Remembering Dad

Thoughts on this remarkable man

I was looking for the best photo I could find that would describe my Dad. Of course, my favorite is the one with Dad and me taken by Mom. Dad and I are dressed all ready for church in front of my 1970 Camaro. We always attended late Mass together while Mom stayed home and cooked dinner. There were rumors around the church community that he was a widower with his young daughter since Mom was never seen with us.

However, since this tribute is about him, I wanted to find a picture of him alone. I saw lots of him with Mom and other family members but very few alone. Then, after looking through my old photographs and his old albums, I found this one.

This was taken on my sister’s (Martha) friend’s boat in Florida when Mom was still alive. It was probably in the late 60s. Mom, who liked to write on the back of photos, wrote, “What’s that in your hand, fisherman? Bait!”

I love looking at this picture and seeing how relaxed he was. He wasn't always this way. He'd come home dog-tired from his journey through Southern Indiana, selling various parts for televisions and radios. He also sold gadgets, including reel-to-reel tape players and later 8-track and cassette decks. As kids, we got to “test” some of these gadgets. I know that my love of gadgets comes from him.

But that's not to say he wasn't relaxed grilling chicken on our tiny square of land on Saturdays in our hot, humid summers or on the three vacations we took as a young family. In his later retired years, I often saw this side of him almost every visit.

Dad was a family man, always there for his kids. He also had a sense of humor and liked to play.

That said, he has always been an essential part of my life. From my first step to his last day, he was always there for me. I was Daddy's little girl. He was a strong disciplinarian, stripping off his worn leather belt, warning us he meant business if we didn't straighten up. Despite the occasional spankings, which were acceptable disciplinary actions back then, he evolved into my best friend as I aged. If I had a question about anything, Dad was the person I would reach out to instead of my husband or friends. If I needed some acceptance, all I had to do was jump in my car and head to the old homestead. He'd be there ready, with a smile on his face, to tell me stories or listen to my problems. I knew as long as he was there, I had someone who was on my side, who had my back, and who could help me with my many adult decisions. He was a jack-of-all-trades, and he knew the answers to everything. I always felt sorry for the men in my life because they could never hold a candle to my Dad.

Through my early adult years and even in my 30s, he supported me in my many house moves ("You've moved more in 2 years than I did in my lifetime."), comforted me after my divorce and encouraged me regarding my employment changes. With his monetary guidance, I purchased my first house independently after my divorce at 30 and a rental home at 32.

During his illness, he was still my rock. And I was still his little girl. I thought losing my mother at 21 was difficult, but I found out that losing Dad was much harder. I was still Daddy’s girl, leaning on him and his wisdom. Even in his final hours, he was concerned about me, giving me his last advice. "Don't let any man take those houses away from you," he blurted out of the blue.

So much of who I am is because of this man. Much of what I've done, especially taking risks, had to do with him, although he wasn't alive to see those.

Dad loved his family and his baby girl. I still miss him even though it's been 37 years since he left this place. That picture is how I imagine him now—enjoying the sun with the breeze in his hair, sipping on a cool one with Mom at his side, and finally knowing the answers to all those unanswered questions.

Sounds like heaven to me. Happy Father’s Day, Dad.