My father wasn’t famous in the ordinary sense of the word, but he was loved and admired by hundreds of people. That’s not an exaggeration. Someone once said something to the effect that we will pass this way only once and we will touch the lives of many people in ways that we may never know.
Dad believed that these “close encounters” should only be good ones. He once sent me an excerpt from a “Dear Abby” column that not only exemplified Dad’s philosophy but also his actions. A reader had submitted an original poem. In it he stated that to achieve happiness one must “be silent to be heard, be simple to be known, be heartful to be loved, be giving to be strong…”
My dad was not a saint; he had his faults. Sometimes he lost his temper and swore. A few times he drank a little too much. My mother thought he let people take advantage of him – that he was too generous sometimes. Dad also exhibited that familiar male trait of “No, I know where we’re going and I don’t need to stop and ask for directions.”
Some of the experiences that stand out in my mind were of him reading to me, even when I was old enough to read. He would play endless games of Clue and Monopoly with my sister and me when I’m sure he would rather have been doing something else. Nothing really extraordinary.
My parents never lavished expensive presents on us, but they gave us some of the most precious gifts that parents can bestow on their children: an appreciation of music, art, literature, theatre; positive values and morals; good money management skills; an open mind; lack of prejudice towards people different from us; and a sense of responsibility to ourselves and others. Most of all, they gave us their TIME.
On this Father’s Day, I think of the other people who knew him as a father (a godfather, that is): my cousin and two children at his church who are now adults with children of their own. He was generous to them with his time and wisdom.
My dad was also a role model, mentor, traveling companion and buddy to my son, Ed. As a single parent I could never have given him both materially and non-materially what my father was able to give him.
It’s very true that you “reap what you sow” because in my father’s last year when he was no longer able to take care of himself, my son came to live with him and be a caregiver. I know that Ed learned more about compassion, patience and the “circle of life” through that experience than he could have learned from any book. He was there when my Dad passed away. My father, always the teacher, although he never went to college, was teaching up until his death.
Of all the qualities that Dad possessed the most outstanding was humility. He never sought recognition, although he received it. He wouldn’t even let us throw him a “surprise” eightieth birthday after he found out when someone “spilled the beans.”
Dad had many accomplishments during his lifetime and fulfilled many dreams, but there was one dream he did not achieve. That was to be a writer. I realize now that he probably didn’t obtain this goal because he was too busy living – helping people, volunteering at church and various organizations, working in his garden, taking walks, visiting with friends, traveling and all the myriad activities that make up our daily lives. Perhaps, too, his innate humility led him to believe that he didn’t have anything worthwhile to write about.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I hope you’re not mad at me for bragging about you. Thank you for everything you did for me, especially for inspiring me to fulfill your goal of being a writer.