"A DIFFERENT KIND OF THURSDAY"
For the past six years, I've spent at least one day each week heading west, then a little south, for a couple of hours on the road to have a date with my Pappo.
Our weekly "dates" originally began on Tuesdays and eventually moved to Thursdays... but they always ended up at Braum's—where Pappo ordered his favorite #1 burger, and his Softie happily settled for a Kids Meal Chicken Tenders.
If you've followed Tuesdays With Pappo over these six years, you've come to know the man I affectionately grew up calling Pappo (pronounced "Pop-o"), and you've probably learned why he always called me "Softie."
The truth is, Pappo and I didn't always share this kind of relationship. Like many fathers and daughters, we had seasons that weren't easy. But as we've grown older together, we discovered how much we truly had in common. Somewhere along the way, our relationship took a beautiful turn, and these weekly lunches became one of the greatest gifts of my life.
And today... was our last Tuesdays With Pappo.
This morning, he looked at his kids, now senior citizens, blew us a kiss... and then reached for the hand of God as he breathed his final breath on this earth.
A breath he had taken for 98 years and 4 months.
Later today, as I was sorting through some of his papers, I came across a folder he had carefully kept. Inside, I found a printed copy of our Tuesdays With Pappo post from exactly one year ago this month. And the title was....
A Different Kind of Thursday
July 1, 2025
It read.....
"When I walked into his room on Thursday, he wasn’t in his usual spot. Instead of his well-worn leather chair, he was sitting in the roll-around desk chair, turned toward the door like he’d been waiting. It was a small change, but it felt big to me. And I have to admit—it was good to see him somewhere new.
“We’re shaking things up today,” I said with a smile.
Instead of our usual booth at Braum’s, we took a short drive down the road to Mr. Jim’s Pizza. It wasn’t the smoothest outing, however. We wrestled with flies, tried to cut the pizza with a spoon (thankfully, Dad’s pocket knife saved the day as they had no knives in the restaurant), and laughed at the craziness of it all. But as we settled in and he sipped his Diet Coke, the conversation turned reflective—like it so often does with him.
He spoke of his longing to move back to Garland—his home for 63 years. A place where life had been easy and good. A place where home felt, well.....like home.
Then he asked a question that caught me off guard:
“What would you like most for me, at this time in my life, Softie?”
I didn’t have to think. “I want more than anything for you, Pappo, at the age of 97, to look “forward” instead of “backward.”
He did the old JC-head-tilt and looked at me, curious.
“You’re in the home stretch now,” I continued gently. “And more than anything, what your Softie wants is for you to face the rest of your story with Hope. Hope for a bright future! Like a man on a long, hard road trip, you’re close to turning that final corner. And just ahead? Home.”
Not Garland. But Heaven.
“Think about it,” I said. “No more walkers. No more hearing aids. No more glasses. And best of all—you’ll see Jesus— with His arms wide open, ready to give you that bear hug He promised. That’s what’s waiting for you, Pappo—eternity...real life, the kind that never ends."
He looked down, silent. Then gave that Pappo-slight-head-tilt of his—his quiet way of saying everything, without saying a word:
“I hope so, Softie,” he whispered. “I hope so.”
I grabbed his strong hand, just as I have for 65 of my own years, and gave it a squeeze.....
“I KNOW so, Pappo, I know so.”
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