Just the mention of April 15 causes stress. Perhaps even more so this year since Easter, which fell the day after April Tax Day, was yet another cause for delaying getting their tax business finished and mailed off. Stores were packed with shoppers scurrying for Easter frocks, bonnets and irresistible chocolate Easter bunnies. Aside from the festive atmosphere associated with Easter and surviving another tax year, Delaine and I always remember April 15 for a special reason. On that date, in 1914, our father. Rev. Theodore Roosevelt Frierson was born. Although he died when we were in our late teens, I am thankful for his influence in my life.
Daddy was a man of integrity who loved God, his family, and the community. Although we were not rich, being the daughters of a Methodist minister, daddy treated us as if we were princesses. Not only did we have material riches, we were blessed with a home that was a place of stability, encouragement, discipline, love and joy. Our parents were our moral compasses, but daddy was very special to me, and I wanted to be just like him.
Daddy was always an advocate for those who were oppressed in every community in which we lived: Spartanburg, Sumter, Florence and Charleston. He confronted injustice, racism and inequality in a fearless manner without being a rebel rouser. He knew how to work behind the scenes to accomplish substantive change.
Racism, injustice and other issues that plague the secular world could be and, unfortunately, can still be, found within the structure of the church. To combat such negative forces, my daddy was one of the founders of Black Methodists for Church Renewal, BMCR, a national organization that is still active today.
Our mother taught us that we were inferior to no one. When Delaine and I decided that we wanted to transfer to the previously all white schools in Florence, we talked it over with our parents. Daddy prepared for us to have a smooth transition by helping to establish a Harmony school that summer. Harmony school taught us about non-violent resistance, but Delaine apparently misunderstood that part of our training. Her attitude was, “If they hit me, I’m hitting back.”
Poor daddy virtually lived in the principal’s office that year because Delaine meant every word she said.
I will not say ‘Happy Birthday, Daddy!’ for daddy died decades ago, but I always have a special smile on my face every April 15, because I am my father’s daughter, and a few of his best qualities are still alive in me.
