Wig Robinson
Today is the first time in 65 years my mother-in-law has spent Wig Robinson’s birthday without him. It is also the first birthday his six children have spent without the birthday boy, their father. He was a force of sorts.
The first time I met my father-in-law, Wig Robinson, my future husband, Dan, was wearing a tuxedo and I was in a strapless black velvet dress. My husband didn’t advise me to dress up to meet his father – it just so happened we met at a fancy benefit. But in hindsight, 30 years later, I’m sure Dan wanted his fiancé-to-be to make the best impression possible. And I needed all the help I could get.
I’ve been asked many times over the years how I got along with Wig, or Bo, as his grandchildren and great grandchildren called him. He was a force, and didn’t much care about social protocol. He didn’t mind butting heads and he ruffled a few feathers in Chattanooga.
But I can tell you he was all bark.
Wig had a great big heart. Ask any stray dog. Especially any ill-bred, over-sized, unmanageable mistreated dog. Toward the end of his life, Wig rescued two enormous pit bull blends, determined to give them a good life, a life they deserved.
Gruff on the exterior, Wig was more considerate than one might expect. My mother-in-law, Nancy Robinson, is a chocolate aficiado, and I heard that one Christmas he presented her with a large gift bag filled with all-things-chocolate – dark chocolate candy, milk chocolate truffles, chocolate chip cookies ... I learned about this before I was engaged, and I decided Dan’s father was a thoughtful, sensitive man, and counted on the acorn not falling far from the tree.
He decided he was going to teach me to play tennis when I was new to Lookout; he knew the sport would give me an instant group of friends. He critiqued my strokes, standing in one spot on the court and returning every ball I hit. He had to quit playing shortly afterwards.
Lucy Bell Graze, a friend of the family who is more like family than not, told me this story one day when she was sitting in my kitchen. A lifetime ago, Lucy Bell was going through a particularly rough patch, more than just a bad divorce and financial difficulty. She was in bad shape physically, and emotionally. She had a slew of little children and was trying to keep the heat on and a bit of food in her house. It was Christmas, and she knew a Christmas tree was out of the question, much less presents for her children under it. I don’t know how my father-in-law knew this, but I know for certain it wasn’t because she told him. I think it goes back to this bull moose of a man being sensitive and thoughtful.
Lucy Bell sipped her tea and looked right me, tears making her deep chocolate brown eyes moist. “We woke up Christmas morning and there was a Christmas tree and more presents than you can imagine. I’ll never get over it,” she said.
I sat by her at Wig’s funeral, and told her I knew her heart was broken. “There will never be another one like him,” she said, tears rolling down her face.
There are a slew of stories about this larger-than-life man. Many have to do with sports, hard headedness and questionable childrearing. But look at his six children and you may consider using a few of his tactics. They are all stellar adults– every single one.
Wig Robinson died on Nov. 15 at 90 years old. Except for the long last week of his life, he was full steam ahead and in charge of us all.
Now, I hope he’s back on serve and moving nimbly all over the court. On his birthday.
(Ferris Robinson can be contacted at ferrisrobinson@gmail.com. www.ferrisrobinson.com)