Charles Lynn Patterson BEDFORD--Charles Lynn Patterson, known as "Charlie" by everyone who loved him, passed Tuesday, June 16, 2020. He was 82. SERVICE: Charlie believed memorial services caused grief to linger where it shouldn't, and if he couldn't sit up in the coffin and wave at everyone to make them smile, he didn't want a service at all. His family is honoring the gift he was by reading letters he wrote, reaching out to his friends, and visiting the home in which he and his wife, Patricia, lived as young parents. MEMORIALS: Please send donations to St. Jude, if you wish. Charlie was born Aug. 30, 1937, the oldest son of Otis Raye and Lynn Gale Patterson. He was raised in California and later West Texas. He shot firecrackers, stitched his brother Larry's finger in a sewing machine, and loved their dog, Rita. In Kermit, he developed lifelong friendships and first glimpsed his wife. His father taught him the value of hard work and his mother the strength of a generous heart. He attended Texas Technological College, now Texas Tech University, where he shared a boarding room near campus with his brother Larry, worked in the oilfields and at various jobs in Lubbock to pay his $75-a-semester tuition, and earned a bachelor's degree in graphic design in 1961. Though he hadn't seen Patricia since the days she also lived in Kermit, he wrote to her at Christmas in 1960, "put himself on a limb," and proposed. Less than a year later, and after only four dates, she married him. "Pink cloud days," she says of that time. In the DFW area, Charlie worked as a draftsman at LTV and General Dynamics before starting his own business as a freelance graphic designer. His clients included Bonanza, Southland Corporation, Texas American Bancshares, Cornell University, and the Lena Pope Home, among others. His colleagues and friends respected his creativity and integrity, but equally loved his "bright presence," humor, and kindness. As a husband, he cherished Patricia, whom he called "Trishie." When she became a teacher, he sent her to school every morning with a lunch he packed. On vacations, they searched for sand dollars and mountain goats. He held her hand when they walked side by side, nursed her to better health, admired her devotion to teaching, and was her best friend. When little, his oldest daughter, Kelly, believed he could talk to the birds at the FW Zoo, and he probably could. His youngest daughter, Jill, believed he could heal all illnesses because he sat up with her on nights when she had the flu and gave her chilled pear juice to drink. For them, he adopted every stray animal, TP'd houses, took them to pierce their ears, dressed himself up like Dracula and a ballerina for Halloween, showed them how to fish, ride a bike, drive stick-shift, and, later, to build decks and flowerbeds. He convinced his girls they could be anything they wanted at a time when others swore women could not. When he retired, he built the family a treasured second home in Oklahoma, near Kingston. For nearly four years, he fought leukocytosis, turning corners doctors didn't believe possible, to stay with his family as long as he could. He is the bravest man they will ever know. He was preceded by his parents; his beloved brother; and close friends, Gary Atwood, Gary Allen, and Salty Salsmanwho are surely overjoyed to see him again and are likely up to shenanigans. SURVIVORS: His wife of 59 years, Patricia; his daughters, Kelly and Jill; and Kelly's partner, Amy, whom he loved as a daughter, too. His wife trusts he is preparing a place for her on the other side, and Kelly and Jill hope he will leave the porch light burning. They promise to come home right at curfew. Home again, home again, he would say. Jiggity-jiggity-jog.
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