Remembering my Father

Get the Point!

Time flies…

While I didn't know it that morning, 23 years ago today, May 24, 2000, would be the last time that I would ever converse with my father, Charles E. Hobbs, Sr.

May 31, 1940—May 25, 2000

That previous August his oncologist, Dr. Tim Broesecker, predicted that Dad had fewer than six months to live; nine months later, after metastatic prostate cancer had ravaged his body and zapped his previous Herculean physical strength, the end was near.

While Dad's flesh had grown weak, his mind stayed razor sharp until the last few hours, and my final lecture was his disappointment that after a day of prosecuting cases, that my tie was loosened, my shirt was not buttoned at the collar, and that my dress shoes were not shiny! 😆

Dad, a guard/linebacker at Florida A&M University from 1958-62, showing proper tackling form prior to the 1961 National Championship season…

You see, there was construction going on near the Leon County Courthouse back in 2000 and while rushing to my car to go see him at the hospital, it did not occur to me that dust and gravel had tarnished my shoes and that cumulatively, I was looking rather disheveled.

The Scrollers of the Alpha Xi Chapter of Kappa Alpha Psi, Fall ‘62. Dad, second from the right, with his line brothers and Miss Kappa Alpha Psi

So Dad removed his oxygen mask, frowned up, shook his head in disapproval, and reminded me for the final time through short, gasping breaths that one “never gets a second chance to make a first impression through how they look and sound;” Dad would slip into eternal rest a few hours later early in the morning on May 25th.

Then LTC Hobbs greeting a young officer circa 1981…

23 years later, of all the things I miss about my old man, it is those conversations—often mixed with lessons—that I miss the most. An avid reader of my writings at Morehouse (Maroon Tiger) and UF (Independent Florida Alligator), I wish that he had lived long enough to be a faithful reader of this blog and to give me his opinions about the state of our modern world.

I also deeply regret that he never met my daughter Corrin, one who shares our CEH initials, as I know that they would have gotten along famously!

But alas, such is life…the inevitability of death...and the void that remains—forever!

Rest in peace, Dad…