High Five! for All the Dads

One of my favorite photos of my father. 

Dad and I emailed each other daily about current news or past historic events, family and friends, and ordinary things. My dad’s signature sign-off was your earthly father, which made me smile. If his computer wasn’t working, he’d call me because he didn’t want me to worry about him. After he died, I kept writing to him—my earthly father who now lived in heaven.

He showed me what humor sounded like. At my retirement party, my manager said she learned to appreciate my quirky sense of humor. I considered her comment a compliment. Thanks Dad.

Dad also showed me what happiness felt like— freedom to map out my life.

“You can be anything you want when you grow up,” he said.

I was probably 11 or 12 years old, but realized he believed in me. My career was my choice, with unlimited possibilities.

Dad showed a genuine interest in my work. He was curious about how I was getting along. When I shared my stories of challenging co-workers, bad bosses, or temperamental team members, he shared how he coped with similar situations. One piece of his advice I followed: write my feelings about a particular person, then tear up the piece of paper. Just let it go!

Dad was easy-going, not the person who held grudges, called in debts, or wanted to get even. He was kind and generous to everyone. I appreciated his patience. (He taught me how to drive!)

A soft-spoken man who rarely raised his voice. His calm demeanor instilled confidence in his patients. Dad left his thriving family medical practice to work at the State Hospital. The position allowed him regular hours and more time at home.

“He didn’t want to miss seeing you and your brother grow up,” Mom said.

In his long-standing career as a doctor at the State Hospital, I don’t remember him calling out sick. He was immune to illness; I supposed. He enjoyed working and tried and failed to retire three times. He officially retired at age 68, but worked another 14 years as a consultant.

Before leaving for work, he’d give me a high five. Thwack! He slapped his palm against mine. “I’m off to save lives and stamp out disease!” He left before 8 a.m., came home on his lunch break, and returned home after 5 p.m.

    Lunch was a simple fare. He liked plain food—    soup, cottage cheese, or a sandwich. However, he loved sweets – puddings, pies, or ice cream. His grandkids knew they could count on him stashing chocolate puddings in the cupboard (for them!).

He was modest in his dress, what he drove, and our home. His car was a big old Buick with an enormous trunk to transport his garden tools and produce. He grew corn, okra, zucchini, beans, cucumbers, cantaloupe, and watermelon. He also raised all kinds of tomatoes, from Romas to hybrids that were black not red.  

Most weekends, he wore his old, faded jeans and a flannel shirt. Certainly, he looked like a farmer than the image we have of a physician.

My father was orphaned at age eight. As a boy, his fatherly role models were likely his older brothers and his scout leaders. Those scout badges (especially swimming) and his Eagle Scout were hard earned.

He was smart. And our family admired his amazing memory. He studied history and that included family history too, recalling birthdates, anniversaries, and middle names with natural ease, as if he was stating what the weather was.

His own life was chronicled in the certificates, plaques, and letters he saved, including his high school diploma, US Navy commendation, medical licenses, and volunteer church work. He graduated at the top of his naval academy class in Great Lakes, then served his country from 1951 to 54 during the Korean Conflict. 

My father’s compassion, strong work ethic, generous spirit, and sense of humor made him special and I treasured my time with him. 

For Father’s Day, here’s a high five to you Dad and all the fathers on earth and in heaven.