Paul Joseph Fleitmann Sr.

We remember him for his quiet humor, his orneriness, and vivid family moments. Once, when he was a toddler, he somehow ended up with a whole gallon of maple syrup poured over himself while his mom was getting the mail- a story Angeline loved to tell. Dad would also tell us how as a toddler he would be out with Angeline picking cotton. Pop tried to make musicians of the first few kids. Dad had a guitar and harmonica, and Pop had also bought an accordion, steel lap guitar, and mandolin- most purchased from the Wichita Falls School of Music, hoping his kids would start a band. The problem, Dad would say with a smile, was Pop never gave them any time to practice- they were always busy working. Pop never got his family band, but as kids we would put on concerts with our cousins in the living room using microphones and any instruments we could find-often with pots and pans being the drums, all while dad slept in the kitchen. He never woke up to scold us until the house was quiet- wanting to know what we were up to then. The man could sleep anywhere and through any noise, but silence did it.

He endured illness and hardship but kept going. As a child, he suffered meningitis and spent weeks in the hospital in Dallas. He missed a year or 2 of school due to recovery. He returned to Sacred Heart School to finish through the 8th grade before leaving to work on the farm. Dad was adamant that we finish high school and at least try college and always do our best and keep up with our learning. He, nor anyone in the family, saw a doctor much growing up, except for that instance and a time that Ray recalls when the whole family came down with a very bad case of the flu. But that was the generation he came from. Over the last several years I would just have to make an appointment for him and show up to pick him up and say we're going, get in the car- but overall, when help was needed, he welcomed it and was grateful for care.

Dad apparently loved a little danger in his youth. He and most of his brothers rode bulls. They would practice in the steer lot and had practice barrels on springs in the backyard. Later, when we asked to set it back up for us to try- Dad said, "No, it's too dangerous." In his bull riding days, he had been kicked in the head once, and another time a bull stepped on his chest. Us kids asked him, " What did you do!?!" Dad looked at us like it was obvious and said, "I got out of the arena." Mom asked him when he stopped riding- after the kick or being stepped on. He said being stepped on. She asked him, "You mean the kick in the head didn't knock any sense into you?". He never went to the doctor either of those times, said he got up and hurt some, but was fine. His chest was always a bit uneven, and we learned in December when he was at Baylor Scott and White in Denton from one of the scans that he had 3 old fractures in his back- most likely from when the bull stepped on him. When we asked for a horse, Dad had also said they were dangerous and only good for eating hay and breaking fences. Yet we later found pictures of him on a horse, and learned he had a horse after all, and that Pop had told him the exact same thing about why no horses.

On January 15, 1983, dad married the love of his life, Susanna (Susie) Knabe Fleitman. 3 days after he passed would have been their 43rd Anniversary. Every year on their anniversary they would sing You and I by Eddie Rabbit and Crystal Gale to each other and light their wedding candle at supper. Together they raised us 3 kids, and dad's pride in providing for the family and standing by us through good times and hard times was the foundation of our lives.

Work was who he was- whether at the ranch, the sale barn, lumberyard, a brief stint in the oilfield, on the dairy as it grew from a Grade B dairy with thousands of chickens to a Grade A dairy, or tending the grounds at Sacred Heart- he met every task with toughness and persistence balanced by deep kindness. But work doesn't tell the whole story. Dad's stubborn loyalty and steady presence shaped our childhood. He was a man of few words, but his actions said everything. He left the sale barn after P.J. was born, walking in at lunchtime and surprising mom when he told her simply, " Oh, I quit.", explaining that he wanted to be home to see his son. Dad also got up every single time one of us cried as babies. He would change his milking schedule to be at our games, band concerts, and school events. Every morning, He would come out of the dairy barn to say goodbye as we left on the school bus; and every Wednesday we'd go to the dairy barn to say goodbye before going to CCD. He would come in each evening for us to have supper as a family, we gave hugs and said I love you every night, and when I was small, he would put me to bed and read me a book- usually Care Bears, Rainbow Brite, or The Wuzzles- all before going back out to finish the night's wok and then get up around 4am the next day to start again. Those small routines showed his love.

He was practical, gentle, and sometimes quick to apologize-even when it wasn't really his fault. One of those CCD nights, we were running late and Mom hurried to back up to the barn to tell Dad bye-and backed right into the 40/20 tractor. Mom was so upset and mad, but Dad ran out saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." That it was his fault for parking the tractor there. Not moms for not looking, but his. What farmer do you know not only wouldn't be mad, but apologize to YOU after you backed into their tractor? But that was him, putting others first, steady, and kind.

He could be playful in the workday too. P.J. recalls working on one of the sheds with Dad and Brian, when Brian hit his head. Dad yelled at him not to break his 2X4 with that hard head of his. Dad would climb the silo with one arm while holding P.J. in the other- and then had to climb back up more than once to retrieve tools because P.J. thought it was fun to drop them in the auger. Dad was fearless when he had to be and careful in all the ways that mattered most- taking care of his family. He loved his westerns. Some of his favorites being Bonanza, Gunsmoke, The Rifleman, or Big Valley. He also liked Little House on the Prairie, Green Acres, Beverly Hillbillies, MASH, and anything on MeTV or Grit. With A.J. he would watch the Three Stooges, and we never knew if Dad was laughing so much at the show, or at how much A.J. was laughing. He liked John Wayne, and one of our favorite movies was McLintock! and we usually watched it together on either of our birthdays. When I was younger, we would come inside for lunch and make bologna sandwiches, mine with mustard and cheese-dads with peanut butter and jelly and watch a western before going back to work.

He loved all the time he got to spend with the grandkids and watching the family grow. All the grandkids helped their Papa with scrap metal and pecans at some point, and he always needed hugs from them before they left. Colt said if Papa ever got onto him, he would sternly say, "Colt!", he would never call him Colt Paul when he was in trouble. And never once yelled, yelled at him- but Grandma sure did. Dad also had his own language and routine with River with headbutts included in their hugs.

Dad's life was one of quiet perseverance, loyal devotion, and humble service. He didn't need to speak loudly to be heard; his presence, work, his humor, and his compassion spoke for him. Dad always seemed to know what I needed or needed to hear. Sometimes he would take me outside to work with him in silence, others he would teach me how to do something and walk me through my tendency to hyper focus on things, and he knew when to just talk. He leaves behind a legacy of faithfulness.

He was preceded in death by his parents: J.W. "Joe" and Angeline Bengfort Fleitmann, father-in-law and mother-in-law: Lawrence and Agnes Hellinger Knabe, siblings: Angeline Fleitman, Gerald Fleitman, Dorothy Fleeman, Robert Fleitman, and James Fleitman, and in-laws: Merna Fleitman, Larry Knabe, Lawrence Neusch, and Wanda Fleitman.

He is survived by his wife: Susanna "Susie" Knabe Fleitman, children: Paul Joseph Jr. (PJ), August John (AJ) and wife Ladonna, and Brianna and husband David Robison, grandchildren: Gabriella (Gabby) Fleitman, Brice Robison, Colt Haverkamp, Tristan Fleitman, Morgan Fleitman, and River Robison, siblings: Clara Neusch, Danny and Glenda Fleitman, and Ray and Dorothy Fleitman, in-laws: Nancy Fleitman of Canada, Alvin and Tina Knabe, Sandra Knabe, Martin and Judy Knabe, Linda and Gene Yosten, Dominic and Collette Knabe, along with many nieces and nephews.

His hands built more than barns and fences, they built a family strengthened by his love. We will miss his dependable ways, his strength, kindness, stubbornness, laughter, and the simple rituals of a life well lived. As AJ says, he instilled the idea that if something is broken, you just figure it out and fix it so you can keep going. Thank you, Dad, for every late night and early morning. You taught us how to work, how to love, independence, resilience, and to prioritize family. We strive to live up to what you have taught us.

Rest in peace Dad, we love you.