Hickey Theology

My biological father, John Gilbert Anderson, left us when I was 2 years old. My mom remarried Michael John Hickey, and he took us in to be his family. Michael Hickey, as I shared earlier, was a merchant marine and was gone all the time. I learned that his father was an alcoholic and very abusive, so much so he ran away to join the merchant marines at the age of 14.

My dad (hate to use stepdad) was not a bad father, he simply did not know how to be a father. He did not have an example to like up to or learn from. Michael Hickey wasn’t mean, he never raised his voice to us and except for very few occasions, when return from being out to sea, did he whip us. Mom had 3 young ones to care for, and our family time was few and far between. We had left the only person that I looked up to and truly had a relation back in Corpus Christi, my grandfather James Mack Jones. I will admit I was an angry 8-year-old.

if I am honest, I had no feeling of family, or what a true family looked like. I certainly wasn’t sure just what a father should be doing, but I had an idea as to what I was looking for, enter the Davidsons. I met Gary Davidson, my lifelong friend on August 18, just a day after our arrival. It was like a scene I had in my mind of just what a family would look like. The mom out in the back yard hanging clothes, the dad leaning over a car as he worked on it and Gary mowing the lawn.

Gary and I met that day and my life would never be the same. It wasn’t that I just found a friend for life, but I found a family. Gary and I played together almost every day, hours upon hour, at times Gary and I were inseparable. However, it was Mr. Davidson who showed me just what a father, and husband should be and the kind of person I needed to be.

Mr. Davidson taught me how to fix things, to think things through when solving issues or problems. I watch how he interacted with his wife and his children. I knew that the Davidsons did things as a family. He was patient with me when I showed up early Saturday mornings, his day off, and watched him work on his cars or fix things around the house.

I especially saw how he kept everything so organized. Mr. Davidson would always say,” keep things organized and you will be able to find things when you need them”. I can close my eyes and see him in his overalls, chewing tobacco in his mouth while he puffs away on his favorite cigar.

Gary had a sister Melinda, or as I called her Katie. I was 8 and Katie was 14 and I was in love. Katie taught me how to drive a Volkswagen Bug. She protected me from the Davidson’s dog, Pepe, and we dance to the song ‘Locomotion’ and sang to ‘Rythm of the Rain’. She was the big sister I never had!

I can’t forget, Helen, Gary’s mom. The Hickey’s didn’t have a lot of money. The money to feed the family wasn’t always there so try as hard as my mom did things were always tight. I spent so much time at the Davidson’s, and they knew my family’s issue, so Mrs. Davidson had a always had a seat at their table for me. When it was time for them to eat, I would start my trek down to 2103 Dewberry Lane knowing that more than likely there would be very little to eat at our house. It seems Mrs. Davidson knew, so as I started down the street, she would open the front door and invite me to join them.

I cherish these precious memories, because of their kindness and the example they set, by watching them I learned what kind of person I wanted to be, what kind of husband I needed to be, and the kind of father that would give his children love and supported. They taught me about family, and they gave me a connection that changed me and my life forever.

P.S.- Helen passed first almost 30 years before Mr. Davidson. The next to pass was Mr. Davidson (Paul) then Gary and now Katie. The family that taught me and gave me so much are now gone, but they are always with me in my heart. I was given the honor and privilege of leading Paul and Garys’ celebration of life services. I was able to tell the story of their lives and just what they meant to me! ……….. Until Next Time Grace and Peace