Its June 1st….it’s the month my dad was born and also the month he died. It’s the month we celebrate Father’s Day…it’s a fitting time of the year when I think so much more about the man who molded and shaped me…with all my imperfections, into the man I am today.
When my wife wants to make a fun jab at me about one of those “imperfect” moments in my life, she’ll sometimes call me “Norm.” She doesn’t realize this only makes me feel pride about the quality she would like to see less of… I like that I’m like the old man…most of the time.
We live in a different day and age, and some of the things my dad did in the 70’s wouldn’t fly today…but when he was the administrator of a boy’s home in Indiana, he would bring kids home for dinner on different occasions. I developed friendships with Albert from Gary, IN…and Michael, the “Cincinnati Kid”. Growing up in a very white community on the outskirts of Muncie, Indiana, the good neighbors didn’t see black folk around much… But in my driveway, playing basketball at our hoop, there were a lot of colors over the years. Becoming a probation officer was something I pursued out of respect for what I saw Dad do day-in and day-out.
As my father hit retirement I watched as a man of such great wisdom, allow his sphere of influence to become small, but he was quiet by nature…and he didn’t let people inside easily. He had so much to offer, and even within that small sphere he impacted the care-givers in his nursing home until the day he passed in 2011.
One quick rabbit trail here…I hope I never forget the moments immediately after the coroner drove off with my dad’s body. My sister, my daughter, and I stood out in front of the building talking as a large black man came running from the side of the building…and when I say running, I mean running. He approached us and I noticed his name tag said “Moses.” Moses asked if Norm was gone and we said they just took his body away. He began crying because he missed saying goodbye. As we stood there watching this scene unfold, Moses kept crying and continued to express how sorry he was for our loss.
Eventually, my brother-in-law asked Moses if he was going to be alright. Here we are, attempting to comfort this large man who was touched by my dad’s life in the short 2-3 months my dad was there.
What’s my point…other than sharing a very touching and memorable moment? My dad was a man of influence, and in his quiet and gentle ways, he continued to be that man even when bed-bound in his last days.
There are many things that make up Norm that I really need to stay clear of. He didn’t really have a temper, but he had this way about him that just let you know, “don’t piss me off”. When someone in a position of authority used that power to gain an advantage…he had no problem opening his mouth. He just didn’t back down from people. My mom told me once that she asked our neighbor, who happened to be the district judge in our town, if Norm’s ways held him back from promotional opportunities, the judge said they did. Looking back…why is it I look at that with pride?
One final story to share about Dad’s influence. This is a realization I came to after his death. Even up to the end, the old man was teaching his son about life because he taught me how to die. Weird thing to say perhaps, but as a quiet man with a deep love for the Lord, he knew everything was settled between he and God. So as the days slowly passed, he would wake up each day “pissed off” because he was still stuck here in that body….in that bed…in that nursing home. He was ready to go and knew all debts had been paid. He didn’t realize it during those last days, but he was preaching the gospel daily, and using words only when necessary. Hmmm…Perhaps this explains Moses reaction… Dad taught this son that despite all my screw-ups which take place daily…it can be all-good between me and the Creator, and we can actually walk in this full confidence even on death’s door steps. Its one thing to talk it, but to see it lived out in those circumstances will probably be the most powerful lesson he ever taught me.
Sorry if this got preachy…didn’t mean to go there, but hard to separate the man from his convictions.
So many of my later memories involved sitting over coffee at a Barnes & Noble or a Paneras. So this morning, I lift my coffee cup to you Dad.