Ed. Note:  Remember those grade school days when you would brag about your dad?  Some stories were real, others were fairly far fetched.  Can you be BOTH Yogi Berra AND Superman?  Over time, those larger-than-life dads, er, heroes, faded and became smaller, more real, flawed. It has been years since anyone asked me about my own father, so that I thought others might feel the same way.  So I asked some of my on line friends about their dads, and to share a story or two about them.  Thanks to Kris Dunn, Dave Opton, Wally Bock, Ben Eubanks, Nick Corcodilos, Chris Walker, Jacqui Barrett-Poindexter, Phyllis Mufson, Michael Wade,  Dawn Bugni, Meghan Biro and JT O’Donnell for taking time to write us about their dads.  Awesome.

From Kris Dunn.  ”My dad gave me a lot to move forward with in life.  I addition to all the things you expect (food, shelter, TV), my Dad served as a role model for two things in my life – the ability to grind/work hard and the ability to work on skills that would give you a competitive advantage in life.  Although he passed away in 2005, I still think about the memories related to those themes at least a couple of times a week.  If music is added to the scene, I might even get a bit misty…

The first memory is a recurring sound – the sounds/vibrations of my dad’s work boots going through the house each morning at 6am as I laid in bed.  Regardless of what happened the night before, my dad always answered the bell the next day.  With that role modeling, I’ve always had the ability to grind away at a task or goal once I put my mind to it.

The second memory is skill and talent-related.  I have these memories of my dad guarding me on the basketball court when I was roughly about 10 years old.  I was right-handed, and in an effort to develop skills that would make a difference, my dad would savagely block my shot when I drove to the basket using my right hand.  However, he’d let me shoot when I went left, and told me why he was doing it.  If you know hoops, you know the ability to use either hand at a high level is required to play at an advanced level and have success.  A couple of years later, I started a self-directed path in basketball that led to a college career, and subsequently, a lot of things in life I wouldn’t have had if not for that lesson.  It all started with my dad teaching me a simple lesson on developing skills that matter (which are the ones with market value that other people don’t have).

Of course, now that I’m older, I also see that the skill and work ethic lessons are hopelessly linked.  As a result, I try in the best way I can to share the same types of lessons with my sons.  When it’s time to do some work with them that will give them a competitive advantage, I’ve taken to asking the following question:

“What do people named Dunn do?”

To which they reply (grudgingly at times, but at times with pride):

“We work.”

My dad’s gone now and that sucks.  However, any time I get down and wish he was here, I think about role modeling he did why he was here and it quickly becomes more of a celebration in my mind, although a sad one since he’s not around to see the same lessons coming through with my sons.

From Dave Opton

My father was, by occupation, a research scientist.  More specifically a virologist who worked at Yale’s department of epidemiology and public health for 40 plus years and from which he “retired” several times, but continued to show up for many years thereafter.  I only share that background so that when I say that he had a reputation of being “precise” and keeping careful records that readers will understand that this is the understatement of the century.  Every picture was dated and the subjects named; every letter had a notation as to when received and when answered.  Getting the picture?

Given the isolated nature of being involved in basic scientific research coupled with the foregoing one might easily come to the conclusion that as a personality he was a man of few words and who dealt with issues in a very “clinical” fashion where “feelings” were not taken into account.  In some respects this was true, at least when it came to verbal vs. written.  He was much more comfortable writing and all members of our family have letter upon letter from him typed on a Smith Corona typewriter that he refused to replace.  It was so worn out that many of the letters I still have look more like ransom notes than letters.  [For the younger readers of WWDS, a typewriter was like word processing or texting only noisier.]

As to feelings for others, however, one would have thought he would have given Don Quixote a run for his money.  The value system that I saw him practice over the years did more to drive home the importance of helping others than anything I have ever read.  As the old saying goes, “actions do speak louder than words.”

Of the many examples I could give, two still stand out in my mind:

One summer he got to talking to a fellow who was our Good Humor man.  This man was working to try to save enough to chase his dream of becoming a doctor.  With my father’s help, he achieved his dream.  Nothing special in the grand scheme of things I suppose, lots of people help out strangers, but the fact that he did this at a time when he still had three sons who still had college ahead of them did not exactly have my mother cheering his decision to help the Good Humor man go to medical school.

The second example was his sponsoring a Vietnamese family into the U.S.  The family of five included the parents both of whom were neurosurgeons and who, of course, were not allowed to practice in the U.S. when they arrived and who had to take jobs as janitors and LPNs in order sustain themselves as they continued to try and gain the certifications to practice here.  He not only helped them throughout their quest, but it pleased him no end that 30 years later their three children are all practicing medicine.

I couldn’t say that these and scores of other smaller scale examples that I grew up with was what lead me to be doing what I am today or not.  Maybe it is just coincidence but I have to say that being able to make my living in a business where helping others is central to what we do continues to be the most exciting and satisfying experience of my life.

From Wally Bock

My father was a Lutheran pastor. To become a pastor you had to go to seminary after you received your undergraduate degree. Dad chose the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia.

His teachers were some of the giants of the church. He got his Bachelor of Divinity (BD) degree from the seminary in 1941. In those days, all the professors signed the degree certificate.

Decades later, the church apparently decided that a BD wasn’t prestigious enough for what was, in reality, a graduate degree. They began conferring the Master of Divinity (MDiv) degree on seminary graduates.

They offered pastors like my father the option of having their old BD degree upgraded. All dad would have to do is mail in his certificate and he would receive a shiny new MDiv certificate by return mail.

My father thought that was a really bad trade. He didn’t need a new name on his degree. And he treasured all the signatures of teachers he respected and loved that were on his original certificate.

For my father, relationships always mattered. They mattered more than the fad of them moment. They mattered more than prestige.

He stood firm and kept his sense of humor. Every time he got one of the letters asking him if he wanted to “upgrade” he would reply, “No thank you.” Then he would sign the letter “Walter E. Bock, BD.”

I wrote three posts about my dad for Father’s Day, 2009. This and other stories are there.

http://blog.threestarleadership.com/2009/06/20/fathers-day-trilogy–things-my-father-taught-me.aspx

Ben Eubanks Ben Eubanks is an HR professional from Huntsville, AL. He pretty much lives online, and you can connect with him on Twitter or LinkedIn. He also writes a blog for the entry level pros, seasoned veterans, and zombies in the human resources space.

My dad is–to put it bluntly–amazing. The things he’s done in his lifetime are monumental in my eyes, and I’d like to mention a few of them. While we don’t have time to touch on everything, it’s a lot of fun for me to look back and the amazing experiences we’ve had together.

His ability to teach someone was one of his most distinguishing characteristics. He taught dozens of kids how to swim, hit a baseball, shoot a free throw, do a wrestling takedown, and bait a fishing hook. In the past few years (after he passed the forty year mark, mind you) he has started running, cycling, and swimming regularly and now completes at least one triathlon a month. My brothers and I still laugh about how he came into our high school wrestling practice on a daily basis just to teach our 250+ pound heavyweights a lesson.

He’s helped dozens of people with car trouble, played with random children in restaurants, and laughed loud enough to turn every head at the movie theater. That is one thing I’m especially grateful for. Both of my parents taught me about the importance of humor, but my dad taught me how to let loose with a great big belly laugh when it’s appropriate (and sometimes, despite our best efforts, even when it’s not).

He has owned a business for years, runs it with a steady hand, and shows genuine care for his employees. He taught me how to work hard and although I may not have picked up many of the skills and interests he has, it didn’t stop him from trying to teach me. Above all else I have definitely learned the importance of giving it everything you have and then some. He treats his customers like friends and he treats his employees like family. In lean times, he would even pay the employees before ever taking a penny for himself!

For a man who didn’t even get to finish college, he did an amazing job raising four boys. Two of us have finished college and are working currently, and two more are wrapping up their educational pursuits. Funny enough-both of us who have already graduated have small side businesses going. We gathered that spirit from living with a man who never took “no” for an answer and went after an idea if he was curious enough.

Some people only think of what they’d like to say to their dad after he is already gone. If he’s still around, reach out and tell him why he’s the best dad you could have asked for. I’m going to be a daddy soon myself, and I can only hope that I’m a quarter of the man my dad was and still is.

And yes, I had a mom, but it’s not Mother’s Day. Dads are made to look like foolish oafs in all sorts of media today, and I just had to share an example of a dad who’s doing it right.

Nick Corcodilos

Back in the ‘60’s, big highways were still a bit of a novelty. My dad loved to drive on them, and he loved to drive fast, which irritated my mother. My sister and I sat in the Plymouth Belvidere’s big back seat, listening to Mom periodically chide Dad for driving over the limit. When I finally got up the gumption to contribute my two bits, I asked my dad why he was driving so fast, and he cheerfully explained. “When there’s an opening in the traffic, you’ve got to make time while you can!”

Even as a kid, I understood what that meant. Today, when opportunities arise and I find myself hesitating, I remember my dad’s words and I try to follow his example. His advice almost always pays off.

Chris Walker

GL–My dad is now 88 years old (which means I can still find out WWDS!).  I stop by every Monday after work to check the ‘Chris To Review’ folder of crap that has arrived in the mail, check the e-mail junk and have a whiskey and a smoke with the old man on the balcony of the senior apartment complex where my folks live.  I’m very happy they live there because all levels of care they might need are available.  I no longer have to worry about garage falls in their old place and such.

My dad was a pediatrician in general practice in Akron, Ohio beginning in 1951.  Over the years he developed an interest in allergy and pulmonary disease,  particularly cystic fibrosis.  To pursue that interest, he drove to Pittsburgh every Wednesday from 1964 to 1969 to study with a pediatric allergist.        One of the requirements to be certified as a pediatric allergist is a year in residency.  My dad put his practice on hold and did a year at Jefferson Medical College in Philadelphia in 1970, he was 49.  I was a junior in college at the time, and it was sort of weird to have my dad coming home for Christmas break at the same time I was.

We didn’t get on that well when I was in high school and early college; not unusual, my pony tail and some politics kind of got in the way.  Somehow the shared ‘college’ experience seemed to be the the opening we needed to reconnect.  I’ve always thought there is a point where the child needs to walk out the door as a child and then reconnect with their parents as an adult.  Sometimes that happens quickly, even seamlessly; sometimes it never happens at all.  My older sister was never able to reconnect.  My dad and I connected better the older I got, duh!  It helped that he (and mom) really liked my girlfriend/soon to be wife/mother of the twins/still the redhead of my dreams.

I love my dad.  He helped bring me into this world.  Now I’m helping him on the journey out of the world.  It’s a bittersweet we life we all lead.

Four Sisters Offer Thoughts About Dad, With Love

Jacqui Barrett-Poindexter

A few years ago, when our Dad, Merle Barrett, celebrated his 70th birthday, my three sisters and I reflected on our memories with him. As we’re all grown and married and some of us now have our own children (and grandchildren), we not only cherish the many memories, but also aspire to integrate Dad’s influence into our own behaviors—his thoughtfulness, patience, tolerance, responsible attitude, good nature and wisdom.

The following musings were written by Susan Barrett Hensel, Janet Barrett Pallett, Jacqui Barrett Poindexter and Katherine Barrett De Boer.

Susan:

  • Swimming in the ‘backyard pool’ in our underpants.
  • Dad helping the little neighbor girl with her leg brace so she could swim, too.
  • Going to Western Auto to look at tires.
  • Sinclair gas station.
  • Washing the car in the driveway … getting our own rag.
  • Engraved bracelets and clover pendant.
  • Getting the camera ready Christmas morning … home movies and popcorn.
  • Practicing pitching.
  • Playing a little catch after dinner.
  • “Where are you going, Dad?” “To the Moon.”
  • “Oh when the saints …” being whistled.
  • Branson trips … cabins … swimming.
  • Learning to drive the mower … the tractor … then the car.
  • Green Falcon Station Wagon … need I say more? Glad to have it, Dad!
  • Packing up to go to SMSU.
  • Graduation
  • Marriage … You’re still our daughter and this will always be your home.
  • Grandson.
  • Granddaughter.

Janet:

  • He took care of the ‘manly’ things, such as changing/checking the oil in my car without even telling me or looking for any praise.
  • Shoveling the snow in the driveway all by himself late at night or early the next or both, if the wind blew it back over in the middle of the night, and he’d come in with icicles dangling from his mustache.
  • Putting in a big garden each year.
  • Dad always carefully changed into his old work clothes before getting dirty.
  • He was careful to give us girls the privacy we needed in ‘our’ hallway by just avoiding it altogether, and he was very tolerant of our often neurotic behavior as we obsessed over our appearance.
  • He would always tease us when our boyfriends were on the way to the door and threaten to make them put their hand on the Bible.
  • On Sunday morning when we were little, he polished our Sunday shoes for us.
  • He always appreciated our homemade baked goods.
  • In retirement, he enjoys making his own baked goods.
  • I like that he collects little toys, not because of their great value or age, but because he likes them. It allows us to see the kid in him.
  • I liked lying down on the couch next to him, and he would often put his big, rough, warm hand across my eyes, and it was very comforting.
  • I like that he is thoughtful and not overly quick to offer his opinion. He will consider all sides of what is being said.
  • I like that he enjoys professional sports and can carry on an informed conversation about them.
  • It demonstrated a love and respect for Mom when he helped her clean the kitchen after a long day.
  • I smile when I think of the chalkboard under the Christmas tree on Christmas morning.
  • The birthday spankings he delivered each year always brought a good laugh and welcome attention.
  • We were taught the value of a dollar from Dad, especially when he tore the paper napkins in half when setting the table for a meal that wasn’t very messy.
  • Playing catch with the softball.
  • Being resourceful/creative with items around the house, turning junk into treasure, expressing himself creatively.
  • Humbly and willingly cleaning the church for years.

Jacqui

  • Standing on Dad’s steel-toed shoes and ‘walking’ with him, after he came home from work.
  • His steel lunch pail, filled with Mom’s leftover steak sandwiches and homemade chocolate chip cookies.
  • 747 jet planes and 1st class trips to Europe (because of Dad’s years of service at TWA).
  • Playing catch in the backyard—then going to my softball games together.
  • Rubbing my back as I lay in his lap in the brown plaid recliner.
  • Eating Dad’s homemade vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup.
  • How Mom always said my ears are shaped like Dad’s—made me feel special.
  • Meticulously wrapping thick tape around the tops of our snow boots so the snow wouldn’t seep in when we played outside.
  • Building an igloo in the front yard, patiently, one snow block at a time.
  • Munching single- and double-dip ice cream cones or malts right before bedtime.
  • Never raising his voice–quietly expecting the best from us; when he was upset with us, his disappointed words hurt far worse than any angry barbs he could have flung.
  • Always fixing things and solving problems. “Would you untangle my necklace, Dad?”
  • Simply assuring, “Tomorrow is a new day; after a good night’s sleep, you’ll feel better.” He was always right.
  • Packing and moving me from apartment to apartment in my 20s, telling me I really needed to get rid of some stuff.
  • Escorting me down the aisle to get married.
  • Providing solace when I divorced and solutions to starting my new life and home.
  • Fixing dryer tubes and shower heads, hanging pictures, solving car problems … quietly assuring me I am not alone.
  • Warmly accepting my new husband and treating him like family.
  • Still being there; providing a quiet calm, despite life’s storms.

Kathy

I admire how you are:

Nonjudgmental

Peaceful

Reliable

Trustworthy

Patient

A wonderful

Grandpa

I am thankful you taught me to:

Love nature

Be compassionate

Be spiritual

Put family first

Phyllis Mufson

My Father’s Name Was Frank

My father was frank and that was also his name. He was an outgoing man with a secret sadness that I sensed as a child. I wanted to take care of him and I wanted to help him take better care of himself.

He died when I was fourteen-years-old and I missed him desperately. I envied girls I’d see walking on the street with their fathers.

The reason I am writing this story, aside from it being Father’s Day, is that after my father died, for a long time I felt his spirit near me. This was a great comfort, and also a source of guidance. Franks’ message for me was, “Don’t live your life like I did, pleasing society. Do what you want. Go on. Do it.” I understood from that age that the way he lived his life as a good husband and father, wage earner, even bon-vivant, was not right for him and made him sick inside.

That sense that he wanted me to follow my own star helped me leave college at nineteen to move across the country and work my way through art school, even though at that age I was quite a timid person.

I still love my father. It’s been more than forty years since he died on his way to work.

Michael Wade and here.

When my dad retired, his co-workers gave him a shovel inscribed “To Bill Wade, Who Always Calls a Spade a Spade.”

Their gift captured three of his main characteristics: honesty, toughness, and candor. My dad was not the sort of guy to beat around the bush. He was not a modern dad in any sense. He wasn’t a pal. He wasn’t always the most pleasant person to be around. He was, I suspect, the typical dad of the World War II generation. As a management consultant, I’d readily describe his style as autocratic, not collegial.

He set standards and you were expected to meet them. My brothers and sisters and I grew up with lines such as “I don’t want to hear any alibis,” “This isn’t any gravy train,” and “You send them away to college and they come back dumber than when they left.” When he passed away, we briefly considered having “Tell them to go to hell” placed on his tombstone.

It is no wonder that each of us developed a strong sense of humor.

But when I look back, I can recall many times when he was not the autocrat. There were occasions when I expected to catch holy hell for something and he said nothing. He routinely performed acts of kindness that he didn’t need to do. Each one was done without any fanfare. That wasn’t his style. You knew that if you were ever in trouble, he’d be there to help.

Old Bill Wade lived long enough to learn that life and love are composed of many things and sometimes you don’t call a spade a spade.

Dawn Bugni

He taught me how to change a tire

I’m a “Daddy’s Girl”, named for him … OK, well sorta: Don / Dawn. Alright. We both have the same initials – DSB.

Anyway … Dad’s a pragmatic, practical man. He and mom both brought me up to be self-sustaining (“You never know what will happen in life. Be able to take care of yourself.”) For that, I am eternally grateful. Here’s but one example:

I’m almost 16. I’m ready to get my driver’s license. I’m excited. I’m excited, that is, until dad announces no license until I’m able to perform basic maintenance tasks on a vehicle, including (get this) CHANGING A TIRE. Ewwwwww. But what else could I do? I begrudgingly agreed.

We spent the following Saturday bent over the engine of a Powder Blue Ford Pinto (remember those?) learning about dip sticks, fluid levels and tire pressure. I passed his quizzes with flying colors. Now it’s the dreaded tire time. He shows me the jack and the spare in the trunk. He makes me lift the tire out of the trunk. (Yes. Yes he did.) We went through every step needed to properly and safely jack up a car and change the tire. We did it together. Then, after we’d put everything away and I thought we were done, he said, “OK. Now you do it … alone.” And I did. I got my license, on my 16th birthday, as planned.

Fast forward to today. I live out in the country. Heavy traffic out here is four cars an hour. It’s a 30-minute drive to towns, in almost any direction. I’ve had my share of flats on lonely stretches of road. Know what? No worries. I don’t have to call anyone. I get out, change the tire and go on about my business. I don’t enjoy it anymore than 16-year-old me did all those years ago, but I’m sure glad I can do it … all by myself. Thanks Dad!

And thanks GL! You’ve opened the floodgate on a thousand dad memories. Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there. You are getting through … in spite of that 16-year-old’s scowl.

Meghan M. Biro

I’m happy to add thoughts on my friend GL’s What What Dad Say Blog for Father’s Day.

Not everyone who has two fathers (step-dads count) would agree, but I am lucky to have experienced two of them. Of course, there were ‘moments’ with each, there always are, but the net was amazing. One showed me how to honor and use the steel and fire of the entrepreneur; one nurtured in me the thoughtfulness, curiosity and expressiveness of the creative. I know now that my life was enriched by their contrasts.

My biological father, a classic 50s guy who loved fun, big parties, and martinis, had intelligence, emotional acumen, and the charisma we see in effective thought leaders. He knew the innate rhythms of people and culture and – even though I was obsessed with the modern dance scene in New York City as a teen and my friends (of course) – he showed me the way of the entrepreneur. He passed away when I was a teenager, a huge loss and a difficult time; my mother found my fabulous step-dad along the way of life. A more quiet, studious person from Seal Harbor, Maine, one of those towns that harbors so many interesting personality juxtapositions and the sustainable landscape we know as Acadia National Park. His studious, careful and quiet nurturing helped me expand my interests from dance to photography to boating and from there to big ideas – collaboration, social communities and their interactions, new imaginings of what the future could be. Always thinking along the way and always humble.

As I continue in life, I channel both my dads – My dad for people decisions, my step-dad for moments when I need to think things through in a quiet place. The contrasts keep life interesting and challenging and make me realize my good fortune – it is possible to be of two minds at once and not be in conflict – in fact it’s part of the creative process. Thank you Dad(s)! We heart you very much. Gratitude

From JT O’Donnell:  Sorry I couldn’t figure out how to install this video about her dad.  Be sure to read and  watch it.