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A Celebration of the Remarkably Contradictory Life of Michael Peyton AndrewsBelhaven, NC – Mike, a man who spent his life guiding thousands of souls safely home, has landed his final plane. He was 82.After a stubborn fight with dementia, he reluctantly departed this world on September 12, 2025. Mike leaves behind a legacy of quiet heroism, impeccable order, and the calm authority of an air traffic controller trusted with so many lives, perhaps even yours. He’ll also be remembered for the snowiest white feet to ever walk the earth. In socks and shoes. Always.Born in Belhaven to Sarah and Peyton “Pete” Andrews, Mike spent his middle and high school years in Portsmouth VA. Before he turned 18, he lied about his age to serve his country and joined the US Air Force. He was stationed overseas in intelligence gathering at the Rhein-Main Airbase near Frankfurt, Germany. It was here in Frankfurt where Mike fell in love with everything German. He learned the language and retained it for the rest of his life. He often read books in German and more often enjoyed speaking German with anyone who would feign to listen. He delighted in meeting people from Germany, anyone willing to practice conversation. "Kannst du sie besiegen?" Classic Mike. Germany also fostered a treasure trove of stories involving fast cars, fast girls, and faster motorcycles. Fantastical stories he loved to tell on repeat, long after you could have taken over and told them yourself.Upon returning home he began flirting with a beautiful young lady at the Norfolk Naval Shipyard. He tossed folded notes over a cubicle wall with hand drawn hearts, lips, and super clever expressions like, “hey” and “smile”. Four months later, he married his lifelong sweetheart, Sandra Fields Andrews, his wife of 58 years.To the world, Mike was the picture of a straight-faced, no-nonsense coworker, dad, and husband. He prided himself on his carefully cultivated tough guy exterior. A decorated Air Traffic Controller at the FAA Washington Center in Leesburg, VA, and later teacher at the ODT Training Center in Oklahoma City, OK, he was one of the best. An unflappable pro, he could talk a small craft pilot down from the brink of disaster just as surely as he could guide a jumbo jet across the eastern region. His wife and children considered his tight knit work crew an extension of their family. For years, they spent off days at parties and cookouts. The guys congregated around the grill, swapping stories and teasing each other while the wives rolled their eyes. Meanwhile, the kids ran wild like lunatics bent on terrorizing the neighborhood.To his family, we knew the truth. The tough guy exterior was a masterful performance. Underneath that stern façade was a one-man sideshow. A silly, rhythmic, and sensitive soul. If you were fortunate to really know Mike you also knew Mickey, Uncle Mic Mic, PapPap, Pappy, Daddy and Daaaaddd-uh. You knew that he was two sides of the same coin. A serious man who also never missed an opportunity to tell a terrible, punny joke. A fastidious clotheshorse who craved order but who also took great pleasure in the chaos of the “Wow-wee” hug. Patent pending. Now a family tradition, the Wow-wee is a hug which involves squeezing the breath out of a child while they struggle to shriek WOW-WEEEEE at the top of their lungs. The mission is to encourage the child to yell louder and louder until it is simply not possible to utter anything at all. Or until Sandra mercifully says, “that’s ENOUGH!”Mike was also a talented artist who could paint and draw with technical precision. An artist and musician, all would marvel at his ability to play full songs just by squeezing air through his cupped hands, which surely contributed to the super human grip he used to gleefully bring any poor, unsuspecting handshaker to their knees. But perhaps his truest art form was drumming on every surface that wasn’t a drum. His kids’ tummies as babies, their heads and backs (annoyingly) as teenagers, the counter, the table, the dog, his chair.While not a traditionally religious man, he had a fierce sense of right and wrong. He believed in hard work, fairness, and justice. Never wanting anyone to go without, he always found a way to help however he could. Mike and Sandra raised two headstrong and resilient daughters who embody these same values. Mike was strong and protective, but he didn’t raise little princesses. He taught his girls to drive a stick shift, swing a bat, swing an axe, start a fire, and land a throat punch. His solution to childhood bullying was, true to form, a logical but unconventional question: “Well, can you take her?” Not one for flowery language or I love you’s, your heart would soar on the rare occasions his stern face broke into a smirk, or you’d overhear him brag about you when he was impressed or proud. THAT was worth more than any trophy. And at the end of the day, sitting on his lap before bedtime, his kids would list all the ways they were connected to him: friends, buddies, pals, sidekicks, chums, amigos, compatriots…Mike is survived by the love of his life and partner-in-crime for 58 years, Sandra Fields Andrews; his two daughters, Janet Michelle “Shelly” Swanston and Heather Marie Porto; and his seven grandchildren: Graham Peyton Swanston, Olivia Leigh Swanston, Sarah Marie Andrews, Morgan Noelle Andrews, Aaron Edward Porto, Adam Anthony Porto, and Alexander Patrick Porto. He is also survived by one sister, Diane Andrews Simmons. He was predeceased by two sisters, Nancy Andrews Martin and Vickie Andrews King.A celebration of his wonderfully contradictory life will be held at his home at a date to be determined. In lieu of flowers, we ask that donations be made to the staff of Gentiva Hospice, 222 Stewart Parkway, Suite 100, Washington, NC 27889, (252) 946-0312. We are eternally grateful for their love and care of Mike and our family.With a sense of relief, we know Mike is now free from the confines of his illness and enjoying the most heavenly banana pudding.Paul Funeral Home of Belhaven is honored to serve the Andrews family.

Michael Peyton Andrews

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