“Every day I remind myself of all that I have been given.”
-- Luciano PavarottiYesterday was the day after Christmas. Great day for sales, and to spend more time with family.
For me, it is and always will be the anniversary of the last time I ever saw my father. I was living in Dallas at the time, and my parents lived in Austin where I was born. I had driven home for Christmas. I was working at a big blue-chip law firm in Big D, and I had to leave the day after Christmas and drive back to the big city to get back to work. No rest for the wicked (or weary, depending on who you talk to).
I stood with my Dad next to the driveway of my childhood home (which is no more). We had discussed when I would come home again, and I told him I thought I would come back in mid-February for his birthday. I hugged my Mom and said bye, and then I hugged my Dad and said “I’ll see you next time.” Who knew next time would be on the other side of life?
I drove away and never saw him face to face again. Three weeks later he suffered a major heart attack and died instantly. I had spoken to him on the phone only two hours before. His back was hurting and he was going to take a hot shower. When he got out of the shower, he had the heart attack and it was over.
I don’t morbidly remember this day each year. I remember it with joy and gratitude. Joy at the great, close and wonderful relationship I had with my Dad, and I remember it with gratitude for having such a father.
All men should strive to be the kind of father my father was. Here was a mechanic and machinest working physically hard for a living every day. He came home from a hard day's work, read the newspaper, had dinner at the kitchen table with his wife and kids, and asked us about what we did that day. He had three daughters, and all of them loved and idolized him.
He wasn’t all syrupy and mushy, though. He was a tough guy - a man’s man; but, he was loving and giving to his kids. He would praise us often for doing well in school, or in some other effort. He didn’t spank or yell, but if you dis-obeyed the rules you would be grounded - and you DID NOT ask for early reprieve on a grounding. There were no bicycling privileges when you were grounded. You needed to spend your time only in your yard, and in contemplation of how you would improve yourself and amend your ways. Consequently, we followed Dad’s rules. I was the worst of the three of us, getting a two-week grounding (with the bicycle put up on high hooks in the garage). I had ridden said bike outside of the approved area for riding my bike without an adult (I rode it all the way down to the creek and was riding it through a culvert when Dad came looking for me - I had been gone a long time). This rule was (of course) one for my own safety. I never did it again.
Think about it - this man disciplined his children without threats, spanking or yelling. He was firm and consistent, and he showed love and praise often. I never argued with him, or questioned him - not out of fear, but out of admiration and respect.
After regular work hours, my Dad restored old American vehicles for himself and for others, and he did repair work on their older cars, too. From the time I was a teen, I worked in the garage with Daddy on these cars. I continued doing this after I was grown and moved away to Dallas. I would come home on a weekend, and Daddy and I would be in the garage on a Saturday up to our respective elbows in grease. I had my own creeper for rolling under the jacked up cars. I would roll in from one side and Daddy from the other and we would get to work. In work under the hood, both our heads would be hovering over the engine while we collaborated on the repairs.
Once the work was done, it was time for a cold brew. I would go inside and get two bottles and bring them out to the garage. The two of us would lean back against the workbench with our refreshment and feel the relief which can only come from cold beer after a hard day’s work. Then the family would all get dressed and we’d go out for Mexican food. Daddy and I would frequently go play pool afterward. We were notorious for playing until three in the morning. My pool playing is rusty now, but I’m resolved to practice and get my skills back. I used to run the table, so watch out! :)
You can see why I would have a feeling of gratitude for a fabulous Dad such as this! I’m also grateful I got to speak with him one last time before he died. I’m grateful my Dad never suffered or knew what hit him. He was gone before he even had time to think about it.
I am most overwhelmed and grateful for having a Dad who was also a man of remarkable character and ethics. Streams of people consistently remarked on this at his funeral - and it was standing room only that day. A man such as this compels people to come and pay respect.
There isn’t enough gratitude for being the daughter of such a man.
So I remember December the 26th with joy and gratitude. I am honored to be Louie’s Kid.
Polla Filia,
J.F.
