To quote the late evangelist Billy Graham, “A good father is one of the most unsung, unpraised, unnoticed, and yet one of the most valuable assets in our society.”
In light of that, on this Father’s Day, I give some praise to my dad, Dr. Rev. Albert “Hack McMullen.”
If I were asked to describe my dad, it would that he has always put God first in everything he has done, has loved and respected my mom for 70 years of marriage and shown me, my brothers and sister the meaning of unconditional love.
My dad grew up in southeastern Lauderdale County, one of five children. Like most families during the Depression years, times were hard for the family of seven. He married my mom while they were still in high school at Vimville, where they both excelled in basketball. He still jokes about mama having the prettiest legs there and was so proud of her being in The Meridian Star for top scorer with the caption reading Janell McMullen instead of her maiden name, Wilkinson.
Not long after high school, daddy surrendered to preach and was ordained at Carmel Baptist Church under the leadership of Bro. Albert H. Miller. Through the years, he went to Bible college, first at Clarke College, then Mississippi College and then The New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary, where he got his Doctor of Divinity degree all while pastoring a church and raising a family.
Daddy loves to tell the story of how sometimes we wouldn’t have any money to buy groceries when he was attending Clarke College. We lived on campus and there were several times when we would arrive home to bags of groceries waiting for us on the porch. He never wavered in his faith that God will provide.
Being a PK (preacher’s kid), going to church was just what we did every time the doors opened. We knew not to ask to stay home, because that would have been a big no, unless we were sick. The difference in growing up in a Christian home – you knew Sundays, Wednesday nights, Vacation Bible School and all revivals you would be sitting on that pew till the invitation was over, had devotional every night and said your prayers before crawling under the sheets. Oh and one thing I never minded being called a “PK” – to me it’s an honor. I was proud my daddy was a preacher.
Today, you would have described dad as a “house mom” because he stayed home while mama worked. He did all the chores — washed and folded clothes, picked peas and butterbeans given to us by church members, cooked meals and, during my high school years, was the headmaster at House Academy. I never heard him complain about doing any of that work. He did it because he loved our mom and his children and was setting an example of unconditional love. Oh, I almost forgot, he also coached the girls basketball team, drove the bus to games and taught history.
Everyone loved daddy at that school, and he loved everyone. He says those were some of his fondest memories.
Through the years, his children all grew up, married and had families. After my dad semi-retired, he and mama moved into the house my grandparents had lived in. That home has been the safe haven to all of us when we had no where else to go, even some of the grandchildren. They opened their home to us and never complained.
After my divorce, I lived with them for six months. I always called it the place I went to heal. I remember every morning before I went to work, daddy would go outside and wipe my windshield if it had dew on it.
We have had many family gatherings at that house — Christmas, Easter, Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, Thanksgiving, birthdays, watching Ole Miss or just to hang out. The fondest memories are hearing my daddy read the Christmas story, praying over the food and telling his “preacher” jokes for the hundredth time. What is funny is not usually the joke, but hearing him laugh at himself before he can finish the joke. Those who know my dad can relate.
I’ve never heard my dad speak ill of anyone, curse, or raise his voice. He is the most humble, kind, tender-hearted compassionate man I’ve ever known. He always helped us buy a car or an appliance, move furniture, assisted when we were in a bind and let many of us use his truck that he has had since 2002. By the way, he knows when and where he bought the truck, the current mileage and what kind of gas mileage it gets.
My dad is 88, no longer drives, uses a walker, and I’ve still not heard him question God about any situation or chapter of life he is in. He still tells his jokes and still listens.
Through the good, bad and some sad times, daddy has always been there for us. But, the most important, he was there when we all accepted Jesus into our heart and baptized us. He baptized my grandchildren and performed all of our weddings.
As the scripture teaches, “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it. ” (Prov. 22:6.)
Happy Father’s Day, daddy. I love you and thank you for always being the kind of dad who kept his eyes on Jesus, not once taking your eyes off of your Heavenly Father.
Your daughter,
Cheryl Ann