Father’s Day

In my old age, I tend to question the purpose of many things we do. It seems like every week there is a “special” day, sometimes a whole month, to celebrate something. Greeting card companies exist because of these “special” events. Father’s Day is celebrated in most of the world; however, it is not on the same date and may be called a different name.

It is a day when we take time to recognize our fathers for what they mean to us. It is similar to a birthday except we celebrate as a nation on one Sunday in June for what fathers contribute to our family and to the nation as a whole. In some families, the father is absent from the home. Some fathers are not present on Father’s Day due to work, and some are not part of the family.

In my case, my father was always the head of the family until he died in 1978; however, my feelings toward him were not always the same. My father was born in 1908 and my mother in 1917. They were married in 1934 when he was twenty-six and she was seventeen. They both had lived through World War One, the Great Depression, and World War Two. I was born in 1943, during WWII. My brother, Maurice was born in 1936 and my older sister, Joyce was born in 1940, both before Pearl Harbor in 1941. My younger sister, JoAnn, was born in 1945, just shortly after WWII ended. The problems families faced during those years were like few living today would understand.

My early memories of Dad and Mom are influenced by my health problems that I am sure impacted family finances. During those years, it was hard to earn enough money to live on. It was also hard to even be able to buy many things including food due to rations. We also had extended family members who would come and stay with us at times in our small, rented home in the Heights. During my first-grade year, I had three surgeries and other serious medical issues. Maurice almost lost his thumb on his right hand due to a woodshop accident in junior high. I do have fun memories of playing with Maurice, Joyce, and kids in the neighborhood during those years, but not of big family parties or events.

I was never involved with organized sports, and I am not aware that any existed for kids in the Heights during those years. My leg surgeries made it difficult to walk for several months and I never learned how to skip. When my leg got stronger, I could run, but I lacked the confidence to believe I could compete with the faster boys. I never played on any school team in junior or senior high because I worked after school and Saturdays.

I have no memories of playing catch with my Dad or ever throwing a football with him. Dad never took me fishing or hunting. I have memories of Dad taking Maurice and me to Houston Buffs games when we lived in the Heights and the bus rides to get there. After we moved from the Heights to the only home my parents ever owned, we celebrated birthdays as a family but nothing big or involving other kids or events away from home. My only memory of school events in elementary school years was the May Fete Day. My Mom worked at the elementary school I attended from third through sixth grades, so she was there every school day, but my Dad would be at work.

I do have memories of vacation trips we took as a family after Maurice was out of high school and working so he did not go with us. Joyce also stopped going with us on trips when she got out of high school, and I stopped going when I graduated.

My Dad had emphysema from smoking since he was a teenager, long before the doctors discovered his lung cancer. His health affected his ability to do a lot of physical activities. He was 34 years older than me so as a child, I saw him as an old man that made the rules and did not have much fun. When I got old enough to learn to drive and date girls, I learned what his anger looked like when I did something of which he did not approve. I did learn that if I did things like change the oil in the car, wash or wax the car, or fix something around the house, he would let me use the car for a date or go somewhere. I always made sure there was the same amount or more gas in the car when I got home. I have no memory of him ever telling me that he loved me or of me telling him I loved him when I was growing up.

After I got married and started my own family, I told myself I would be a different kind of father. I would be more involved with my children and tell them I loved them. I believed I was doing those things, but Eva was carrying the load for much of the activities. She was there for the school and church events and overseeing the birthday parties. When I got more committed to my faith and church, I was involved much more in activities involving our children and Eva.

As an adult, I have memories of my Dad going fishing with me when I owned a boat and of him helping me do things like planting trees or making a garden at my house. I have memories of Mom and Dad going with my family on vacation trips and being involved as Grandparents. I have good memories of those evenings I spent with Dad while he was in the hospital with cancer. Conservations we had when we knew what was in the near future. When we finally could say “I love you”.

When I look back I know I had the father I needed to help me be the father I wanted to become. I had a father who did not have much to be happy about as a child or as a youth. I expect he had very little as a young adult or in the early years of married life. He never drank alcohol or got into any trouble. He was a hard worker and a faithful husband. He was careful about how he spent money, but we always had food to eat, and the bills were always paid on time. When he died, he left no debt with a house and car that was paid off.

As a teenager, I learned there are no free lunches – someone has to pay. I learned that hard work will not kill you, but it can make you appreciate the value of the things you work for. I learned you should not wait on others to show kindness, you have as much responsibility to act first to show kindness – you get what you give. I learned that love can be shown through acts of responsibility more so than hollow words with little action. I learned that you cannot really understand or appreciate until you know something about what the other person has experienced in the past.

It will soon be 46 years since my Dad passed away and I still miss him. Sometimes I can be doing something, perhaps working with wood or another task that I know Dad was not good with, but I remember how I was inspired to learn how to do it so Dad would notice. Not all of us are motivated in the same way or for the same reasons. I grew up facing challenges as an opportunity to prove I could handle the task in front of me.

For me, Father’s Day is a time when as a son I try to remember how my Dad influenced the entirety of my life through his character. As a father, I am grateful for God’s blessings in so many ways with the family I have been given. Their love has been greater than I deserve and has challenged me to be a better person.