As we observe Father’s Day this year, I’d like to tell you a little about my remarkable Dad.
I appreciate an opportunity to brag about him. That’s something he would never do, but he deserves it more than anyone I know.  I’m feeling a little sentimental since my Dad has been in the hospital this week. Thankfully, it’s nothing too serious. But it still causes me to reflect and remember.

I’m the oldest of four kids in our family and Dad was there for all of us. He managed to work fulltime at an asphalt plant, do chores around the house, be a faithful husband, help my grandfather on the farm and still spend quality time with us kids. Some of my fondest memories of my Dad are the times we spent together when I was young.

I’ll never forget the many fishing trips he took me on as a youngster. The fishing was actually secondary, it was more the whole experience of going. You see, we’d get up before dawn on a Saturday morning. My dad would fix us breakfast (liver sausage was a specialty) and then we’d head for the lake together.
We used cane poles and bobbers with night crawlers for bait. When the blue gills were biting; well it didn’t get any better than that for a boy from the midwest.  I remember when it was time to go home, I’d never want to leave the lake. I’m sure Dad stayed longer than he planned many times, just because I whined about fishing just a little bit longer.

I also have fond memories of my Dad the “bird house builder”. He has always been a skilled woodworker and his specialty was bird houses.  He put out bird houses for the large flock of Purple Martins that would come to our yard year after year. These birds were beautiful and amazing. They would sing a distinct song and eat their weight in mosquitoes. They also brought much joy to my Dad. He’d keep track of the days they’d arrive and the dates they “flew south”. He dutifully cleaned and maintained the bird houses, which looked like little apartment homes or condominiums. Bird houses were fun to build and my Dad taught me much about them in his shop.

He is also a great mechanic. This of course was back in the day, before cars were largelly controlled by computer chips. You could actually work on an old Ford Fairlane or pick up truck or Mustang. And my Dad worked on them all. He could change out brakes or shocks or any number of parts. I think he drew the line at transmissions, but could do anything else.  I was the tool handler on these car fixing projects. That means I’d hand my Dad whatever tool he needed when he asked for it. I complained at the time, but would love to have those times together again. I didn’t appreciate it nearly enough and didn’t pay close enough attention to the work. But I think Dad understands.

He was rarely too busy to play catch with me when I was an aspiring pitcher in Little League. He would handle my fastest fast ball without complaint; even though I tried my hardest to make his hand hurt.
He would be so proud of me when I won and just as proud when I lost. That helped with my character building.

My Dad is an honest, hard working man who raised his kids right. He was in charge of our Catholic upbringing and you can be sure that me and my siblings were always at Mass or attending special events at our church whenever the doors were open.  I could go on and on about how special my Dad is. I realize I’m among the lucky ones who have a loving Dad who’s always been there for me. Others are not as fortunate.

One final memory involved listening to baseball games on the radio while sitting in our breezeway. It was a wonderful ritual with me and Dad. Cardinal baseball never sounded so good as when me and Dad were listening to the radio, cheering the Redbird home runs and lamenting the close losses.  It was a time of Harry Caray calling the Cardinal games, Bob Gibson on the mound and guys like Orlando Cepeda, Curt Flood and Lou Brock covering the field. I’m a diehard Cardinals baseball fan, thanks to my father.

Unconditional love. That’s the kind of love my Dad has for his family. It’s the same kind of love our heavenly Father has for us. Have I disappointed my Dad over the years? Certainly I have; just as I’ve disappointed God above. Still, both Fathers love me for who I am, just because. I’m blessed by that.
I could write a whole book about my Dad. I think you get the idea. He’s a very special man.
I hope that I’ve been half the Dad to my daughter that my Dad was to me. If I’ve managed that, I’ve done pretty good.

Happy Father’s Day to all; especially to you, Dad.

- Steve Fandel

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