Memories of My Father

Yesterday was Father’s Day, and social media was flooded with tributes to fathers of all kinds, both living and deceased. But after nearly 16 years, specific memories of my own father seem distant at best. This I remember clearly: My Dad was a wonderful man who loved God and his family deeply. He was a man of few words but freely offered both his time and money to invest in the lives of others, especially those he loved. He was a very good father and grandfather and would have loved being a great-grandpa.

Good fathers are formed in many different ways, and my Dad’s early life in New Mexico wasn’t the most fertile soil for growing a great father. He never knew his own father, as Dad’s parents were separated when he was just six weeks old. My grandmother loved her boys but couldn’t take care of them alone, so she moved in with her parents for the next five years. My Dad’s grandpa was a loving and hard-working man who helped to daily influence Dad’s early years until my grandma re-married. Dad’s new stepfather was a good and hard-working man who provided security and love but without any spiritual context.

Dad’s childhood and adolescent years were full of hard work and change as the family moved from farm to farm, working for others and living in less-than-ideal situations. Dad’s 5^th grade year was spent living with his stepdad’s aunt and uncle. Dad’s parents didn’t own their own home until he was sixteen years old. Before the age of ten, Dad milked cows and learned to drive tractors and fix them when they broke down in a field far away from the house. In his junior high years, Dad had to ride his horse to school after milking the cows and then send the horse home, with Dad and the saddle riding the bus home in the afternoon. I know where my Dad learned his strong work ethic and his desire to provide stability for his own family as an adult.  

Dad’s later teen years were greatly influenced by the family’s move to southern California. Though much more rural in those days than now, Dad was introduced to new experiences while still living very meagerly. He started earning his own money early so he could buy himself the things he needed or wanted. His first car was a 1936 Ford that he purchased at age fourteen. His high school years were spent drag racing and rebuilding his car’s engine after each race, as well as playing varsity basketball all four years of high school. His life was completely different than the life he would later provide for me and my brother, and yet all of Dad’s experiences helped to make him into the type of father he would later become.

And then, at the age of eighteen, a friend introduced Dad to Jesus; and everything that had formed him before that point found a framework to fit into that made sense. Dad’s transformation was immediate and complete – and he never looked back. And while Dad’s strong work ethic and desire to provide stability for his own family probably took root in his upbringing, I suspect that his gentle, kind, and humble spirit and his generosity and servant’s heart came from his relationship with God. Like I said, good fathers are formed in many different ways. And my Dad was one of the best. 

2008 - Dad's last Father's Day