Joseph Edgar Jones, Joey, or “Big Joey” as he was known to those who knew he had me (unfortunately branded, “Little Joey”), left me with the knowledge of how much fulfillment a man can get from a hard day’s work; the work, not the paycheck. He taught me that a man’s value is not found in his possessions but in his actions. He showed me pride in moderation will get you through a lot, but love in abundance will get you through anything.
For Joseph Jones a legacy was what you can build with your hands, the honesty, care, and precision in which you can do it, and the ability to pour your heart and soul into something that from its very beginning, doesn’t even belong to you. A man born to be a brick mason, he had little interest in a shirt with buttons, or one that didn’t have a pocket for his cigarettes and glasses to fall out of when he bent over to lay the first run of brick, over and over again. He had two kinds of pants: jeans, and jeans with a bib… overalls. His nicest shoes were Georgia boots and depending on their lifespan, probably had the sole glued back on with gorilla glue. He had an impressive collection of Marine Corps hats, not because he was a Marine, but because he wanted everyone to know his son was. The lone exception was an NRA hat I gave him which he wore unashamedly, and probably with a tad more pride than his Marine hats. This isn’t to say he didn’t care how he looked; he wasn’t afraid to dye his beard or blow dry his hair and brush it back from time to time. He would sport the nicest “Members Only” jacket Walmart carries, and almost always had a gold watch… the stretch-band Timex. He knew fashion was a luxury that just doesn’t suit a working man. Instead, he wore the integrity of his work in the clothes on his back.
Along with his clothes, he wore the scars of a life hard-lived. My daddy was a good man but he wasn’t a perfect man. To deny that would be to deny the truth, and the truth might be the best evidence we have of his goodness. He worked hard and he drank hard, and for too long, he did both. He sacrificed his body to his work and habits, but over the past several years he sacrificed his work and habits for his family: his true love and purpose. The truth is that my daddy was just a man; a man hurts but he loves, he falls down, but he always gets back up. He raises a lesser man’s daughters as his own, her children as his grandchildren. He makes penitence to his wife and says “I love you” often. A man knows fear, but chooses to stand in the face of it anyway. A man finds God while struggling with his demons.
He also believed a man drives a truck, not a car. Only hippies wear Birkenstock’s, only women wear earrings, and that anything worth doing is worth doing right, that taking the time to do something right the first time is always quicker than rushing and having to do it over. He believed a Ford will always out tow a Chevy, the Falcons truly are cursed, the Braves, Bulldogs, and Kurt Busch are going to win it this year, and if you are going to fight, you throw punches before insults. He believed in both types of music, Country and Western, and that George Jones and Keith Whitley did them best. He believed that if you can help someone in need, you do it. To have any girls’ eye is a blessing, and regardless of your interest in her, you show her respect. He believed you clean up after your work, you stay until the job is done, and you don’t quit anything you committed to do. He believed football was the only sport that could teach you about life, and the best players play defense. He believed you take care of your family by providing and protecting, and that is your most sacred duty as a man.
My dad’s body will be laid to rest and become soil for new life. His spirit has left this world and waits in peace, but his legacy, what he built with his own two hands, isn’t just the brick walls, block foundations or stone facades scattered all around this town. No, it’s what he taught his family. And it’ll live on here, in this world, for generations to come.
Life after legs 