Remembering Dad

Father’s Day is rapidly approaching.

Yesterday, at a private family gathering in a Campbell, Texas cemetery my Mother provided us an opportunity to take time to once again celebrate the life of my father, Ted Frazier. He passed away in August 1988 after a vehicle accident.

At the time of my father’s passing I was still a rookie police officer, and had only been patrolling solo for a few months. I remember the memorial service and that I wrote a few poetic verses, and that almost the entire Greenville Police Department turned out to escort the procession to the burial site; but much of that couple of weeks surrounding Dad’s passing and funeral is a blurred memory.

Yesterday was a good day to reflect on his memory without the blinding pain and shock of a recent loss.

I told Mother and my siblings who were there, my wife, and brother-in-law that I believed Dad would be very proud of his sons and daughter today. As time has passed since August of 1988, my pride in my father has continued to grow as I have learned more about what it is like to raise children, earn a good living, and be as self sufficient as one can.

Ted Frazier did not have an easy childhood. He overcame huge hardships and to date I have not found anyone with a more solid work ethic. Add to that his ability to learn things on his own, and you see why his children have accomplished the things they have. He passed along his work ethic and taught us how to do so many things, from penmanship to marksmanship to operating machinery and driving tractors, and a thousand other things.

He planted us all in a firm orthodox christian foundation and taught us all to read the Bible for ourselves and to discern whether teachers were true or false by viewing their words under the light of God’s Word.

I thank God for the talented and loving father he blessed us with, and I look forward to the day when we meet in our eternal home and talk about the joy of riding in the open wind on a motorcycle, chasing down stray cattle, hauling hay, and the unique and successful paths each of his children were able to tread on this earthly plane because of the special gifts he imparted to us.

I’m looking forward to once more being wrapped in a hug by those massive and secure arms.

Yamaha RD 350 73



Theodore Lawrence "Ted" Frazier
Theodore Lawrence “Ted” Frazier
avatar Greybeard

We had Fathers that accepted their responsibility to raise kids they sired. Many kids today, obviously, don’t even know who their Daddies are.
Can you imagine that? I cannot.
My Dad wasn’t perfect. I learned from the mistakes he made.
But there was NEVER any doubt he loved me and would protect me.
Until we meet them again, we’ll miss them continually.

avatar Charylcie

Great pictures, they say so much for us kids, full of memories equivalent to an aroma of a homemade delicacy. The Yahama brings back memories of being handed a big,sweaty helmet off Daddy’s head to protect my noggin while he picked me up from school to go to piano lessons. That was quite a ride for any fourth grader. And, of course, the nice big burn I got on my ankle from that stinking muffler. I never said a thing to Daddy, but grimaced through it like a true little Frazier. I’ll never forget riding in that GMC, fearing for my five-year-old life that I would fall through the rusted out floor. Daddy was indeed amazing with his hands, the workmanship he portrayed in making those vehicles beautiful, & I, too, can’t wait to be wrapped up in his big bear arms when we meet again in heaven. Thank you, dear Jesus, for such great hope we posess.

avatar Nancy Manar

This was a wonderful commentary. You are all a wonderful blessing to this family. Thanks for sharing.
I too look forward to walking the streets of gold with my precious brother and parents!
I love you all.

avatar Tim Frazier

Thanks, Aunt Nancy. I love you, too!

I thought about you and your nice cool house up north last night when Robin and I got home to discover the air conditioning had gone on the fritz for the entire day. Instead of lounging in the pool and relaxing after a day of hot Texas wind scrubbing my skin between Greenville, Campbell, and Grapevine I instead had to wait for the AC repair guy to show up and figure out what was wrong with the eight-thousand dollar Trane heat pump we bought last summer at double the capacity of the old one so we wouldn’t have nasty surprises like this.

“Nothing stops a Trane” is their motto. Judging from last evening, nothing starts a Trane, either.

Dad would have fixed it himself with a an old coat hanger and an oxy-acetylene torch and never bothered to call the repair guy, I bet.

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