Much of this week’s column is a rerun, but I couldn’t let Father’s Day go by without honoring my dad, James W. “Dub” Childers.

Dad has been gone from this earth for over eight years, and I still miss him dearly.

My dad could fix anything, whether it was a car, an appliance, a toy or a bicycle. If it was broken, he could fix it. It may have taken him a while and it may have not been the prettiest of repair jobs, but it would function after he fixed it.

Dad enjoyed the outdoors and took my brother Jerry and me hunting and fishing often when we were young. He had quite a sense of humor and kept us entertained with jokes and silly antics.

One time dad and I were fishing at James Roberson’s lake, just west of Seminole. We were fishing from the bank and there were several horses hanging around. Dad was baiting his hook with a minnow when one of the horses crept up behind him and whinnied loudly in his ear. That made him jump and yell, “good night, I thought that minnow was screaming!” That made me laugh so hard I couldn’t see straight.

Dad was born in Tecumseh just as the Great Depression began. He had 11 brothers and sisters and growing up was not easy. I heard him say many times that if he didn’t go hunting every day, they wouldn’t have dinner.

After serving his country in the United States Marine Corps, dad moved back to the Shawnee area. He put in 33 years with OG&E and was able to enjoy retirement beginning in 1987. He spent a good deal of time fishing with his buddies Don Raney, Jack Reynolds, George Whitford and Bob Thompson.

I had to say goodbye to dad in the fall of 2012. He had a “mini stroke” on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend and was airlifted to the hospital but was sent home on Tuesday. I talked to him a couple of times on the phone while he was in the hospital and he seemed fine, so I stayed in Houston, where I lived at the time. Then things suddenly changed. Wednesday morning, I was on my way to work when my sister, Carolyn, called to tell me that my mom had found dad collapsed on the floor, and he was now in a coma. I bought a plane ticket and was in Oklahoma within a couple of hours.

Dad passed away early on Sunday, September 9 and his funeral was the following Wednesday. He was a few weeks away from his 63rd wedding anniversary when he passed. He would have been 83 in December of that year.

The church was packed to capacity, a true testament to the man he was. He loved the Lord and served him faithfully for many years, right up to his dying day. My faith, and knowing where my dad had placed his faith, was a pleasant comfort throughout the whole ordeal.

After spending several days going through dad’s stuff and handling some business affairs, we headed back to Houston. I had been away from my family, my home and work for almost two weeks.

When I returned to work, I was in a fog and wasn’t even sure where to start. The best thing that happened that day was seeing the space shuttle fly by. It was being transported atop a jumbo jet (I believe to California) and did a flyby of the Williams Tower, where my office was at the time. I was on the 23rd floor, and it flew by so closely that it looked like I could have reached out and touched it. That still ranks as one of the coolest things I have ever seen. That somehow calmed my spirit, and I was able to get back to work.

Even though I moved away from Seminole in 1989, Dad and I remained close until the day he died. I enjoyed our Saturday morning phone calls that sometimes lasted an hour.

Every time we visited in person, we made sure we made time for some pickin’ and grinning. We would break out the guitars and play old gospel, bluegrass and country songs. He always had me play and sing “Me and Bobby McGee” and “Big City” every time we got together.

Dad may not be on this earth to celebrate Father’s Day with us, but I know he’s with us in spirit. I can’t think of any better way to honor him than grab his old Alvarez guitar, sit in his easy chair (which I still have in my living room) and pick “Wildwood Flower,” “Amazing Grace,” and, of course, “Bobby McGee.”

This one’s for you, Dad.