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“If you want to serve as an example — it’s easier done than said.”
— Frank Sonnenberg, The Path to a Meaningful Life
Sunday is Father’s Day. Previous pieces occupying this space have waxed eloquent on Father’s Day and Mother’s Day, more often when my parents were still living. Partially because I knew they both read “Number One Son’s” column faithfully. It saved me from struggling to get a card in the mail on time, something at which I never excelled for any occasion.
Dad’s earthly journey ended in 2007, and Mom followed him in 2010. My parents were the pinnacle of role models I held in the highest esteem. Simply living by their goals and standards, being silent role models for my sisters and me, instead of talking about it.
How that usually plays out didn’t sink in with me, however, until years later. I had to grow older before fully realizing just who our heroes and role models were, and why. Sort of like hindsight.
My first hero was always my dad. He worked hard all his life, demonstrating how to love and care for a family, run a business, and treat others with kindness and courtesy. Numerous times since, I’ve thought about how he faced difficult decisions. Often I ask myself, “How would he have handled what I’m facing now?”
Alongside Dad, Mom added her own lessons by example. Watching her, I learned about silent stability, taking care of the home front, and the grounding effect of enjoying a mid-morning coffee break. Most important, however, I learned from her the strength of an unyielding faith in God to get through the game of life.
Beyond my parents, I was blessed with other role models — sort of “alternate moms” who helped shape me in ways I likewise did not fully understand until later in life.
“Granny ”— Dad’s mother — was unbelievably stern in matters of honesty, hard work and frugality, but she was equally soft in the areas of love and patience. Somehow, a couple of hours’ worth of her wisdom and philosophy stayed with you like the smell of her homemade biscuits in the morning.
“Alternate Moms” also influencing me were two of my best friends’ mothers. David Neeley, Oscar Elliott and I were so close that we also often shared moms.
Oscar’s “Momma,” Bobbie Jean Elliott, was a small, quiet woman with an easygoing but strong influence on neighborhood kids. We all knew what she expected of us.
David’s mother, Doris Neeley, had roots in “Old North Dallas.” An invitation to join her and David for a Saturday trip to Dallas was a unique treat, whether for shopping at NorthPark or for a taste of culture at Fair Park Music Hall.
She was refined, elegant and just classy enough to laugh when I ordered a hamburger with ketchup in a five-star North Dallas restaurant.
My silent role models… all gone now. I sometimes wonder if they knew they were leaving their fingerprints on the wet cement of my young life? I sure didn’t.
I doubt they did either. I suspect they were like all silent role models, just doing without saying a word. Silently handing down family recipes for a rewarding life written in good examples rather than with fading ink.
I know it’s Father’s Day, but I tend to celebrate my silent role models of all types these days: fathers, mothers and more, on every occasion I can.
I still wish they could read my “cheap card columns” about how much I miss and appreciate them all.
