(Sonny Sears)

The first time I ever had the grand opportunity to meet and shake the hand of Sonny Sears, all I knew was that he was my wife’s grandfather, whom she has admired since Day 1 of her life, and that he was better known as “Big Daddy,” to my step-son, James William.

Apparently, Leigh Ann grew up less than a mile — as the crow flies, as they say — from her grand parents and she spent nearly every single day with them. Learning. Loving.

And, apparently, the job of naming “Big Daddy” as “Big Daddy” fell to Will, due to the fact that he was the first great grand son.

But as soon as my right hand stuck in the right hand of “Big Daddy,” I knew immediately why little Will picked the perfect name for his beloved great grandfather. Just as my hand fit in his, the name fit the man. Perfectly.

“Big Daddy” was not a big man, mind you. Not in size. Not in stance. He probably measured around 5-foot-7 or so, at full mast. Yet, make no mistake, in his space, he was the “Big Daddy.”

For some reason, just his mere presence in any room just commanded that attention. And, those around him, either by happenstance or by profession, respected it and gave it willingly. He was always Big Daddy.

Maybe all the respect came originally from the fact that Sonny Sears was a self-made man. Nothing was ever given to him. Nothing was ever asked.

He was just hell-bent on making it in a life that has long since past us all, these days. A life where you earned everything you got; by hard work; by honesty; by given your word and keeping it, no matter what; by showing up every day with a pair of work gloves, and, more importantly, a commitment to wear them out by doing something good; something needed; something worthwhile for both you and for others.

Maybe all the respect for Sonny Sears came from the fact that he knew how to plow a field, and did it with the tools that he had at a time when tractors were scarce, and farmers were loved. The man knew how to sow the right seeds and raise a good crop, whether it was corn or soybeans that he took to market or sweet corn and tomatoes that he grew in his prized garden. Or, for that matter, how to raise hell when he knew things were wrong; and how to raise cain with his kids when he knew they could do better; and how to raise his voice on high to the God he loved and faithfully followed. He knew how to s0w seeds.

Maybe all the respect for Sonny Sears came from the fact that when he found something he truly wanted, he knew how to go get it. Especially when it came to the real love of his life, the lovely Marian, whom he met in school in little Lowes, KY, in rural Graves County. The two of them were naturally attracted, and the two of them went on to spend 73 years together, farming their own children; raising their own crop of kids. Two sons. Two daughters. All good, hard-working and successful people, in their own right. He and Marian were so proud of this crop that they hung photos all through the house to honor the kids they knew had hung the moon. He knew how to sow seeds.

Maybe all the respect for Sonny Sears was due to the fact he never left Lowes, KY, although he had the chance on many occasions. That was back in a time when community schools meant more than consolidation and saving money. That was back in a time when children’s education meant more than driving cattle through a sale’s ring and developing kids for the future meant more than petty politics at the school board. That was back in a time when the Lowe’s family — of which Marian was one — had donated the land, free of charge, mind you, for the community school to be built and where the children grew. That was back in the days when Sonny — who built his house directly across the street from the school — would get up early and stay up late to make sure the school had everything it needed, including a shovel to move snow; and buses to move kids. He kept an eye on the school, cause it was right out his front window. He kept an eye on the kids, too, cause it was in his heart to do it. He knew how to sow seeds.

Maybe all the respect for Sonny Sears came from the fact that he climbed poles and hung wires to help build the first telephone company in rural West Kentucky. He climbed and hung so many, in fact, that he built a company from the telephone pole up, and he climbed the ladder of success with it. He climbed from pole to manager to executive. He climbed so high that he travelled to Frankfort and other states to show others how rural phone companies could and should work. Successfully. He rose to the top of his profession, on faith and good will. Not on the backs of his workers. He knew how to sow seeds.

Maybe all the respect for Sonny Sears came from the fact that he helped build and support the Voluntary Fire Department, and helped bring essential services to rural Graves County. He knew how to sow seeds.

Maybe all the respect for Sonny Sears came from the fact that he was a superior hunter and fisherman, and he traveled the world hunting for the perfect shot, or the best fish. He knew how to bring home the best buck dear; he knew how to run a trout line. And, he never let an ounce of fat go to waste. Like he was from the beginning, he hunted and fished to fill his freezer with food for the winter. And, he knew how to grill halibut better than any restaurant I have ever attended. He knew how to sow seeds.

Maybe all the respect for Sonny Sears came from his love of Kentucky Lake, and how he would load up his family and drive about an hour from his house to camp; to enjoy; to teach; to live; to watch his kids; and then his grandkids; and then his great grandkids learn to ski, fish and laugh on a piece of lake he helped develop with his own hands; with his own sweat. He knew how to sow seeds.

Maybe all the respect for Sonny Sears came from his love of his church and his God, too. His house was next door to the Lowe’s Church of God. He mowed the yard. He tended to the building, when it needed tending. He tending the building’s sheep, its’ parishioners, when they needed tending. More many years, he led the singing. The man could sing, too. He knew how to sow seeds.

I don’t know where the respect came from. Maybe it came from all of those things. But sure as it either rains too much or not enough, if you are a farmer, Sonny Sears was always meant to be “Big Daddy.”

All I know is that I respected the man because he never questioned why his lovely grand daughter, Leigh, fell in love with me, and brought me into the fold — although he had reason(s) to and the right. He accepted me like I belonged. That meant the world to me.

All I know is that I respected the man because he made me feel welcome from the first minute I shook his hand, and he pulled a chair up at the Sunday lunch table right next to his. That meant the world to me.

All I know is that I respected the man for sharing his halibut, that he caught in Alaska and cooked in Kentucky. That meant the world to me.

All I know is that I respected the man for standing up for his school — even when mean-spirited and short-sighted politicians were determined to take it away. That meant the world to me.

All I know is that I respected the man for sharing his memories of his long-time friend Nate Sholar, whom I had come to know from the harness industry many years before. That meant the world to me.

All I know is that I respected the man for always rising to his feet to shake my hand, and always remind me to take good care of his grand daughter. That always, always, always meant the world to me.

All I know is that I respected the man for raising, picking and shelling his own pecans, and always bringing home more shrimp from the Gulf than he could possibly eat, and he could always share. Lovingly. That meant the world to me.

All I know is that I loved that man. Like so, so many others. He, Sonny Sears, Big Daddy meant the world to me.

This week, we lost Sonny Sears. He was 93 years old. He lived a great life. He accomplished so many things. A week before his passing, he mowed his own yard. The night before he went to sleep to never wake — on this earth — again, he sat up and ate a bowl of popcorn with some of his family members. He even told some that he was ready to move on; his time had come.

We were not ready. None of us were ready.

But he was.

The farmer knew his last crop was in the barn. The seeds that he had sowed all of his life had now matured and the harvest was good. The yield was bountiful.

It was time to turn it over to Johnny and Bill. Their turn now to turn the plow; to sow the seeds; to grow the crop; to harvest the field.

It was time to turn it over to Cathy and Christie. Their turn to fight the good fight; to spread the good word; to help raise The Family; to harvest the field.

It was time to turn it over to son-in-laws Billy and Joe and daughter’s-in-law Debra and Kelly. Their turn to tend to the sheep.

Now, it is time for Big Daddy to go get another field ready for his loving wife, Marian. He has to build a new home place now. One beyond the clouds.

Now, it is time for “Big Daddy” to go meet the real “Biggest Daddy.”

I am sure, too, when Big Daddy stuck out his hand to shake the hand of The Man that it was firm; the grip was good; and the welcome was warm.

After all, Big Daddy had sowed all the right seeds. And, it was time for him to reap what he had sowed.

So long, Big Daddy. Go rest high on that mountain. You have earned the right.