Recently I was on the phone with a fella from Dan River Oil Company in Madison. His name is Mr. Johnson, and we’ve talked on and off for the last couple of years about the propane gas at our house. On this particular call, he said, “Hey, I see your dad at the gym all the time.”

I said, “Oh, I didn’t know you knew my dad.”

He said, “Yeah, I’ve known your dad a long time—back to the days when he and his brother Obediah were farming.”

I said, “Dad just turned 88 last weekend.”

“Wow,” he said, “I didn’t know he was that age. I’m 75 myself. Your dad is a fine man. And your Uncle  was a fine man too. I’ve been knowing them all my life. Fine people.”

That’s a sentiment I’ve heard more and more since I became a young adult.

Back in the day on the farm, Dad and Uncle Obie worked hard. They had public jobs and farmed full time. I never really thought of them as great men or community pillars growing up. But a few years ago, I witnessed an accident just down the road from our house on Highway 770. A guy was driving too fast and took the curve at Chuck’s Old Store—ended up knocking over a mailbox.

I stopped to check on him, called 911, and the fire department showed up. One of the responders identified himself as the fire chief, and he said, “Aren’t you Joe’s boy?”

“Yes sir,” I told him.

He went on to talk about how he’d known my dad and Uncle Obie all their lives, how they were good men. I’ve heard similar things at family reunions too—especially from aunts—about how the Scales name has always been a good one.

And that kind of name travels ahead of you in a small town. And stays behind you when you’re gone.

They weren’t perfect men—none of us are. I remember one of Uncle Obie’s daughters saying it best at his funeral: “Our dad wasn’t perfect, but he loved deeply.” That stuck with me. Because my dad, too, has become someone who expresses his love—steadily, in his own way. And I’ve come to see that as part of the legacy too.

Even now, if I’m in town and stop by the Food Lion, I’ll often hear something like, “I know you’re one of those Scales boys—your parents are good people.”

And they are. Dad still goes to the Y about four days a week. He never really exercised in a formal way when we were growing up, but he’s built a routine that suits him well in retirement. He’s a husband, a father, a grandfather, and now a great-grandfather.

Not a perfect man. But a good one. With a good name.

As best as I remember it.