“All that we love deeply 
becomes a part of us.” 
Helen Keller

I want to keep this short and sweet. If my Dad were still alive today, we would be celebrating his 100th birthday. 

Dad died a little more than seventeen years ago — on July 31, 2008. Was he the perfect father? Uh,… is there such a thing? No, he was not perfect. He was as flawed as any other human trying his best to make his way through what can sometimes be a complicated world. I do believe, though, that he did the best he could do, given his own life experiences and traumas, to provide for our family and to care for us. 

In my younger years, Dad was my hero — firefighter, lieutenant, captain, and then battalion chief in the San Francisco Fire Department. He worked hard to achieve those promotions. Toward the end of my high school years, we clashed, as many young men do with their fathers as they navigate the transition from adolescence to young adulthood. I made mistakes. He made mistakes. There were some difficult times, but we survived and emerged with a mutual respect for each other. 

When I became a Dad myself, I found myself always trying to measure-up to Dad’s expectations, even though he rarely shared what those expectations were. I just knew. I wanted him to be proud of me and proud of the job I was doing fathering my own three sons.

In the end, Dad gave me the greatest gift I could possibly have been given. It was early evening on July 31, 2008. I spoke on the phone with Mom for about 45 minutes. As was always the case, she said, “Here, say a quick hello to Dad.” Usually, those quick hellos weren’t much more than a minute, if that. But that night, Dad and I talked longer than Mom and I had conversed. It was strange. He had lots of questions about a project I had been working on throughout June and July which had just concluded. 

At the end of our conversation, I received the gift — a gift I will never forget, and one I will always cherish. Dad said, “I love you,… and I’m proud of you.” An hour later, he fell down the stairs of our family home, sustaining major head trauma which caused his death that night. 

No, Dad wasn’t the “perfect” Dad, nor am I, but I will always remember him with tremendous love, respect, and gratitude. In large part, I am who I am today because of him. How could I be anything but deeply grateful?