My dad died 43 years ago at the age of 60, much too soon. But I treasure the memories we made for 23 years, and his hard work and sacrifice.
My dad grew up in severe poverty during the Depression. His own father was killed in a road construction accident when he was 14, and I suspect that he never finished high school, as he and his older brother had to work to support their mom and three sisters. I do know from my aunt that their electricity was frequently switched off because they couldn’t pay the bill.
In 1942, Dad married Mom, and they started a life together. Dad drove a bakery truck and hauled 80-lb bags of sugar and flour on his back. Eventually he started his own trucking business. Mom & Dad bought the shell of a house and finished it themselves, where they raised three children (two of whom died in a terrible flood), and then had me.
Dad became a successful entrepreneur, and he gave us a wonderful life. He loved his family and he loved our mom.
Every day that I can remember, my dad told me that he loved me. When I reached my teen years, I sometimes reacted to his words with embarrassment, but now I cherish those memories.
It’s not his successful rise out of poverty, as profound as that was, or the great life he gave us, but Dad’s consistent demonstration of character and integrity that I now admire most. My dad wasn’t perfect, but he was God-honoring and kind, funny and charming, the sort of person who just lights up a room and makes everyone feel better for being there.
This Father’s Day, I hope you can celebrate and honor the dad or father figure who helped raise you. Focus on all the good they did and tell them you love them.