by

written by Gene Wiggins

My father is my hero. He hasn’t always been, I’m ashamed to say, but he is now.

Here are some of the reasons that my father is my hero:

He’s always composed and calm. Never out of control, nor does he ever yell, unless someone is yelling too much and too near him. (A person can only take so much.) He recognizes he makes mistakes and he apologizes when he hurts someone’s feelings. He knows he’s not perfect but he accepts it for what it is. Some people strive to be perfect and others like to point out other’s mistakes. Which are you? He smiles and talks to people he likes and loves. He doesn’t talk to people that he’s either annoyed with, or plainly doesn’t like. But doesn’t say anything negative about that person. He generally nods them to death and pictures a donkey in his head. He prefers a person’s company rather than gifts. But if your going to give him clothing make sure he has plenty of room, but that it’s not too big. If you give him candy, make sure it is butterscotch, or chocolate or caramel or all of the above, and always salty. He knows when someone wants something from him. He may look like a western hick, but he’s as smart as they come. He’ll catch you in a lie. He’s not forgetful, he’s just slow of hearing. He’s not materialistic. He would be happy anywhere as long as he has something to keep the rain off his head, something to keep him warm and a bed to rest in. (I hear you giggling, Donna and Lynda) He’s generous and caring. He’s generous with gifts and will give away all his possessions without thinking about it. But somehow he knows who’s genuine, and who’s trying to play him. The devil himself would give up and go back to hell before he got anything out of my old man. He’s helpful. He’ll go out of his way to fix something or build a fence for a neighbor. I heard a story from a neighbor who lived next door to my father once. My father overheard his neighbor talking about hiring someone to cut down a tree in his front yard. The man heard my dad shout “I’ll be right back.” Shrugging the man continued his conversation with his friend. A moment later my father came back with the longest chainsaw he ever saw (that’s my dad–overkill). He started the motor up and went to work. The man said he witnessed sawdust and chips flying all over the place. So much that he couldn’t see my father or the tree. Another moment later, the tree slowly toppled to one side. And low and behold my father still stood there completely covered in sawdust, including his glasses. He took his glasses off and said ‘there ya go’ and promptly began sawing it up into fireplace sized pieces. It was all done in ten minutes. He helped his neighbor stack the pieces in the side yard off the lawn. And they became best friends and the neighbor later on became my best man. He loves telling the story to outsiders, just so they would know what kind of man my father is. He’s a veteran of three wars. World War II, the Korean War and the Vietnam war. Although he never saw combat, he sat behind a gunnery tower keeping his eyes on the night sky and drinking the world’s strongest coffee. Navy coffee. What’s left over they use to remove the paint off the ship. No really, seriously. What does that do to your insides then? He is a true believer. He believes in God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit. He’s always believed God will get you out of any fix you’ve stumbled into. And he’s had a few close calls. He loves me unconditionally. After recovering my long term memory in the hospital I remember how much he had to put up with me. All the trouble I would get into. All the trouble I would cause, and all the trouble makers I would hang with. I always said the wrong thing at the wrong time, pulled the wrong pin, or cut the wrong wire. My dad would just shake his head and sometimes let out a breath of air at the same time, but just walk away. But never did he hit me, never did he say a discouraging word, and he most certainly never spanked my bottom. But he knew there was something not quite right with his son. Dad let me tell you what it was, hormones and the scantily clad girl across the street.

These are just some of the reason my dad is my mentor. I love him very much, as much as my wife loves her friends and family, and I’m glad he’s my father, but mostly, I’m proud to call him my hero.



My Father; My Hero by Westchester Men’s Ministry is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at http://www.facebook.com/notes/william-wiggins/my-dad-my-hero/187371661403412.