He lived values of integrity, loyalty and humility
He wasn’t a My way or the highway kind of father.
Kindness and fostering an open dialogue were his preferred methods of parenting.
He believed there were no stupid questions, especially ones borne out of an earnest curiosity to know. “All part of learning and growing up,” he said.
He quietly lived his values of integrity, loyalty, and humility as if they were sacraments– earned layers of his soul.
He led by example–getting up each workday long before the sun rose and returning home before it set. He’d wolf down the evening meal, drink a large cup of coffee then head to his second job as a part-time real estate agent.
A paymaster with a purpose
As a child, I asked him if he liked his primary job as paymaster at the Hussmann refrigeration plant. This being before the advent of direct deposit, he walked to each department to meet face-to-face with the workers whose checks he prepared.
“Who wouldn’t like handing out checks every Friday,” he mused. “Everyone perks up when they see me coming.”
His memory was as impressive as his work ethic
He did this for all three shifts. When I was old enough, I worked at Hussmann over the summer. He seemed to have a genuine rapport with the workers, the conversations sounding more genuine and spontaneous than company small talk. Some workers marveled at his ability to remember not only their name but something about them.
He had the perfect personality for the job. Workers affectionately called him “Fireball,” a nickname inspired by his seemingly tireless energy and flushed face traversing the 1.6 million square foot plant without the aid of a golf cart. Acquired by Panasonic in 2015, it remains one of the largest food store equipment manufacturing and food distribution units in North America.
Commendable? It’s what dads do
After he retired, it took two people to do the job he did by himself. He never bragged about how hard he worked or the sacrifices he made for his family. He believed he was only doing what dads are supposed to do.
A hardscrabble childhood
The only subject he didn’t care to talk about was his alcoholic father’s failure to be a responsible parent. Something about not giving oxygen to the memory of a childhood whisked away in the dead of night.
Eventually I learned that Dad had to quit school to help provide for the family. Everyone did. Sobering stuff.
And yet he and his siblings found ways to thrive.
He understood a writer’s internal struggles
Once a magazine publisher, Dad understood the internal struggles a writer must deal with. The self-doubt; wondering if there’s enough talent, going out on a limb with no safety net. There will be times when you’ll fail before you find success, he intoned with a thoughtful smile. However, the knowledge you’ll gain pursuing excellence will be invaluable. If you’re up to it, give it everything you have.
He said I should never fear failure and to trust my imagination. Develop a work routine and stick to it, he’d say. Work with a purpose and don’t cut corners. Stay diligent and the rewards, not all of which can be measured in dollars and cents, will follow.
All seeds of wisdom that would eventually bear fruit.
Imagination and perseverance breed inventive success
“If you love it (writing), keep doing it until you can’t,” was his motto. “Imagination and perseverance, that’s where inventions come from. Success doesn’t come easily, but when you create something that’s truly yours, it feels magical. It’s art.”
It was his unwavering encouragement; the validation of what others may have considered beyond my reach that gave me the confidence I needed to pursue a career as a writer. He didn’t live long enough to see me work as a journalist, but I’d like to believe he had something to do with my first award — a Father’s Day column.
Seeing extraordinary things in ordinary people
To me, his best trait was envisioning extraordinary things in ordinary people. As irony would have it, he was too busy being the dad he never had to see it in himself.
Happy Father’s Day!