Father's Day

This year will mark 15 years since I lost my dad. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about the man I've grown to know and love, and who left a lasting impression on the person I became.

Like every other father‑son relationship, there were happy times but we also had our share of faults, squabbles, and life’s lessons. Above all, though, my dad was a good, caring man. He was a good husband to my mom, a loving father, and a proud grandfather to my two boys, and I’ve always quietly thanked him for that toward the end of his life. He (and my mom) influenced me in more ways than he probably knew, and I believe he saw that, especially while I raised my own family with a great deal of respect, love, caring, and unselfishness — “to give a little more than to receive in everything,” were the words they often lived by for many years.

When my dad suffered a stroke in the later years of his life that left him partially paralyzed and unable to talk, it not only left a void, it made me realize the fragility of life that we often take for granted. But it was his strength of character that leaves me in awe to this day. With all the aches, pains, and limitations he endured, frustrations and self‑pity were to be expected, but he never complained; he just adjusted and somehow moved on as if there was some unfinished business to complete. He always accepted the harsh realities of life, even found greater strength than any of us could ever imagine, and still managed to show concern toward my mom, my family, and me. He even tried to help my mom take care of him as much and as best as he could, to not burden her too much. In the end, we all knew he grew tired and worn out, and there was no disgrace in that.

There are many memories of my dad that come to mind, especially from my youth and playing sports. One particular moment I still remember: it was just another ordinary midseason baseball game during the summer when I was in the Babe Ruth league, and I hit my first legit homerun of my short career — not just a homerun, but a rocket shot over the right‑field fence. I can still hear the crowd roar with excitement watching the ball sail over the fence! In those days, I played many different sports all year, and usually at least one of my parents would be there watching from the stands, simply being there, supporting me, no matter where I was or what I was doing. That particular day, it was just my dad there watching, and after the game I went over to see him, feeling proud and all, and we gave each other a big hug in front of all the other parents and players.

It didn’t matter who was watching that day — we were in that moment, a proud dad and son. But it was no secret: I’ve always hugged my parents throughout my life, up until their final days. It was ingrained in our family — the love and respect between parents and children, no matter what age — something we seldom see today. That day may have been just another one of those “normal” moments in our lives at that time, but I’ll admit that I didn’t truly understand the pride he must have had for me in those years until I had my own two sons and watched them grow, doing the things they love. And yes, to this day, I still hug them both and say “I love you” out loud every chance I get during their own busy lives — for life is too short to let those moments slip by!

Thank you, Dad, for being there; for teaching me all the simple yet important values in life, even though it may have taken a few years to sink into my sometimes‑stubborn head. I won’t ever forget you or what you’ve done for us over the years, and I am proud to be your son.

I love you and will always miss you.

Marcel

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