Happy Father's Day
A daughter's homage to an amazing role model
Father’s Day is always a hard time for me. My father passed away when I had just turned 19. I was lucky enough to have a father who instilled in me exceptional values that I have tried to follow and pass on to my children and grandchildren.
It has been half a century since my father died. He had very aggressive cancer and he went within three months of being diagnosed. I never thought he would die. I never imagined my world without him. I still miss him terribly, and talk to him all the time. I am especially diligent at addressing him when I see the clock turns 12:12 (His birthday was Dec. 12, 1912). I consider it an omen he is watching me and I ask him questions - wanting to know what he thought about what’s going on in my life, with my siblings and his great-grandchildren. I ask him what he would do in certain situations, and I always ask myself how he would handle things.
Dad had an incredible sense of humor, inherited from his immigrant mother, born in County Cork, Ireland. His father, an engineer on trains from Chicago to Florida, ensured that, despite being the youngest of seven, he became the first to finish college.
My dad played professional softball, and he met my mother while playing for Whirlpool. Later he played for the World Champion Bendix Brakes - in the late 1930s and early ’40s. Some say he played semi-pro baseball for the White Sox, though I haven’t been able to confirm that.
In 1940, he bought a “white elephant”, a rundown granite mansion for $8,500 - a fortune at the time, converting it into apartments for returning WWII soldiers. We always told our friends we grew up in a castle because it looked just like one. It had 11 fireplaces, a staircase I used to love to slide down, and a dumb waiter my brother and I used to play inside. I still think of this as my home, and wish I had the money to buy it now and fix it up again.
After years of trying, my parents adopted me, then my brother, then my sister. We had a good life, but one filled with responsibility - chores before privileges, always something to repair or maintain.
I used to joke that we were adopted as servants. Our friends never had as much to do, and I pitied myself. But in hindsight, those lessons in responsibility and hard work shaped who we became. Nothing was done halfway - excellence was expected. Those values carried through my sisters’ teaching career, and into the lives of our my brother’s and my children and grandchildren.
Dad taught us to roller skate, ride bikes, shoot pigeons with a pellet gun, and play baseball. We watched the Yankees together, laughed at Jackie Gleason and Fred Flintstone, and celebrated St. Patrick’s Day - his favorite holiday.
He comforted me when I dropped a cake I’d baked for him, or when Mom scolded me for missing the corners while vacuuming. He talked to me about politics and literature as if I were an adult, and to this day, he remains the smartest person I’ve ever met. I miss our talks.
I wasn’t always easy on him. I was a rebellious, sneaky teen - and I am thankful he didn’t know all the trouble I got into. I’m sure he’s seeing it all now. I was harder on my mom.
In 7th grade, I got an "F" in biology, which was unacceptable in our household. Dad made me do a project every week until I raised that grade to a "B." Despite entering college in the top 2% that year (according to the dean) I flunked out because I was too into Viet Nam moratoriums, writing letters to soldiers, skipping classes and enjoying being away from a strict home for the first time. He didn’t say much when I came home, although I know he was immensely disappointed. He just said, "If you don’t want to work with your brain, you’ll work with your hands," and gave me a month to find a job.
He gave me an apartment in the "castle" and charged me $100 in rent. That seemed like a lot when I was only making $325 a month gross at the finance company. That Christmas I asked to skip the rent that month to buy presents. He refused. "Christmas comes the same time every year - you have to learn to plan ahead. If you lived elsewhere, you couldn’t skip a payment." That lesson stuck. I always budget for Christmas year-round. In his day, a handshake was binding, and your word was everything.
Dad was the lone Republican in a Democratic family, but when John F. Kennedy ran, the first Catholic candidate, he backed him completely. The first time I saw my father cry was when JFK was assassinated. We all sat in silence together for the week of the funeral, watching history unfold on TV. He hated LBJ, but I believe he would have changed his political stance later, as I did, seeing the GOP shift into something unrecognizable. I know he would hate what’s happening now.
His greatest regret was not being able to serve in WWII due to severe psoriasis. At the time it was considered to be contagious. He channeled his drive elsewhere, excelling in the Dale Carnegie course, How to Win Friends and Influence People. It changed his life. He was an exceptional salesman. My mother used to joke he could sell ice to Eskimos, and he spent much of his life self-employed as an insurance agent and stockbroker. Had he had the technology we do today, he might have achieved his dream of becoming a millionaire like his oldest brother, but what mattered most was providing for his family. He lived life to the fullest.
One defining moment came when he invested in a gold mine in Mexico. He visited the mine in person to verify its authenticity and convinced friends to invest. To his horror, he came to find the mine had been seeded. it was a scam. He never thought he could be conned, but he was. He lost $50,000, and most of his friends turned on him. Instead of walking away, he spent the rest of his life repaying those who had trusted him. He didn’t have to, but integrity meant everything to him. That lesson stayed with me.
Dad died in January 1971. His church, for his funeral, which was held during a blizzard, was still overflowing with people. He left behind a legacy not measured in wealth but in values—kindness, resilience, and honesty.
I’ve made mistakes, but I’ve owned them. Wealth never mattered as much as being a good person. I hope I’ve passed his lessons on to my children.
Dad, I miss you. Happy Father’s Day.
