Happy Birthday

Twenty three years ago, the world lost a great guy. My Dad was one of those who lived a quiet life, without much fanfare and very little recognition. But, he was a guy who was always there for my brother and I, and also every runaway and underdog he came across. I think the seeds of adoption were always in me, due in part because my dad was never one to leave someone on the street or in distress. He was raised in the depression and he was happy with very little. He didn't have much in the way of financial resources, but he always found a way to take care of people who needed help. He was pretty resourceful at times. He used to manage a large grocery store, so he knew when he found kids rummaging through the dumpsters in back that they needed a square meal and a bed to sleep in. He'd bring them home and find a way to get them to go home to their parents or help them find a place to stay. He always found a way to teach them how to survive and what was best for them without letting them in on the fact that they were learning a lesson. He was probably the most patient man I've ever met. When I was a teenager, it used to embarrass me that my friends and people I didn't know would seek him out for advice on what to do about a runaway teen or a kid who was heading in the wrong direction. When you're a kid, you don't think your parents know anything, so why would your own friends and peers seek them out for advice? Now I wish I were half the parent and role model that he was.

At his funeral, all of the stories came out; many I had never heard. He had co-signed for a 17 year old kid to purchase a motorcycle because he had been kicked out of his home and, while he had a job and was in school with good grades, he had no way to get around. My Dad told him that he'd co-sign for the motorcycle if he would continue in school and work to support himself. The agreement was that if he missed a single payment or failed a class, he would lose the bike. I still remember Ron. He told me later that my dad had saved his life by helping him with that bike.

My Dad was the guy who took 15 girl scouts to a lake to go fishing -- and he baited every hook. He was the one who purposefully handed me a dime (at that time, the price of a phone call) every time a date picked me up ("Just in case you have any problems, Honey"). He was the guy who gave second chances and taught my friends to bowl. He called every baby he came across "Squeaky" because he thought they all made the same squeaky sounds. He didn't change diapers, but he'd come out in the rain to change a tire. He never preached Christianity, but he was a living example of it. He wasn't perfect, but in my eyes he sure came close. He was a father, a husband, a brother, a son, a marine, and a friend. He was always there for me and he exemplified unconditional love. Tomorrow is his birthday. He would have been 83. He loved chocolate cake. Happy Birthday, Daddy. I miss you.

P.S. My Dad shares a birthday with another terrific person, Joyce Zoellers. Happy Birthday, Joyce!