Happy Father's Day-Thanks Dad

It was the middle of winter in Chicago and the evening news reported that a foot or more of snow would be falling over night. So, what did my father do? He set the alarm clock an extra hour early- 4:30 am instead of 5:30 am - so he could get up to shovel snow away from the garage door to get the car out, so he could make it to the train station on time so he wouldn't be late for work. He and my mother were married on Labor Day, a day off, in 1957 because he didn't want to miss work. Their honeymoon was a trip from the small Iowa town they were married in, to Chicago, where he was expected to report to work the next day. This man, my dad, loved work. But with this same nearly insane drive, he loved people; especially his family.

He's been gone nearly nine years now, after a valiant battle with cancer, but our memories keep him alive and well in our hearts. I remember the time he tried to make a skating rink in our back yard during a late winter in Iowa. He carefully built a wooden frame and then put down a thick black plastic secured to the frame. At evening's end he put the garden hose into the structure, and left the water running, by accident I think, through the night. The next morning we went out side to see our skating masterpiece only to see the neighbors next door out as well; somehow the water had broken through the plastic and run down the hill leaving 6 inches of water in the neighbors newly remodeled basement. Fortunately Mr. Martin was an insurance agent and was fully covered.

I remember a lot of golf with my brothers and my dad. He didn't have a guys group he played with, he preferred playing with his boys. I remember working together for many years, in a family business. I remember holidays, and weekly Saturday night meals of steak and potato, scotch, and conversation. Mostly he listened to his sons ramble on about politics, sports and what he called our "impressions of the day." I can see him now just sitting back in a big easy chair on those nights taking in the conversation and laughter. And always asking at some point in the evening about the gas grill: "Did you turn the grill off?"

I remember him never missing a Sunday or Holy Day Mass. I remember him taking us to church to say a Rosary and to light some candles. As a kid I dreaded going for the Rosary, but I always felt better-more peaceful after wards. I remember the time when I was 5 or 6, just he and I went to an early 6:00 o'clock Sunday Mass. There was hardly anyone in the church, and no altar servers. He knew the priest, (he always knew the priest in every parish we lived in), and he went up to serve. I thought at the time how neat that was, that my dad was up there helping out the priest. Later when I got the chance to be an altar boy, I jumped at the chance...to be like my dad.

At his funeral, the church was overflowing. Some people even had to gather in the family life center next to the church. This was for a guy who never held any public office or was part of any kind of mass organization. He just touched people deeply and intimately, one soul, one kind gesture at a time. One gentleman came up to me at the funeral and told me that my dad had for several years sent him a card every year, on the anniversary of the founding of the Marine Corp. Both he and my dad were Marines, not having served together, but just sharing that mutual bond. I had never heard of that from my dad. Who knew of all the other little selfless acts he did for others, just like that annual anniversary card? But that was how he lived his life: reaching out, in joy, in love, in small ways to let people know how special they were. That was his gift to others, his vocation. That was his gift to us too, his family. Through his smiling Irish Eyes, he made us and those who knew him, feel like Kings and Queens.

Thanks dad for those memories, and thanks for the path you mapped out for us. I hope to follow you, like that little altar boy in the making those many years ago. And I hope those of you who read this will consider reaching out and making someone feel special, a King or a Queen today, in memory of my dad...my hero.