In memory of...
Melvin Leon Hogwood
Born: October 04, 1947
Passed: January 19, 2004

This is a very hard page for me, my dad and I had lots of ups and downs and sometimes it's hard to remember the good over the bad, to remember how much I loved him and he loved me.

My dad started life off on a rough foot. He was born premature and given only weeks to live. His mother walked out of the hospital and left him there to die. His father was never a part of his life. His grandmother on the other hand wouldn't hear that her grandson wasn't going to make it and took him home with her despite protests from the doctors. She took his older sister as well and raised them as her own son and daughter. To the day she died both called her "Mom" not grandma but Mom. The only man who came close to being a Dad to him died when he was still very young. He was hard headed, just like grandma and pretty much ran wild as a teenager. He was never good at expressing himself emotionally and was always very distant. He dropped out of school in the eighth grade because he hated it. He didn't respond well to authority figures and always took crap from the kids for being bigger than normal. He worked in bars for years as a bouncer and was president of the local motorcycle club. He had a passion for Harley's and rode one from nearly the time he got his license.

He lead a rough life and lived life by his own rules. He said once he wasn't supposed to have lived so each day was a bonus anyway. He worked driving trucks, throwing hay bales, working construction, whatever presented itself. He drank, he smoked, he did drugs, he lived life to it's fullest by his standards. My mom was a "good girl" and it's often boggled people how they ever met, let alone fell in love and got married. I think Mom was good for him though and changed his life greatly. So did my birth. LOL My mom was very ill when I was born and I was nearly a year old before she got out of the hospital. In the mean time Dad was a single father of a new born baby. I've heard stories for years razzing my Dad about being a "rough, tough biker" and carrying a little baby all wrapped in pink. LOL The whole bike club lended a hand to my raising and I grew up with them as Aunts and Uncles. One of my favorite stories was when I was about three Dad was at home with me each day while Mom worked and since they only had one car at the time he was sort of trapped. One day he wanted to go somewhere and looked out the door at his bike, looked at me and decided to give it a try. He got the bike out and sat me on it with him without starting it. I wasn't upset at all by it so he sat me off and started the bike. He was fully expecting me to scream in terror and run into the house at the noise but I didn't so he picked me up and sat me back in front of him. When I didn't seem to have a problem there he decided to take a couple laps around the block with me. He said I sat there holding on to the gas cap grinning from ear to ear so he went back to the house and locked up and we headed for town. My mom stared when he pulled up with me on the front of his bike but my grandmother nearly died. She couldn't see how he'd put "her little girl" on such a dangerous thing!! I loved it however and rode often with Dad. He was glad when I got old enough to sit behind him because I had long baby fine blonde hair that was always flapping in his face with me in front of him. I was definitely a daddy's girl.

My Dad raised me to be strong and independent, to think for myself, not to follow others, to be my own person. As a kid it was great he was very proud of the fact I wasn't like all the other kids. As a teen it became a problem. He wanted control, he wanted me to do as I was told but only by him. He hated being defied, he hated being argued with. I couldn't stand being controlled or being told no just because and demanded reasons. I never accepted "because I said so". My mom was the peacemaker in the family and as a teen she was often gone taking care of his "mom". Dad and I took care of her mom for her and spent much time alone. That meant many, many fights. From the time I was like 14 years old my father and I would have terrible fights. Screaming, yelling, even physical altercations. When we got along it was terrific, we were best friends but when we fought we really fought. The thing I remember most though was no matter how serious the fight the moment one of us needed the other we were there. It came instantly to an end and we did whatever we needed to do. Afterwards we'd kind of look at each other and shake our heads.

My father never forgave me for choosing Ron over him. When I was 18 my dad put his foot down and tried to break me and Ron up. I moved out that day. Things were never the same between us and that hurt. He wanted to be number one in my life but I was 18 and in love. He said it wouldn't last but almost 15 years later Ron and I are still as much in love as we were then, if not more. I wish he could have seen that but he didn't want to.

My husband and I moved "home" twice to help my parents out. Both times it didn't work out and we were forced to leave and leave many things behind. We lost a couple thousand dollars in stuff but I think what hurt worse was the loss of trust between me and my dad each time. He wouldn't see what he was doing and why we left and I couldn't live under his terms. The first time we didn't speak for nearly a year, the second time it was two years. Then one day one of my aunt's called me to tell me my mom was in a coma and my dad had cancer and was dying. I instantly went back to his side, forget the past he needed me. He wasn't willing to though, even in his condition. We were working our tails off for him and the first time he was alone with Ron he told him he appreciated what we were doing but not to think it would ever be like it was before and as soon as my mom was home it was over.

I left that day and never went back. About 8 months later my mom called me to tell me he'd passed away. To this day it seems unreal that he could be gone. He was always so strong, he'd never die. He'd always be there when I went back. He's not, he's gone.

I don't know what he thought when he died but I hope he knew I did love him. Sometimes I just didn't like him very much.