Father’s Day always seems to sneak up on me. After my dad passed away when I was 16, I ignored the day for many years—until 17 years later, when my daughter was born. Even then, my husband never asked for much, and our celebrations were simple. Now that he’s gone too, I tend to let the day slip by quietly. But this year, as I saw others celebrating, I found myself reflecting deeply on my dad.
My father was a hardworking man. He served as City Attorney of Anaheim from 1955 until his death in 1973. Diagnosed with lung cancer and given just six months to live, he persevered for three and a half years, working until the day before his final hospital stay. He never complained. He showed me what quiet strength and resilience look like.
He was also a WWII fighter pilot, earning two Navy Crosses and a Distinguished Flying Cross (in lieu of a third Navy Cross) during the Battle of Leyte Gulf. He rarely spoke of it. On the few occasions he did, usually on Memorial Day while watching footage, he would talk about his wingman, always deflecting credit. I wish I had asked him more.
And then there was his competitive streak. His ability to “cheat” at games was legendary—not malicious, but playful and clever. He could convince anyone that a made-up rule was real. I still think of him every time I play cards or Monopoly.
I’m so grateful for the time I had with my dad. He taught me lessons I carry with me every day, lessons delivered not with lectures, but through how he lived.
