TRIBUTE TO MY FATHER

THE FOLLOWING IS A TRIBUTE I WROTE TO MY DAD FOR HIS FUNERAL LAST AUGUST. HE HAD BEEN DIAGNOSED WITH PANCREATIC CANCER IN EARLY MAY, AND CHEMOTHERAPY COULD NOT STOP THE RAPID PROGRESSION. THIS IS MY FIRST FATHER'S DAY WITHOUT HIM, AND HE IS SORELY MISSED.
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THE BEST MAN I HAVE EVER KNOWN

We have each known men who set the example for us all, men of fine character whose actions are beyond question. These good men display a higher moral standard through their deeds and in the manner they live their lives. They reflect the most basic of American values in all they do: honesty, hard work, commitment to family, and a willingness to sacrifice for others. Unfortunately, many times these men are far removed from those who look up to them. Athletes, film stars, or other celebrities partially fill the role for those without someone closer to emulate. I was blessed with a father who was always the only hero I ever needed, and I wanted to share a few thoughts and stories about Dad that demonstrate that.

I cannot imagine anyone more honest than Dad. He let you know the facts of any situation right up front, unvarnished and without any sugary coating. I always knew right away if he disapproved of my actions or thought I was misbehaving. He rarely raised his voice in anger, but no one had any doubts about where he stood. Dad never pulled a punch, even if it was about his own health. I vividly remember his bluntness in telling me his reaction to the onset of the macular degeneration that would eventually steal most of his sight. He said, “Rob, I sat down and cried about it, but then after that, what can you do? I have to go on.” He never was one to bemoan his situation, blame others, or whine about his problems.

My father’s devotion to his family was total. Any man willing to adopt a son and daughter and love them as his own is indeed extraordinary. He worked long hours at an extremely physical job just to provide for us. Dad always made sure I had whatever I needed to be like the other kids. I learned as an adult that he had been teased as a child at school in rural Virginia for his hand me down clothing and lack of shoes, and he didn’t want that for his own children. I think that’s why he would put on his shoes immediately in the morning and keep them on all day even if he didn’t plan to leave the house. Dad sacrificed countless times to buy me that new expensive pair of tennis shoes or winter jacket I simply had to have to be cool like the other kids. All the while he was going without the tools that might have made his work easier and eating bologna or spam sandwiches for lunch at work for weeks on end. I will always remember the roughness of his hands, and my amazement at how the calluses on his palm matched the grip of a hammer. When we were little he would often bring us candy when he returned from a long day of work. I can remember Mom being upset with him for sneaking us Mallowcups before dinner. Dad never owned fine cars or fancy clothes for himself, and I don’t think he ever desired them. He was happy just to make sure we had whatever we needed or wanted, no matter how silly or frivolous.

He spent the last years of his life caring for Louise as Alzheimer’s slowly took her away from him. He first tended to her every need at home while he was mostly blind, and then never missed a daily visit to feed and care for her once her condition worsened. His grandchildren were very special to Dad, and I’ll never forget the look of joy on his face the first time I handed Andy over to him to hold. Andy learned early on that “Papa” was the man to see if he needed something for school or money for a new toy or video game.

Dad raised me with a sense of obligation to country. His oldest brother Oscar was killed in the Battle of the Bulge, and his own duty to our nation had been honorably fulfilled in the combat of the Korean War. His advice to me prior to leaving for basic training was the best I ever received. He simply said, “Keep your mouth closed, listen to your sergeants, and always follow orders.” His reaction to first seeing me in Army uniform was simple and priceless. He put his arm around my shoulder and with a tear in his eye said, “You’re a soldier now. You’re a man.” He was letting me know I had fulfilled his expectation of national service. Dad didn’t care much for politicians, but he loved America and firmly believed in young men serving in our military.

Even the way Dad used the phone told you something about him. No matter how big or distant the national chain he might be calling, Dad would always start with, “This is Gene Mullins out in Grove City,” as if they should recognize him instantly. It was simply his way of letting them know that he was a man of honor, proud of who and what he was, and that he was ready to deal with others in a straight forward manner.

Dad’s counsel is what I’ll miss most. He had a wealth of knowledge on all subjects relevant to everyday living. So many times in my life I went to Dad and got just the right answer to a problem that had seemed unsolvable to me. His most famous advice was about keeping the oil changed in cars. Dad would launch into a five minute speech about the importance of oil changes every time he got the chance. Sometimes I would mention the subject around others just to get him going. Invariably the phrase “oil is the lifeblood of an engine” would be used repeatedly. Dad knew a little maintenance now could save a big problem later. He will be sorely missed whenever I need to rely on some real world experience.

Dad and I shared a love of professional football from early in my childhood. Sundays were for watching the NFL together. We teased each other relentlessly during the season. Dad was a die-hard Bengals fan, and like everything else he did, he stayed loyal to them until the end. I became a Steelers fan, probably disappointing him a little. Even though that rivalry gave us many jokes to crack on each other over the years, it was never mean spirited or nasty. We both enjoyed following the league like a soap opera for men, and football was always a main subject for our discussions. It was our way of connecting to the past and to each other. Dad passed on his vast knowledge and deep appreciation of the game to me, and I will carry it with me forever.

Simply put, Dad was the best man I have ever known. He is the standard by which I measure myself and others. Phrases like “salt of the earth” were invented to describe men like him. He was always ready to help others, even if they were strangers. He never shirked his responsibilities or made excuses. His family was his highest priority, and he never let us down, not even once.

I have lost my father, my best friend, and the only hero that ever really mattered to me. There can surely be no doubt we have all lost a good man.

We will all go on with our lives like he would want us to do, but it won’t be easy without him. Goodbye, Dad.
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FATHER'S DAY WILL NEVER BE THE SAME AGAIN, DAD, AND I MISS YOU EVERY DAY.