Pollard could build a good barbed wire fence. Most folks knew that. His Memorial Day "goat roasts" brought out a good bit of the community of Blair. There was no drinking there. He was strong on that point even when his own brothers tried to sneak in a few cold ones. The live music played and sung from a flat bed trailer was all Christian, too, done by mostly local folks and friends and family.
Pollard loved good campmeetings and "The Herald of His Coming" newspaper. We always had to pray before we left his house, and not some short "Lord, please keep us safe", either. There was a lot of "Lord, help us to be ready when you come" and "Lord, help us to live before you, pleasing and holy" and "Bless Mike and Rhonda and the boys." He usually shed a tear or two before we were done.
Pollard loved to talk to people. They usually cried, too. "The coming of the Lord is near. Are you ready?"

Mike can do a lot of things. He knew how to work a bus route. The kids loved him. The parents loved him. He loved them first. Visitation always took too long, because Mike could not just drop in and out. He cared enough to listen and try to make the less fortunate feel better about things, whatever "things" had them troubled at the time.
Mike stands behind the local church, pastor and all. Few excuses were good enough to keep the family home from services. The pastor always knew where they were and why they were not at church. He made sure they stayed behind after special events to clean up. In fact, they were the last ones to leave almost every time. He was determined to keep the main thing, the main thing and not be distracted by other people and other ways. As a result, his children enjoyed the stability of having attended one church growing up, despite the occasional imperfections.
Mike loves his boys. He loved them enough to give them a good "whippin'" (his words) when they needed it. There is a good chance they love him, too, as a result of and not in spite of his discipline.
Mike loves people, like Pollard did. He loves to talk to them. He usually cries, too. And so do they.

Me? Well, I love them both. I do not know the first thing about building a barbed wire fence or "whippin'" my kids, but honestly, if I could be half the Christian both of them have been, I will have lived a very good life.