Kenneth Preston Tywater, Sr

Kenneth Preston Tywater, Sr., lovingly known as Ken, passed away Feb 5, 2026 at the age of 92.

Ken was born June 20, 1933 in Hamilton TX, the 3rd of 4 children to Ernest and Hettie Flippen Tywater. The family eventually moved to Ft Worth and he attended Diamond Hill Schools.

A devoted family man and a steady presence to those who knew him, Ken lived a long life marked by quiet strength, perseverance, and care for others.

Ken was known for his character, his work ethic and the way he showed up for his family. He valued honesty, responsibility, and doing things the right way. Over the years, he built a life grounded in commitment and love, leaving behind memories that will continue to guide and comfort those who survive him.

He is proceeded in death by loved ones who welcomed him home: Parents Ernest & Hettie Tywater, sisters Bobbie Jean Tywater & Lois Renfro, wife of 34 years Jane Kennedy Tywater, nephew Ronnie Kelly, niece Linda Kelly Rolader, bonus son John Paul (Jackie) Methner, grandson Michael (Little Mike) Methner, and great granddaughter Sierra Meyer.

Ken is survived by his family, who will cherish the lessons he taught and the example he set: daughter Beverly Mitchell (Mitch), sons Ken Tywater, Jr. (Judy) and Doug Tywater (Terri); bonus children Tricia Methner, Mike Methner (Lisa), Stephanie Seegar and Kevin Methner; grandchildren Erik Meyer (Carrie), Jason Meyer (Stephanie), Jon Meyer (Wendy), Jennifer Tywater Barrett (Rob), Sarah Barnhart (Keith), Chase Marney, Kendra Marney, Melody Methner and Kennedy Methner; great grandchildren Jeffery Meyer (Anna), Kyla Meyer, Taylor Ferguson, Alex Meyer, Cathy Meyer, Lilly Meyer, Beth Barnhart, Hunter Barnhart, Hunter Kettler, Easton Marney and Emerson Lee.

Memorial mass will be 10am on Wednesday February 25, 2026 at St Michael’s Catholic Church, 3713 Harwood Road, Bedford TX. Eulogy will be at 9:15 in the chapel prior to the mass.

Memories from granddaughters:

Jennifer:
Papa grew the best strawberries and every summer we’d look forward to picking them straight from the plants he grew in those big barrels in his backyard. What a treat!

Papa loved hosting Christmas at his home. He and Mimi always had a big, beautiful tree and us grandkids would find the perfect spot in the living room to open our gifts. He loved having all his kids and grandkids together under one roof.

As the years went by and our family continued to grow, he rented space at a local community center to ensure we could all be together to enjoy a meal, laugh, exchange gifts and create new memories.

A visit to Papa always meant getting ice cream. His freezer was never void of at least three-gallon containers of various flavors of Blue Bell. In his later years, he also enjoyed popsicles and he’d sneak away to fill the little storage bin on his walker with a few popsicles or other sweet treats to offer.

Papa enjoyed telling stories and jokes. From stories about his childhood to the crazy antics of my dad’s rebellion as a teenager, to when one of his clients called him Tidybowl instead of Tywater. You could count on big laughs whenever Papa was around.

On a recent visit, he told me he had a new girlfriend……her name was Little Debbie. He said he enjoyed his little Debbie every morning. (the snack cake)

Fishing was one of Papa’s favorite hobbies, maybe second to enjoying a plate of fried fish. A love that he passed down to his sons and grandkids.

Papa was proud of all his kids, grandkids, and great grands, finding opportunities to confirm their individual value and worth. Whenever I shared a life win, he’d say, “of course you succeeded, because you’re a Tywater.” A sentiment that will live on through all of his kids and one that my dad regularly reminds me of.

Papa’s positive attitude could always be seen and often heard through his singing and whistling. He’d sing old Hank Williams and Willie Nelson songs any chance he got. He’d say, I bet you haven’t heard that one and proceed to tell you about who sang it.

A favorite Southern saying you’d hear from Papa, especially after a tasty meal was, ‘That’d make a rabbit smack a hound.’ It always made me giggle. This Tywater tradition continues today through his children and grandchildren. It'll always remind me of my Papa. (I'm fairly certain this was something his father, Ernest Tywater said and he carried on the tradition).

Papa was a big proponent of financial stability, often asking me what percentage I was contributing to my 401K and whether I had a Roth IRA. He loved checking the status of his stocks and I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason he had a home computer.

Papa always joked that his house was the 'poor farm', but he was rich in his faith, values, and love for family and friends.

Papa showed up, whether it was a small milestone -- dance recital, basketball game, grandparent’s day at a school lunch or one of life’s big milestones -- baptism, graduation, or wedding, he'd do everything in his power to be present. He loved cheering us on with pride. When he said he was proud of you, he meant it. He had a way of making everyone feel important, valued, and loved.

Kennedy:
From a very young age, Papa and I sang and danced together, or maybe enjoyed a sweet treat or two—or three. Some of my favorite memories are going to Papa and Meme’s house before every school dance I had, from elementary school through high school. Papa would always take so many pictures, never wanting to miss a moment.

One memory I remember like it was yesterday is when Papa used to take me fishing at grapevine lake. One year, we decided to sign me up for a fishing tournament, and I ended up winning. Papa was so proud of me, and to this day, I still have that trophy as a reminder of that special time with him.

Papa had a nickname for everyone, and mine was “Big Red.” He had called me that since I was little because of my strawberry-blonde hair. Hearing him say it always made me smile, and it’s a name I’ll always carry with me.

Kendra:
Papa had a tune or a saying for absolutely everything. Life with him was like living inside a jukebox of one-liners and old songs. If he was teasing Meme and pretending he was in trouble, he’d belt out, “I’m in the jailhouse now!” with that grin he could never quite hide. If you were pouting in the backseat, he’d catch you in the rearview mirror and sing, “There’s a tear in my beer,” just to pull you out of your mood. Or you were bound to trip over that bottom lip.

When we were little, he’d sing, “Put your little foot, put your little foot, put your little foot right there,” turning an ordinary moment into a performance. Mornings before school came with his famous trumpet sound echoing through the house better than any alarm clock and impossible to ignore. And nothing ever went by its real name. Oatmeal It was “goat meal.” That was just how he did things.

If you were slow to eat, you’d hear, “In the mouth, through the gums, watch out stomach, here it comes!” If you dragged your feet about putting your shoes on he would say “You better hit that floor running.” Then he’d sing, “Put your shoes on, Lucy, don’t you know you’re in the city?” If you were acting a little too important, he’d humble you with, “What, you think this is your birthday or something?” And heaven forbid you were missing your two front teeth because we all knew, “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth” was coming next.

Oh what Big Red, yeah we weren’t called by our first names either! She mentioned a new boyfriend named Joe? Without missing a beat: “Heeey Joe, where’d you find that pearly girly? Where did you get that jolly dolly?” He couldn’t help himself. Everything had a melody.
Pull up from church or the grocery store it was “Home again home again jiggety-jig home again home again jiggety-jog!

I can recall Meme, laughing and irritated at the same time, would say, “Ken, do you have a song for everything, do you think you could just call something by its ordinary name?” And in a moment I wish I could replay perfectly, he started singing one just for her with words of ordinary in it. I loved that soft nose twitch that told you something funny was loading. He didn’t just live life. He narrated it. He sang it. He made the ordinary feel bright and playful.

Looking back, so much of the soundtrack of our childhoods was him and somehow, we can all still replay them till this day.

His legacy lives on through the generations that follow him.