to the nice lady who bestowed the compliment on me. I simply thanked her for the kind words, finished up my work, gathered my belongings, and headed home towards Lilburn.

As is common with my drive to or from work, my mind was working. The main topic- this "Decatur icon" thing. As I considered the label, I decided that it just meant that I was doing something right. It had less to do with my veterinary or business skills, but more with my personal, people skills. It was further evidence that, as a college friends mother once told me some 20 years ago, that I "was raised right." It was a testament to my parents, who are the greatest people in the world. I started to think of how much they'd done for me, how many contributions they'd made for not only my sisters and me, but others' children, my children, and so many others. Before I knew it, I was driving east on Highway 78, sobbing like a baby. I mean sloppy, snotty crying.

Pops and me, 1968

Now, those who know me well know this is not unusual. I'm a sensitive man...strong, but sensitive. I'll cry if the emotion comes to me, and have never felt that my gender restricted me from such. I'm a crier. But, today was a bit different...it was my father's 66th birthday. It was not the first time I'd cried on Highway 78 that day...I'd also cried while westbound that morning. I was thinking about my father reaching 66, and wondering how he felt when he woke up that morning. While he was on the west coast and 3 hours behind me, one thing I knew for sure- he felt great. He woke up like he did everyday that I could remember- ready to conquer the world and anything that got in his way. When I think about the strength and resolve of my father, it always makes me feel warm and strong...but it is generally followed by the thought that one day, if I'm fortunate to live to see my 60s and 70s (or, at the rate he's going, my 80s and 90s), there will be a day when he'll be gone. Then the tears and sobbing soon follow. I'm almost always alone, in my car, when this happens...and it happened this October 8th on my way to work, and then again on the way home. The reasons were different, but with a common subject. The westbound cry was more of a pending sorrow, but the eastbound cry one of happiness and pride.


So I'm heading east, "sloppy as a soup sandwich", as my father would say. So, as I've done more recently in the last few years, I called My Hero. We'd talked earlier in the day when I called with birthday wishes, and as usual talked long enough for both of us to realize how much everyday makes me grow into another version of my father (and I think we both love it, most of the time). I called to share with him my "Decatur icon story"...I knew he'd want to hear it (He, along with my mother, is certainly one of my biggest fans). Once I said "icon", however, my voice crackled, and the real crying started. My father Tony has known me a long time, so he knew what was going on on the other end of the line. He and I talked, cried (well, I cried), and just took some time to let each other know how great we felt the other one was. I thanked him about 50 times for sticking it out with me, for making me hate him as a child, for being the "meanest man in the world", for not trying to be my friend growing up, for making me know the rules, for punishing me for breaking the rules (as promised), for protecting me when I'd been wronged, for not protecting me when I was wrong...for raising a man. He told me how proud he was to be my father...and I told him that I was sure his father, William Henry Draper, was as proud of him. it was a great conversation- and by the time I'd hung up I'd gotten myself together, and made it home in one piece.

Again, he was there to listen to me, to guide me, and let me know all was well. Thanks, Pops. You are MY icon...and you've certainly earned it.

Pops and me, 2008