Yesterday was Father’s Day; tomorrow, I’ll attend my father’s funeral.
Ample opportunity to reflect on missing Dad . . . and dads.
My father was two months shy of 85 years. He lived a long, full life with a loving wife of more than 60 years, six children he adored and who felt likewise about him, 13 grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren.
He started his own small business and achieved his version of the American Dream: to be his own boss.
More than a decade ago, when my pop was fighting through open heart surgery, I wrote in this space that he was, in the words of one of his favorite movies, “the richest man in town.” Sadly, he’s no longer in town.
Except that he still is . . . in me. And in my kids and their kids.
As an adult, admittedly I haven’t often asked my dad for advice. Why? Because I already know exactly what he would say. I like that. And thankfully that voice remains.
Moons ago, I also acknowledged that I was privileged, but argued “My Privilege Isn’t White.” Instead, my advantages mostly came from growing up in a home with two loving parents.
We Homo sapiens learn by imitating others. Hence the term “role model.”
Nowadays we often hear about poor role models when some spoiled-brat sports celebrity or narcissistic rock star behaves badly. As a teenager, I had their posters on my wall. But my dad served as my 24/7 role model.
He still does.
This is Common Sense. I’m Paul Jacob.