Always fill the gas tank so mom doesn’t have to.
Always make sure there is milk in the house and that the trash is outside.
When mom wants to go visit her mother, if you make it easy for her to go she will return sooner.
Get directions before you leave the house; it saves tears in the car.
Carry a pee can and phone book in the car for emergencies.

I am the father of 2 boys and three girls who are all grown and have families of their own. Not one of them are dependent on any government handouts. They all contribute to sociaty in very positive ways.

I feel that my fathere, although he was not there, he did me a favor and made me the roll model I am today for my children and others.

From the time I was born my father was 100% involved in my upbringing. Getting my dad to spend time with me was never an issue. I remember wrestling matches, movie nights, trips to the park, board games, and all kinds of sports. My dad got me involved in what I consider to be one of the pillars of my upbringing- baseball. Being a ball fanatic and successful player himself he was a wealth of information and experience.

Being involved in competitive baseball meant year-round practices, summer responsibilities (when the rest of my friends were waking up at 1:00 PM I was traveling playing ball, going to practice, taking batting practice, etc.) and exposure to hard work, failure, commitment, and adversity. I remember at times being frustrated because so much of my time was spent playing baseball that I didn’t have time to pursue other things. However, my dad never forced me to play. I could have quit at any time. He was NOT one of those fathers who lived vicariously through his children’s athletics.

He was a father, but also a coach who pushed me as a player and as a young man. My father coached many of my teams, which meant taking time off of work, throwing batting practice (like a real pitcher), knee surgeries, expenses, and more. I know that sometimes my father looks back on those times and wonders if he pushed too hard- But I look back to those times as the reason that I have the work-hard attitude that I do today and do not crumble in the face of adversity. Baseball gave me something productive to devote my time to, and an outlet to observe hard work and the payoff associated with it.

A disciplinarian at times my father clearly taught me right from wrong. At times I would get mad when I was punished, but I now realize it was for my own good. I can attribute my strong moral fiber to my father’s guidance and example.

I also commend my father for providing a healthy home for me as a child –Healthy in many ways. He and my mother have always maintained a strong marriage. The ever present didactic of a harmonious mother and father was very important and reassuring. The majority of my friends are the products of divorced families, and I feel very fortunate to have never known that pain.

He also provided a healthy home for me in that he did not allow me to sit around idly, eating junk food. My father was and still is a great proponent of physical exercise and fitness. Whether it meant wind-sprints, baseball, lifting or other exercise he always encouraged me to go out and be active. He sits today at over 50 years old, still stronger and fitter than I am.

He also provided me with a healthy role-model. While growing up there were no bad habits in my home- no alcohol, no tobacco, no drugs, no addictions. He provided me with a healthy example of how to live.

To this day my father still makes sacrifices for me. He and my mother are currently footing the bill for an expensive college career. At times I feel guilty that my education is costing them so much. I know they have both made sacrifices to send me through school. Through his sacrifices my father has also taught me the virtue of generosity. He regularly donates money to charities as well as family members in need. He has never been one to stiff anybody out of something he owed them, and I know that he would give me the shirt off his back.

Well, the example of a lesson my father taught me is getting long-winded. I have hardly even scratched the surface about what a phenomenal job he did raising me. But I will leave it at this: I attribute most of the good things about my character in some way to my father’s help and guidance.

Lesson learned.

I am 26, and we have been hanging out every other Monday for the better part of a decade, now. Go to Costco, go grab a burger, walk down at the marina, drive around, whatever. It’s the relationship and time spent that matters.

My dad has taught me, by words and actions, what it means to be a man, a father, a wife. A warrior, king, mentor and friend.

I have seen him fall, and I have seen him get back up. I have seen him not isolate himself, but rather engage himself in a network of support and accountability. He has people who mentor him, iron which sharpens iron, and those who (like me) he pours life into.

He lays his life down on the line continually. And I do not mean just that he is willing to die so that others may live. I think that many, many people would accede to that. For what do you have to worry about after you die? No, his laying down of his life is the constant putting the needs of others before his own wants and desires. It is a daily thing.

From the time that I was born, I have memories of him supporting whatever it is my heart wanted to do. I played soccer, and he and my mom would go to all my games, would go to every practice that he could. He would show up early sometimes just to watch me.

He would engage himself in whatever I was interested in. Though he only had a passing interest in video games, he would sit on the couch and watch me play them. He would play chess with me when I pulled it out, though he knew I usually wouldn’t last the full game.

He has always been right there at my side, ready to support me. On several occasions (more than I like to admit), I locked my keys in my car where I worked, which was more than 25 miles from where he lived. Yet he drive up through rush hour traffic, handed me the key, and would drive back. Or we would both get in the car, grab a burger, and have more hang-out time on the drive back, and he would, if he could, offer to drive me back up the next morning, and then have to drive back down to his work, further south than he lived. My car would run out of gas on the way to work, and he would be there as soon as he could, dropping whatever he was doing at work.

I can only recall him raising his voice once at me or my sister. He is a man who knows that he who shouts is lost, and puts it into practice. When he would discipline us, he would always strive in his attempt to make sure we understood the principle behind it, why he didn’t agree with our course of action, and always tried to make the discipline logical to the offense. And, most importantly, discipline was never an end in itself; it was a means to the end of restoration and getting back on the right track, or affecting a much-needed course adjustment.

He and my mom have held a unified front that rivals any that I’ve ever seen in any other household. Very rarely was there anything that approached a heated discussion in front of my sister and I. Any “internal affairs” communications would happen behind closed doors, and they would arrive at a conclusion together and, in unity, approach us with the answer. But it was never a hiding game, just painting on a false front. My mom and my dad were a team, and they acted (and still act) like it.

When I was growing up, my friends all thought that my dad was cool. Not because he wore shades and designer shirts, or because he was some game show host. He was cool because he was relevant to their lives. He met them where they were at, and treated them with the respect that they yearned for. He showed genuine interest in their lives, and would open communication with them. He would be sure to come out to where we were and greet them by name, offer to carry sleeping bags and whatnot.

A theme in his life that he has attempted (with great success, as far as I am concerened) to drill into the heads of my sister and I is that life should always be about restoration, and all things should be done in accordance with that rule. Restoration of heart, restoration of soul. It deeply permeates his actions, and the genuine care that he displays to everyone is unmistakable.

My dad is also a handyman, who has fixed many, many things over the years. And he was always inviting me to actively participate in the repair process. He had no issues with taking three times as long to get something fixed if it meant that I had learned something from the experience.

He has always been someone I can talk to about anything at all. He will listen to me and consider what I have to say. He doesn’t just bide his time while I’m talking, waiting until the moment I’m done to come back with the reply he’s had ready to go since the first word out of my mouth. He carefully considers the counsel that he dispenses.

He has told me time and time again that one of his biggest wishes for me and my sister is that we surpass him in every single way. He desires the best for us; desires better than he can give us, and he knows that. He is a man who has full confidence of himself as a man, even when he does not know the answer to a question, when he cannot fix something. He is fully aware of his limitations, but still stands secure. It is why he can direct us to others; why he directs us to Jesus.

My dad is a man who embodies the heart of Christ better than anyone I’ve known. He finds his strength and solidarity in which to stand in his walk. My dad knows who he is.

When I grow up, I hope and pray that I am half the man that he is.