If you met my dad, you would like him. He was kind, funny, devoted, and persistent. He enjoyed tinkering with things and improving them. He would cook a good pork steak or get a mower running in no time at all. He even invented his own way of spelling words. His name was Paul, but many people called him P.D. My middle name came from my dad. My name is Paulette. My looks come from the Christian side, but my personality is Nevatt. He was a good writer, taking that talent from his mom, Alma. Grandma would write poems for the newspaper, and Dad wrote letters to the editor.
As I grew up, I increasingly adopted his mannerisms and habits. He had an interesting way of seeing the world. His view was equal parts practical and gentle. It was as if every action, no matter how small, was worth doing right. This was true in different situations. I remember mixing small batches of concrete on a chilly Saturday morning to replace the back path to the garage. In those moments, I found myself wanting to be just like him. I wanted to inherit not only his quirks but also the steadfastness beneath them.
I remember how his mind was always at work. One day, he’d be proposing speed bumps for Glenstone to slow the rush of traffic. The next day, he’d be crafting illustrated cards for the grand kids in Grande Isle, Louisiana. Receiving one of his cards always felt like a special connection to his playful spirit. It was a small package of joy that traveled across miles. He was curious about how things worked. This curiosity extended to the stacks of the public library. There, he would lose track of time while exploring new ideas and concepts. Sometimes the librarian would gently tap him on the shoulder, reminding him that the library was about to close. But even then, he would leave with a spark in his eye and his mind buzzing with possibilities. He delighted in exchanging letters with long-lost relatives. At Christmas, he also wrote to his World War II buddies. This kept connections of family and friends alive. I can still picture Dad surrounded by motors, transistors, and soldering irons. His workbench was a landscape of possibility. Problems became puzzles to solve there. Those memories linger with me. Their warmth constantly reminds me of the incredible mark he left on my personality. He achieved this through his unique projects and acts of connection.
His faith was always strong. As a young boy, my Grandma took him to church. One time, Dad invited the church members to join in a picnic at our river place on the James River. He even ordered a portable potty to be available for those who need to use it. Some kids who delivered the toilet painted a lady on the inside door. Dad went and bought white spray to cover up the artwork.
Dad would label everything. Mom bought a new cook stove for the rental house. She used a marker to write on the back and front. This helped people know what the icons meant. Mom made Dad uninstall his directions.
My grandpa liked to dabble in real estate, so the family moved often, which Dad disliked. Dad looked forward to not having to move his family when he became a father. We only moved once during our childhood. Our new house was one block from our old house.
Dad worked as an installer for Western Electric, known for solving challenging problems, across Arkansas, Kansas, and Missouri. Dad was the first Nevatt not to become a printer. His great-grandfather came to America to continue the printing trade. Great-grandfather’s Father, Issac, brought his printing press from England to America. Issac first worked in Hannibal, Missouri, with Mark Twain on the local newspaper. One day, a young boy walked down Jefferson Street. The door was open. He saw a man working with wires. So, he asked if they were hiring. That marked the beginning of a forty-year career in the telephone industry. Dad was drafted into the Army’s Signal Corps on July 7, 1942, at the age of 21. He served our country working on telephone equipment in Africa and Italy. After World War II, he returned to Western Electric.
Dad didn’t like to have his day planned for him. He just wanted to get up in the morning and decide what he would accomplish that day. He would be in the middle of a project. Mom would say, “Paul, it’s about time to get ready to…”. I live by the same philosophy. Sometimes the best things in life happen.
“Behind every great daughter is a truly amazing dad.”
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