Hero

“My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give to another person, he believed in me.” Jim Valvano

So, I'm writing on Father’s Day eve, mostly because it’s always time for some reflection, appreciation, and memories. And I always knew my dad was smart, but I also spent some time thinking I knew it all.

My dad had Rain Man type skills when it came to numbers. Line up 50 numbers and Dad could total 'em up in his head in a few seconds; and he never lost during our semester break trips to Las Vegas. Just sayin'.

Dad wrote poetry to Mom. After my mom passed away, some twenty-three years after dad, two of my stellar team members volunteered to help me clean up things at home. Back from running some errands, I walked through the front door one afternoon during the reorganization process only to see two young women in tears and holding letters my mom had tucked away. The poems from Dad were at once timely, funny, and loving. I cried too. And I still have the letters.

Dad was a Los Angeles All-City high school baseball and basketball player; he lost his professional baseball career to an arm injury and a high school diploma to the Great Depression. Dad first had to help support his parents and then a young family of his own.

My dad's father was 6' 4", a giant for someone born before the Turn of the Century; I knew him for only a few years. For me, Grandpa was a handsome, kind, white-haired gentleman who called Mom "Sis." In his day, Grandpa was a force to be reckoned with, and an early Bay area union organizer who wasn't beyond intimidating folks to get management's attention.

Dad's mom was Native American and born into the Pechanga Band of Luiseno Mission Indians in Riverside County. Grandma edited the California Indian News and was a dedicated lobbyist for the California Indian Rights Association. Grandma was a wise, beautiful lady; I can still recall her expressive eyes, cheek bones to-die-for, and an amazing backyard comprised of every vegetable I'd ever seen as a 10-year-old.

Dad did whatever it took to support his family. He was a salesman, worked in warehouses, and even played company baseball and softball to help pay the bills. But for most of my life, Dad was a business representative for the Teamsters Union Local 595. Grandpa would've been proud. Dad mentored workers and negotiated contracts and grievances with management; he was doing what he loved and following instincts that were expressed in his DNA. Dad was and remains my hero.

And teenage me thought I was special. Maybe I didn't know it all, but I was close. I was close right up until my 2.13 GPA first Quarter performance at Cal State, LA. Next thing you know, I had a warehouse job that I kept during the next three years of college. When I look back today, I can't believe how composed and practical my dad was while he watched me maybe throwing away an opportunity he would've cherished. Our conversation went something like this, “Jack, I know you’re better than this. If you give me 100%, I’ll do whatever it takes to help you get where you want to go. And, you have a job; you start tomorrow.” And to this day, I know disappointing the people I love has been my greatest fear. I became a stellat, focused student who appreciated the honor and value of work. My parents would later opt for my dental school tuition over the new home for which they’d been saving up funds for years.

I was accepted by all five dental schools to which I applied. My last interview was with the USC School of Dentistry Dean of Admissions; Dad waited for me in the car. The interview was informal. The Dean congratulated me on my work in the classroom and on the Dental Aptitude Test; he then asked about my dad's work. I replied and heard, "Unions were good in their day." Without skipping a beat, I asked for the Dean's thoughts on slavery.

Back in the car, Dad shook his head and smiled; he said he was proud of me but added, "Sometimes you have to be smart." Not this time. Maybe the best minute of my life.

Dad was my best coach on the field or on the court I’ve ever had; he’s still my top mentor. Whenever I have a tough choice, my first thought is, what would Dad do?

It’s been over 50 years since Dad and I shared a ball game, or a dinner, or a replay of that talk we had after the 2.13 GPA that changed my life. But the conversations continue.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad