What really makes a father?
On this day when we celebrate Father’s day, some may wonder what makes a good dad. At different times of our lives the answer may be varied as our own life experiences shape us. At this late stage of my life when I have raised my own kids, I have a deep feeling of love and admiration for my dad.
My dad was a large man with a big personality and presentation. He was quiet but when he spoke everyone listened. When I was young there were three of us. Another one came along twenty five years later. This was during a time where if you weren’t a teacher or a business man, jobs were menial. My dad worked these jobs but found his way to ones with the best pay and benefits, so we grew up with a roof over our heads and good food to nourish us. There was even a little extra for the Saturday movies.
We started out in a rented small apartment and we moved several times. Each time it was to a better place until we got our own home. As we moved up in our dwellings, my dad was moving up in his careers.
Mr B as my dad was called around town, managed a bowling alley. He was hired as the first Black deputy sheriff in our hometown. Then came his job as sports director at the Job Corp whose sports field now has his name. No one was more suited for this job than my dad.
My dad was a sports man. Tennis, football, baseball, and basketball. He played them all but most of all he shared his knowledge with the boys in the community. In a way he fathered them as well he was a father figure for many of them that didn’t have a man in their lives. He has been gone since 1997, but in the last few months I met a classmate that told me a story about how my dad help him when he was young.
Did I know that this man who I call daddy was such a community figure or that he helped others? No! I only knew that he was there to protect and care for us. As an adult I now know what he did for us and others. One thing that sticks out in my mind was of my father saving me in the middle of the night at great risk to himself.
Folks this was in the early sixties. I was coming home on holiday from nursing school. I usually flew home but this time I talked my parents in to letting me take the bus. To cut this short I got left in a small segregated town during a rest stop. My father got out of bed and drove several hours to pick me up. Why was this big deal? Well back then a Black man in a Cadillac, in the middle of the night, was a magnet for trouble from the guys dressed in sheets.
Do you want to know what this day is to celebrate? Its men who give their all in the thankless job of raising kids who will not understand their sacrifice until they have grown up and raised their own kids.
So dad, Mr B, I salute you and love you because you were a father who gave us his all.
June 21st, 2010 at 11:49 am
Thanks for a great post and interesting comments. Thanks for sharing this story.