By Owen Phelps, Ph.D.
Director, Yeshua Institute
My mom was an incredible woman. After she gave me life, she nurtured me physically and emotionally for as long as she lived. As time passed she also gave life to nine more children, my siblings. As a tribute to her wisdom, patience, persistence and selfless model of love, the nine of us who are still alive remain close – as do our more than 40 children.
Mom to the rescue
At 27 years of age, my wife and I were hired as a team to take over a broken-down chain of five small town weekly newspapers near where our parents were living. The chain had not grown nor shown a profit in years. Our mandate was to grow it out of its malaise to profitability.
With an outdated plant under a badly leaking roof and no money in the bank, the only resource we had was people – some on the payroll and some we eventually added to it. Thank God for good people!
But try as we might, we couldn’t find a great salesperson who could help drive our growth in the nearby city market. Then I went to a newspaper convention and learned about a growing chain of suburban papers that had built their ad sales staff by employing women part-time who had experience in home party sales. My mom was such a person. I couldn’t wait to get back home and share my lesson with her – dangling bait, God forgive me.
Long story short, she jumped at the idea, worked out fabulously and was a key factor in our growth and profitability. In nine years our ad sales increased five-fold. Mom made the transition with me when we added an urban weekly to our mix. Later when I jumped to a diocesan newspaper and she followed as a cure for flat sales there as well.
So why am I dwelling on my mother in a Father’s Day reflection?
Dad's critical contribution
It’s just to make the point that despite having a nearly perfect mother, who contributed to my well-being from her womb to her tomb, if it hadn’t been for my father I’m pretty sure I would be in jail instead of teaching Jesus-like leadership today.
That’s how important my dad was in shaping my life. He set the boundaries – and enforced them. And for the first 18 years of my life, until I moved out, I confess that I didn’t like it very much at all.
I was, as they say, a “spirited youth.” I like to push limits, cross boundaries, stir the pot. I never liked bullies, especially if they held – and abused – positions of authority. Whenever I saw that abuse, I stood up to it and defied it.
Don't be afraid
Dad taught me not to fear bullies – in fact, his purpose was to teach me not to fear anyone. But he also taught me that “two wrongs don’t make a right,” it was possible to lose a battle and still win the war, and that cool-headed discipline is always the best option. One of his favorite sayings was, “He who angers me conquers me.”
I was, as they say, a “fun loving lad.” I was always ready to party and not bothered much by potential consequences. My father didn’t criticize that inclination too often or too harshly. But he never missed an opportunity to remind me that responsibility and hard work come first. Work hard and play hard – in that order, he insisted.
Dad was a faithful Catholic. If you put a gun to his head to keep him from Sunday Mass, you better know how to use it. So I didn’t miss Mass either, even when I wanted to, for as long as I lived at home. Later, when I was on my own and flirted with truancy, his example came back and helped shape my choices. I’m so grateful now that it did.
Dad taught me to respect the law. But he also taught me that not all laws are absolutely binding. As soon as I turned 14, the youngest the state would let anyone have regular employment, I went looking for a job to pay better than my paper route did. I found a post in a newly opened donut shop between school and our house. But my future employer insisted on talking to my dad before putting me on the payroll. I resisted, wanting to handle things by myself, but he would not be swayed. No dad, no job.
When Dad accompanied me to meet my future boss, the reason became clear. The law said a 14-year-old couldn’t go to work before 7 a.m. “Our day is half over by then,” said the owner of the donut shop. “When he works I want him here by 5 a.m., and I don’t want any trouble with the law.” Dad asked me if I could handle that. I said I could. So he agreed to let me – as long as I understood my school work came first.
My dad wasn’t perfect. He drank more beer more often than my mom thought was ideal. Fortunately, he wasn’t a drunk, but occasionally I did resent the time he spent with friends at the tavern on his way home from work. When I was a kid I didn’t like it that he didn’t buy me all the stuff some of my friends had – sometimes out of necessity, sometimes out of principle. And he could get angry, which I never liked.
Respect evereyone -- especially women
Nothing made him angrier than when I hit my sisters. Three of them came along after me in quick succession, and sometimes they took delight in antagonizing me, knowing that I lived under the absolute taboo that “boys can never hit girls.” No reasons. No exceptions. Never. Ever. Any violation guaranteed quick and painful punishment. It took a while, especially with their taunting, but I learned. It’s a lesson I haven’t forgotten – and one I made sure to teach my own sons.
Dad taught me to respect other people. Everyone has worth, he said, and he took pains to drive that lesson home again and again, in a myriad of ways. I never once saw him act like he was better than anyone else, and he always made time for those in greatest need. He didn’t lie and he didn’t steal, and he worked hard to make sure we didn’t either.
When we found money on the ground and declared “finders keepers,” he made us try to find its owner. When we couldn’t, it went to charity.
It was never good, he said, to benefit from another’s misfortune.
From war to gratitude
During my teen years our relationship was pretty much a constant war. I was headstrong, as they say. And he was determined that I not waste the only life God had given me. Looking back now, I think his efforts mostly carried the day – and I’m unspeakably grateful for that.
Near the end of his life -- after he had survived heart bypass surgery and retired -- we got to spend more time together. By then he responsibility of trying to shape me was lifted from his shoulders. We enjoyed the presence of each other’s company, whether it was at his breakfast counter, in a boat or in a bar. He had always been good for me. At last I knew it and could appreciate it.
Chance to thank him
Our time together gave me a chance to tell him “thank you” for all he had done – even risking our relationship for the sake of helping me, kicking and screaming in resistance, to become the man God intended me to be.
Could I have done better? For sure. He could have done better too, I suppose. But life isn’t about perfection. It’s about trying, failing, getting over it and trying again, this time harder. It’s about forgiving, letting go and moving on. It’s about seeing the fundamental “we” of life when the culture highlights “I.”
My dad taught me that. And a whole lot more.
Come Sunday, even though he’s gone to his eternal reward, I’m going to thank him again for that.
And for helping to keep me out of jail.
Whether you are a daughter or a son, I hope you have a good and grateful conversation with your dad too.