Today we officially celebrate Father’s Day in the United States, so it’s time to talk about my dad. There are so many adjectives to describe him. He was an honest, humble, cheerful, hard-working, creative, intelligent, disciplined, and compassionate man, who loved clocks and old things. In spite of being poor, he always cared for others, and he was not afraid to cry when he saw a sad movie or heard a sad story. (I’m not bragging, but I am very much like my father.)

When he suffered a stroke, I cried every day, because we were close. At the time, I lived in Fort Worth, Texas, too far away from Brownsville, Texas, to be helpful; however, I visited him as much as possible, and tried my best to give my sister and Mom, his caretakers, my complete support. That was a rough time, so I asked God to please help Dad. He had suffered enough. Six months later, God answered my prayers. Dad passed away, and I went home to take care of his burial. I tried to be as strong as he was. The youngest of four children, I didn’t shed a tear (I had done all my crying before he passed away.) as I took charge and handled my father’s funeral arrangements. I’m sure he was in heaven, smiling at my ability to coordinate his funeral services.

One thing that was difficult to do was to visit his best friend at home. He was probably 87, and had been Dad’s friend for years. His caretaker, also his goddaughter, ushered me to his bedroom, where he lay in bed. We chatted for a while, and he told me that he was not going to be able to attend Dad’s burial (He had knee problems.), but that he would go to the church services. Then he said something that almost broke this stoic woman into tears, but I controlled myself.

Dad’s friend said, “I had to get sick to find out who my friends were, and I can tell you that your father was truly my friend. He came to see me every day. It was winter time, and he would stand outside my window, and talk to me from there. I invited him inside, but he always declined, saying he was fine. I told him that it was cold. And he answered that he was wearing a coat.” (Dad was wearing the coat my oldest brother and I bought him one Christmas. Dad must have loved that coat, plus our special gesture.)

Today and every day I thank Dad for all the things he did for his children and for his wife who had epilepsy. Thank you, Dad! Have a wonderful time in heaven with Mom, your oldest son, and friends.

A parting comment: Love your parents. Sometimes you may think they don’t love you because they may be too strict but they do.