Have you ever known someone who was just right? Well I have, and I’m fortunate enough for that just right person to be my dad, Royley Folse. Daddy made 88 this past September, an accomplishment experienced by few. Sometimes he says he is living on borrowed time, but I think it is because he is just right.

Anyone who knows Daddy knows that when you ask him, “How are you doing, Mr. Royley?” or “How are you doing, Daddy?” his standard answer is, “Just right!” He says it with enthusiasm. I know it is his enthusiasm and his just right attitude that has enabled him to withstand the test of time. Think about it. Daddy was born in 1914, which means he became a man during the height of the “Great Depression.” He had to drop out of school when he was in the 8th grade to help care for his family, when his father, Pepere Folse got sick and was unable to work. He went to work in the sugar cane fields, cutting cane with a cane knife to put food on his family’s table. In addition to working in the fields, he hunted, he fished, and he trapped. He did whatever it took to care for his family, all the time, doing just right!

Daddy met my mother in the late 1930s and got married in 1941. Their first son died when he was three days old. According to Mother’s sister, Aunt Mae, Mother begged God to let her have another baby and promised she would never do anything to prevent pregnancy, if allowed to have healthy children. Well, her prayers were answered because she gave birth to Ruth in 1944 and Royley, Jr. (Boboy) in 1944.

Then, World War II came along and Daddy was drafted. Although he could have gotten out on a hardship discharge, he wanted to defend his country. He told me that he asked Mother if it was OK for him to go and was told that it was up to him. He made the decision to answer the call. After spending time training at Fort Devens, Massachusetts, and a year or so of patrolling the coast, he was shipped overseas. He spent a few weeks in England, then went in at Normandy and marched into Germany. He still wears a scar across his left side and an indentation on his left knee from wounds suffered during the war. But it didn’t change the fact that he was still doing, just right.

When the war ended, Daddy made it back to my mother and his first two children, Ruth and (Boboy). I’m not sure why – probably for economic reasons – but Daddy and Mother lived with my mother’s parents, Mamere and Pepere Zeringue. A year later Johnny came along, and a year after that, I popped into the world. The day after I was born, Daddy was shot in a hunting accident by one of my mother’s first cousins. He still carries the lead BBs from the 4-10 shotgun shell in his right arm. You can feel the BBs under his skin today. Daddy tells me that he lost the use of his right arm for almost a year. The fingers on his right hand are still curled up from that accident, which happened over 55 years ago. He did get the use of that arm back, not the fingers, but he regained the strength in his arm and hand. I bet you can guess what I am going to say next. Yes, you’re right, Daddy never stopped doing just right.

Mother had a miscarriage the year after I was born, but the following year, she had my next brother, Larry, followed by Carroll “Tootie” the year after that. By then, it was 1950 and if for some reason reason you thought there were enough children in the house, you were wrong. Mother had twins, Philip and Phyllis the following year. Can you imagine what the Zeringue house was like? Mother had 4 sisters and a brother. There was Mother and Daddy, their eight children, Mother’s brothers and sisters, and in addition to all of us, Mamere had a brother and a sister who also lived with them. If I’m counting right, there were about 17 of us. Actually, it never did get up to 17 in the house because by the time all 8 of us were born, Mother’s three oldest sisters, Aunt Aileen, Aunt Mae and Aunt Lillian had gotten married. However, Aunt Totsie and Uncle Albert were there until we moved out in 1953.

Wow! We finally had a place of our own. A rent house on Barras Lane, which was about a quarter mile from the Zeringues, became available in 53 and Daddy was able to rent it for $12 per month. We actually had three bedrooms instead of one for the ten of us. I was five years old then and I don’t remember a lot about the house on Barras Lane, but I do remember the yard, the garden, the chickens next to the railroad track, and Mother sewing, washing, cooking and preserving vegetables and fruit. Another thing I remember was that for the first time we had indoor plumbing. There were no more pochambres, no more outhouses, and best of all we had a bathtub, which meant no baths in a number 10 washtub.

The following year, 1954, Mother became pregnant again. When asked why so many children, Daddy once told me that every year a missionary came and held a week long mission at the St. James Catholic church, where my family attended. Daddy said that one of the topics the missionary always talked about was the sin of contraception. He said that within months after the mission, you could count on seeing the women of the church showing up pregnant at Sunday mass.

On May 11, 1955, Mother gave birth to a little girl. I will never forget that morning. When Mother went into labor, a couple of my brothers and I were sent to sleep at our neighbor, Mrs. Francis’ house. It was early morning and Mrs. Francis’ son, Butch and I (I guess my brothers were with me, but I don’t remember) were sitting on a fence post, waiting to hear if Mother had a boy or a girl. I remember this loud sound, which I distinctly remember thinking was the laugh of Mr. Guy Caire. Mr. Guy was a local farmer and president of the Police Jury, the governing body in St. James Parish. He had a deep bellowing voice and a belly laugh that just roared out. He did a lot of entertaining at his camp. Local wedding receptions were held there because of his jolly personality. I later found out that that was not Mr. Guy’s laugh, but my dad crying out with despair and disbelief when Dr. Campbell announced that my mother had passed away while giving birth to a stillborn sister. The rest of the events of that day and the days to follow have faded from my memory. God has a way of protecting children from the pain.

That was probably one time when Daddy was not doing just right, but he later told me that he did just the right thing and dropped to his knees and begged God to keep him healthy so he could keep his family together. He said he had offers from friends and family to lessen his burden by taking some of us to raise, but he said he told them, that as long as he was healthy and able he wanted to keep us together. Well, God did indeed give him his health, but he also gave him a “Just Right” attitude. It was those two great gifts from the Almighty that gave him the ability to accomplish what, I don’t think, many men could have or would done alone. As you know, he wasn’t totally alone. I have already told you the story about how Mary Ferchaud (another gift from the Almighty) came to work for us and how she helped Daddy with the unbelievable job of raising eight children without a wife.

Speaking of a wife, I can’t tell the story about Daddy raising us all without a wife, without telling you his classic response to the question, “why didn’t you remarry?” Anybody who knows Daddy, knows that he always had a great sense of humor and a great wit about him. Anyway, Daddy’s response to the question, “Why didn’t you remarry?” was “Any woman who would marry a man with eight children would have to be crazy and the last thing a man with eight children needs is a crazy wife.” Well, he never did remarry, but he did a just right job of raising us.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying that Daddy was an angel, but then, who is? What I am saying is that he did what few of us would attempt and I’m sure it wasn’t easy. There were times when we didn’t understand why he was so strict, why we had to work in the garden every day, why our butts needed to be whipped again, or why we couldn’t have some of the things we wanted. Later in life I realized why. Today, I am grateful for it. Daddy provided what we needed, not what we wanted. He worked long hours at the St. James Sugar House, where he earned the wages needed to provide the basics. He hunted, fished, caught shrimp in the river, crawfish in the swamp, made a one-acre vegetable garden, and raised chickens, pigs and rabbits to help supply the food for our table. Daddy had an unbelievable drive and great work ethic. He said there was no reason for a person to do without unless they were just lazy.

Anyway, the years passed by and Daddy made it through his challenge of raising his children. He was there for us, playing the role of both father and mother. He was there every night. I don’t ever remember him saying, “ I need time to myself.” His time was our time. The weekdays were full, Saturdays were workdays, and Sundays were for worship, family, and pleasure. We started the day off by going to church. We usually had lunch at Mamere Zeringue’s house, where we got to play with dozens of first cousins, and then we drove to Vacherie to visit Mamere and Papere Folse. After our visit with Mamere and Papere Folse, we loaded up in the family car (a 1949 Chevrolet coup) and drove to the picture show. Sundays were great. They were the highlight of our week. Who could ask for anything better? Wow! There was church, visiting with family, playing with cousins, and going to the picture show. What a day.

We finally left home, one at a time and made our way in life. We started and raised our own families and Daddy; well he is still here with us. Through the years, he has always been there. Since most of us lived within 30 miles of Daddy, he would drive to our houses, often as many as three times a week. It was always a pleasure seeing his smiling face and hearing him say, “Just Right” when you asked, “How you doing, Daddy?”

Yes, at 88 Daddy is still doing just right. He has had some health problems in the past year, but it still hasn’t stopped him from doing just right. I took my two grandchildren to visit him on Saturday afternoon after my granddaughter said, “I want to go see Papaw Royley.” When I got there I said, “hey Daddy, how are you doing”? His answer was, as it has always been “JUST RIGHT.” Thank you Daddy for the sacrifices you have made for our family and thank you Lord for giving us just the right dad. Daddy, you are my inspiration. You are my hero.