Today, I celebrate the man to whom I owe my life. I only know him through stories, but I can say with 100% certainty that he was the type of person that most people spend their lifetime striving to become. So, heres to you, dad! Thanks for being the kind of guy that everyone remembers. After 24 years of hearing stories from your friends, band mates, colleagues and acquaintances, I feel like I really do know you. I know Ive posted this before, but Id like to share it again today. This is an essay I wrote a few years back: The dad I never got to know loved everyone. Mom used to tell me he kept a suit ready for action; many of the elderly people he had befriended were dying. Again and again he was asked to speak at a funeral or act as a pallbearer. His hands-on approach to managing a business had him back in the kitchen slinging food during rush hours and table-hopping when business slowed. He shared coffee daily with bank presidents and elderly widowers. Once a week he hosted a card club made up of people who had no one else; no matter how busy he was he always made time to walk the room, refilling coffee cups and catching up on the lives of people who others had forgotten. Weeks before he died in a plane crash, he and my mom engaged in what I’ve been told was one of their few arguments. She was very much pregnant with me, and Dad was late getting home from the restaurant and no where to be found. As Mom recalls, it was a hot day in mid-August, the lawn needed to be mowed and my three siblings were getting on her last nerve. A few phone calls later, my increasingly impatient mother located her missing husband; he was down the street at a neighbor’s. When she found him, he was high up on a ladder hanging new, white siding on a house that was grey and sagging from age and neglect. She insisted he explain why he was devoting himself to someone he barely knew when she needed him. Quietly, my dad came down off the ladder, took my mom by the elbow, and walked her out of earshot of the homeless, a reclusive eccentric who walked the town daily collecting old pop cans. Mom says she’ll never forget what happened next. My dad simply hugged her and told her they were lucky. They had each other and three healthy kids. Soon, I’d be joining in on the chaos. He explained that he had purchased the siding and was committed to making the little box house for a man who didn’t really have anyone or anything. “If I can help him hold his head up higher and make him feel better about himself, then I’ll feel like I did something to give thanks. I’ll feel better about myself.” His waitresses were loyal. They appreciated that he knew their stories and cared about them and their families. One told me he made you feel like you were the only person in the room when he talked with you. When he died, thousands of people filed past his coffin and sent notes of condolence to my mom. She still has those notes tucked away somewhere. Although she’s proud of them, she says they are still too difficult to read, even now. Importantly, Mom shared with me one strange truth, that all the mourners and all the letters have one thing in common, and that is that they have nothing in common. He liked people. He gave respect, and as a result, that’s all he ever got in return. Ultimately, as a college freshman, I’ve grown to understand certain truths. Life is a journey. My dad, with his legacy of quiet respect, gave joy and meaning to the lives of others. Although he was only a part of my personal journey for a very short time, he left me a road map that surely points in the direction of a life in which I plan to give and earn respect.
Posted on: Tue, 07 Oct 2014 22:16:53 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015