Honoring Dads

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Throughout the 21 years of building Dads 4 Life, Inc., I have heard many stories of dads who have genuinely been there throughout the lives of their children. I have also attended countless funerals for someone’s father—and in those moments, you can often tell not only what kind of person they were, but also whether they were a present and involved dad.

There’s never an easy way to say goodbye to a parent—especially to a dad who was, or should have been, the first person you could count on when needed, your fiercest protector, and your quiet anchor through life’s storms. Some men pass and leave behind a legacy their families will cherish forever; others leave memories that can be harder to hold onto.

This month, we begin a new blog and podcast series called “Honoring Dad”—true stories from those who knew him best… his children. And to begin this new series, I’ve chosen to start with my father.

Since the day he passed—56 years ago today—I’ve been flooded with a mix of memories and emotions: sadness for his absence, gratitude for everything he gave, and an overwhelming desire to honor the life he lived (or at least most of it).

Dad, you were a wise man. You never went to college, but by your late twenties, you had become the youngest Master Plumber in our area. You started your own plumbing company to support our family, and you built our home block by block on the weekends—plumbing and all. You worked hard all week and still made time to help others whenever you could.

You loved the water, and fishing was your joy. Whenever possible, you would take your sons along on the boat. Those trips weren’t just about catching fish—they were about time together, lessons learned, and memories that would last a lifetime.

Here’s to you, Dad.

To the work of your hands, the love of your family, and the example you set. Through this new series, I hope to inspire others to share their own stories—to honor the fathers who shaped their lives and to ensure their legacies live on.

I remember your calloused hands, proof of how hard you worked to make your company a success. As a young boy, I would walk to the shop and you’d buy me a Coke from the machine. You often worked late into the night, but even though Mom managed the shop, you always made sure she got home in time to feed us dinner. From you, Dad, I learned the value of hard work—and that working hard not only puts food on the table, it makes you strong.

Some of my favorite memories are the smallest ones.

I remember you watching me ride my bicycle for the first time, steadying me when I fell, and helping me get going again. On Christmas morning when I was eight, I got up early—too early—and ran down the hall, only to trip and hurt myself. You were on the floor “helping Santa” set up the last of the gifts. You told me to go back to bed—it was only five in the morning—and reassured me that I hadn’t broken anything except, perhaps, my Christmas spirit.

Then… everything began to change.

Our family lost Michael, your second son. You lost two brothers. Work became more stressful. You began staying out later, and with a bar across the street from the shop, Mom soon realized what was going on. She could see the signs in the books she kept—more customers not paying their invoices, payroll getting delayed, and workers starting to leave.

We all felt the changes at home, Dad. The stress seemed heavier than any of us could handle or wanted to face. It took a toll on every one of us.

Then one early Saturday morning, our pastor was taking a walk for exercise and saw you out in the yard. He stopped to chat with you about life. I watched as you prayed with him, and for the first time in months, I saw you smile again. That smile had been missing for far too long. You seemed different—lighter—and you said, “I plan on going to church with you and Momma tomorrow, son.”

But God had another plan.

Early the next morning, August 11, 1969, I woke to the sound of quiet voices coming from the kitchen. When I woke up, I saw people gathered there. It didn’t take long to hear the news—only hours earlier, you had passed away. I hoped it was only a bad dream, but it wasn’t. You were just forty years old. I was only eleven. How could this be? No one had an answer that night. Later, I learned it had been a massive heart attack.

Now that you’re gone, your absence feels so loud.

As a teenager, I needed you more than ever, but all I had were a few treasured memories to hold on to. I want you to know, Dad, that I honor you—especially the man you were before everything began to change, when you were there for us and for anyone who needed your help.

I never had the chance to thank you properly.

Not for the years of love and hard work you poured into our family before life grew heavy.

Not for the sacrifices you never mentioned.

Not for being the one I could always count on—before the shift that took you away from us in a different way.

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So I’ll say it now: Thank you. I love you. And I miss you more than words can say.

This blog is for you, Dad—and for the many other fathers whose stories we will share in the months ahead.

If you would like to share about your Dad, send me a note at dads4life@gmail.cm