My Dad, My Hero

Paul, the apostle, wrote to the church of Corinth, and in that letter he spoke these words: “Follow my example as I follow the example of Christ.” My father is the greatest man from my earliest recollection. His example is my brightest light. There were a few years of confusion on my part, during my teen years about my role, and my father’s role in our family. I was a bitter, unthinking teenager. Now I can see my dad as he always has been – a quiet, strong, wise, Godly man. He is totally the man I want to be like.I remember my dad on all fours, down on the floor, letting me climb all over him resembling a jungle gym, gently wrestling with me, pinning me down, then letting me escape. I played with him after he got home from work – this was the highlight of my day. There was the time dad and I were practicing soccer and I was working on my goalie skills. Dad was shooting, trying to score on me, and we were playing in our backyard. The back door of our house led from the backyard to the dining room. The house floor plan was open, with the living room to the right of the door, and straight through the dining room was the kitchen. The half of the house where the back door, dining room, living room and front door were had large plate glass windows to let in maximum light. The width of the inside of the house, from wall to wall was about 25 feet. Outside, there were bricks from the ground up to and around the window, and due to the hilly terrain, the bottom of the dining room window was 5 feet up from the lawn. Dad was really trying to spray the ball around the “goal area”, and he was making it more and more difficult for me. Then, because I must have been doing really well, he put some “stank on it”. He kicked the ball through dining room picture window, blasting shards from the 8 foot wide, 4 foot high glass pane throughout the dining room, kitchen, and all the way to the wall 25 feet across the living room. After we rushed in the back door to check on my mother and little sister’s safety, we found the soccer ball flat as a pancake, punctured from its horrific ordeal. He didn’t dare laugh then, because mom was very angry. We did laugh in the car after the mess was cleaned up, though, when we went to the hardware store for a new window!

He taught me to play chess, so I could use my brains more productively than sitting on them watching the Lone Ranger and Batman on television. We would sometimes play for hours, and I sincerely don’t remember winning very many matches, (an approach he has changed nowadays with his grandkids) but I won one or two out of every ten. He wouldn’t just sit and play. He would teach me strategy, teach me about being patient, and always remind me to think things through. Not very often I would actually take what he said to heart, but those seeds he planted eventually germinated, took root and grew. My favorite time with my dad was when he took me to Bronco games at the famous Mile High Stadium in Denver, Colorado. We saw many games and other sights associated with those games together. With dad I saw the effects of alcoholism on men in downtown Denver, where they would stumble around or sit on the sidewalk as we walked from the parking lot to the stadium, and as always my dad would give me things to think about, never making fun or putting these individuals down. There were all the people that like us came to cheer and boo rabidly at the Bronco game. I remember all the colorful phrases I would hear, and then be told by my dad that those never will come from my mouth, because my consequences would be severe – mom would never let me go to another game. I can still remember the games, the great plays, and the way I felt, having that much fun with my dad!I always saw my dad as a big man. He grew up on a farm, and could literally throw a 75 pound bale of hay over his head with either hand. His hands and forearms were bigger than anyone else I knew personally, but dad didn’t show off or wear shirts that did either. His character was consistent. Horace Greeley, the famous New York newspaper editor, said, "Fame is a vapor, popularity an accident, riches take wing, and only character endures." This aptly describes my father. It is easier to describe his character traits than his physical attributes. He was usually very quiet, always a great listener and he would give sound, Godly advice, or the shirt off his back if someone asked for either. He was just 5’ 10” tall, and only weighed 155 pounds.During my sophomore year of high school, the Shangri-la I shared with my father went dark. I was hip-deep in trigonometry, chemistry, and self-pity because of a knee surgery that kept me from playing all sports. One night when dad got home from work, I was in dire need of his private tutoring. My dad was an engineer who worked for the Federal government, taking care of dams, rivers, and lakes. He was a math whiz. As I remember back, he had a remarkable way of breaking down every problem into understandable parts, like the cars he would repair for neighbors and church friends.As I asked for help, and he told me that my little sister needed his help first. He might as well have said, “You are no longer important to me.” My heart heard his response and lied to my ears. His words were “wait”, but I was too selfish. Like when Willie Mays caught the shot off Vic Wertz’s bat in the 1954 World Series, robbing Wertz of his extra base hit and rbi - my glory was stolen, and my dad didn’t want to help me anymore.I thought, “Fine, I’ll show you.” From that day forward, I ceased all homework. That was ample punishment for my father, I thought. Coincidentally, my dad’s job was taking him out of town three out of every four weeks, traveling the country. My grades dropped significantly, but they didn’t disappear out of sight. I graduated with a 2.55 GPA, thanks to art and music classes. Boy, I taught my dad a lesson. My “A” average from 7th, 8th, and 9th grade was never seen again.

Since my needs were not met, I sought to punish my father. Ironically, the punishment was seriously against me.As the punishment continued, more of my heart and my life pulled away from my dad. I became a college student, far away from home, and I never took school serious. Then, like the one-armed juggler of chainsaws, I made an error in judgment. A fellow college girl, on a hunt for attention and acceptance, found me, a raging hormone with more than designs on anything in a skirt, and one night two stupid kids committed parenthood. As if my conservative, Bible-believing family needed more public embarrassment, I undoubtedly topped myself. I was unmarried, with no desire to change that status, and was expecting a baby with a girl I, if truth be told, didn’t like at all. To add insult to injury, I lied and denied the precept that the baby could even be mine. In the middle of all this, my dad not only stood by me, he also turned up the love and took care of me.The disappointment continued as the young lady carrying my baby agreed with me that we should not get married. The process of “doing right by the girl” was not in our minds, but it was foremost in our family. When my first child, Jessica, was almost two, her mom told me she wanted to marry an Air Force Academy graduate, and he wanted to adopt Jessica. After much prayer and devotion, I made a very hard choice. As hard as it was giving up paternal rights to my girl, it was best for her. She would grow up in a whole family. This decision also hurt my father. Nevertheless, neither he nor my mom ever even balked at loving me.As years went by, I met a young lady, fell in love, and married. We made a choice to leave Colorado and move to California, packing up our 5 month old son, and leaving both of our families. Four years later, she and I were separated on the road to divorce; she had a new boyfriend, and our five year old son was left confused and hurt. This all took place 1200 miles from my dad. He never got down on me or Mary, my ex-wife. He didn’t take sides, and he was always supportive.

He is still as amazing today. Months past and I met Pam. She was divorced with three kids. We grew to love each other greatly, and with our four children we decided to make a family together. We added two children of our own. My dad loves every kid as if they were his favorite. He showed me that labels are for the weak and unstable, so Pam and I have never used “half” or “step” to describe any of our family relationships.My dad told me he was proud of me when Pam and I moved into our house in Riverside, California. All the roads I have traveled, all the mistakes I have made, everything pales to the love he continues to show me. The funny thing is I have known for quite a while that he loved me, even through the course of all those hiccups of my life. We talk nowadays more than we did during my high school years. I have heard many people talk about going back and re-living part of your life over. My dad practiced the words of the Apostle Paul to the Ephesians. “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.” He tried his best to teach me as well. Unfortunately, it took years to soak in. Now I know that is what I am supposed to do. If I went back, it would be to re-live that one moment, that day when my dad said “later” and I heard “never”. My hero, my most tangible example of Christ-likeness, was never out of bounds, but I was. I would be closer still today, and I would know him even better if I could just go back.