Note: I wrote this column about my dad for Fathers day in 2009.
“When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I
could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one,
I was astonished at how much he had learned in just seven years.” That famous
Mark Twain quote rings true for many of us. In my case, it took a little longer
for my dad to wise up. It was not until I had children of my own that I
realized how smart dad really was.
My father was the youngest of three children born on the
west side of Chicago
in the middle of the great depression. His father, according to what I have
been told, had his ups and downs in different businesses; mostly downs. The
depression hurt everyone in those days, but it probably did not help that my
grandfather liked betting the ponies. My father would tell me that there were
times when his dad would come home and tell his mother he lost his whole paycheck
that week at the race track, yet my grandmother would somehow figure out how to
feed the children without any money. My dad learned at a very young age that he
could only count on himself if he wanted to eat. He sold newspapers, collected
empty bottles and did whatever odd job he could to earn money.
He was a good athlete in high school but not much of a
student. When it came time to graduate he was not sure what he would do next.
He had worked as a helper on a beer truck making deliveries and figured he
could become a driver and make a few more dollars if he worked hard. That’s
when his older brother Jack, who at the time was going to college, intervened
and told my dad he needed to get a college degree. My dad wasn’t sure he was
college material, but after some prodding followed his brother to the small Catholic
college in Indiana
he was attending. My uncle convinced the football coach to give my dad a football
scholarship to pay for tuition. He would work in the school cafeteria to pay
for his room and board. He told me that if he had not taken my Uncle Jack’s
advice he would still be driving a beer truck. Instead, when he graduated from
college he became a high school teacher and football coach.
He then spent the next 40 plus years working as a teacher
and coach. There, he did what his
brother had done for him; helping get kids who were born on the wrong side of
the tracks into college on athletic scholarships. I remember as a kid my dad always being on the
phone convincing some college coach to give one of his players a scholarship to
play football.
After getting a commitment from the coach he would check off
the name of that student athlete and start working on the next. One by one he
changed forever the lives of his students who never thought they had a chance
of seeing the inside of a university.
Growing up my dad was always working. Raising five kids on a
teacher’s salary was next to impossible. So not only did he teach and coach, he
also refereed basketball games in the winter and umpired softball games in the
summer. He would leave early in the morning and come home late at night. He
never really spent a lot of time with us kids growing up; he was always
working. Later in life, when my parents were clearly financially better off, he
continued to work long hours coaching or refereeing. I am sure a lot of that
came from the little boy in Chicago
that was always afraid there would be no money to put food on the table.
Last week we took the whole family to Illinois for my oldest niece’s wedding. Later
at the reception I sat with my dad, now 78 years old, as he talked about how
proud he was of his five children. We all went to college; some of us took
longer than others, but sooner or later we all got college degrees. We were all
married and he now had seventeen grandchildren. Some of his grandchildren were now even getting
married.
Looking at all the wedding guests, he said to me that he
never bought a lottery ticket in his life. His lottery tickets were his kids and
every one turned out to be a winning ticket. He told me to take a good look at my
girls. “Those are your lottery tickets Jimmy,” he said.
Looking at my five year old on the dance floor I realized
how much smarter my father had gotten over the years.
This Father’s Day let’s remember the fathers we had or the
person who played the role for the father we didn’t have. And whether your
father was Andy Griffith or Homer Simpson, this weekend is the time to be
thankful for him.
Jim Righeimer is a Costa Mesa Planning Commissioner, local
business owner and a father of four. He can be reached at jim@rfcomsites.com
(This is a reprint from The Daily Pilot June of 2009)
