I am blessed to be my father’s son

When you are young, conversations truly go in one ear and out the other.  Situations that could be called teachable moments or memorable occurrences quickly become forgotten.  There is not really being disrespectful.  It may be an age thing or that as a child or young person you are busy sorting out your juvenile life.

My father was not a sports guy in the least.  It seemed that he either worked from morning until night for money or worked in and outside the house to make it look sharper.  He was always busy.  Luckily, I taught him to fish for trout and showed him that barbecuing was not hard.  He got good at both. 

There are some discussions that I do vividly remember my father sharing with me.  Mostly, though, I heard what he said by being cognizant to the way he lived his life.  His actions spoke volumes.  He was an example to me.

As a kid, I wore either white tennis shoes (that my mom would wash them as often as possible) or brown leather shoes to school.  My dad would polish the leather one in the garage and put them in my room.  He wanted his younger son to look nice at school.

When I was a senior in high school, dad asked if he should put in a swimming pool for me.  I told him I thought it was too late for I would be going to Arizona State University in less than a year.  I did appreciate the offer greatly. 

Once he told me that I was more of a minister than my brother – who was and still is a minister.  Perhaps I have lived my convictions.  I am not sure what initiated the comment but it did reinforce that we must walk the walk as well as talk the talk. 

He shared with me that he often would sell more products by raising the price – just a bit – and tell the wholesale buyers at grocery stores what a good deal they were getting.  Some people expect to pay more for quality.  Quality and service is what he sold in his gourmet wholesale food business – something he started from scratch. 

My father would regularly compliment my mother on the food she cooked.  He also called her honey, babe, dear, darling and Frances.  I think she could have opened a can of Alpo and ladled in atop noodles and he would still have thanked her for all of the hard work.  A portion of my mother’s self-actualization was what she could accomplish with a limited budget, leftovers from the refrigerator and a White gas, three burner stove with a broiler rack.  She always had a hot meal for him – no matter the time he got home.

My father and mother lived in Arizona most all of their adult lives.  Dad could grow anything and keep it alive for years.  He had bell pepper plants that were over three years old.  He tended a lemon tree covered with flowers, immature green lemons and three sizes of ripening lemons (some as big as small grapefruit).   Each year the lawn got smaller as the forty or so fruit, net and palm trees got bigger.   The last thing he would do is hose off the driveway and sweep the porches.  How he lived was important to him.

When my father was less than a day from death, he blindly wrote me a note and told me to tell his wife (my mother had passed) and the rest of us to go home and get some rest.  He was intubated and fearful and knew his plight.  His last thoughts were of us.  That was memorable, to say the least, and just like him.

This Father’s Day, please tell your fathers that you love them.  Buy them a card or some thoughtful gifts.  If it is too late, think about them and remember positive impressions you carry in your heart.  Just in case you were not told, they loved you too.

[Try buying you cards and gifts locally.  That way our community merchants will know you care about them, as well.]