The endless media hype on giving the perfect Father’s Day gift haunts me.
This time of year I walk out of my way in stores to avoid Father’s Day displays.
I purposefully change the subject if a Father’s Day conversation finds me.
This is why.
My beloved father, my best friend and only parental support, died in 2003. Father’s Day becomes additionally difficult for me because his birthday is on June 19, a date which often falls on the same day as Father’s Day.
I’m not sure exactly why the Father’s Day date is still so painful for me. I should have moved on by now to a more peaceful place after the 15 plus years since I lost him.
But I haven’t. I miss him every day. He left a giant hole in my heart.
I was fortunate to have a healthy, strong, and loving relationship with a father who believed in me, supported all of my accomplishments, and became the significant parent when my mother was not. He was an immense presence in my life. Throughout the years after I left home, my dad spent every summer with me. He was a willing comrade in all my adventures and was always up for something new.
One of our favorite explorations was finding small rural roads and following them. Just to see where they went. On one drive we found the small ranch house where he was born in Maricopa, AZ, a landmark now torn down. It was important to him to show me how the past connects to the present. I learned about my family roots in Arizona. I am a second-generation native which is something rare in this rapidly increasing population with a giant migration from other states.
As good as my father relationship was, I do recognize it’s not always so for everyone. I hear about life-changing damage and pain from friends who suffered failed, hurtful, and even criminal father-daughter relationships. This made me cherish my father even more. I grieve for the girls and women who suffered primal, abusive loss at the hand of the father who was supposed to be responsible to love, care for, and protect them.
My father was a man of great caring, generosity, and scrupulous ethics. He set this example for me all of my life. My father helped people quietly without disclosing his actions. I believe this quality made him a man of integrity.
He came from a humble background in rural Arizona. He was born in Litchfield Park where his father was a ranch superintendent for Goodyear Farms. My dad’s first friends were migrant workers. He grew interested in the culture of Mexico and had a beautiful command of the language, later learning a degree in Spanish. It was a small company town and he went to a one room school through high school. He kept in touch with his friends and went to his class reunions as long as he was able. My grandfather named my dad Robert Litchfield in homage to the town’s founder. Like many rural towns, sadly it’s now a subdivision, with no trace of the charming town square.
Later he joined the Navy with his best friend and served on an aircraft carrier during World War II. He returned to Arizona after the war to Tucson to attend the University of Arizona. In the year before he died, my brothers and I took him to a reunion of all shipmates of the USS Bennington—mostly Vietnam vets. Only my father and his bunkmate were from WWII. They were honored by these great Navy vets of another generation throughout the reunion. I learned yet another thing about my dad that weekend. He developed a radar system that would scramble/unscramble information to keep it from enemies during communications. It was first used at Pearl Harbor.
Later he received an engineering degree and MBA, spending his career in research and development at Motorola in Scottsdale. We used to joke that my father’s thought process was completely designed by an engineer. He would occasionally start conversations that clearly began in his head first. Our joke was him starting a sentence with, “Speaking of Alaska…” When we weren’t. He had an engaging sense of humor and easily laughed at himself.
When I was small, one of our neighbors was involved in a car accident that totaled his truck. Our neighbor and family friend was a construction worker and father with 12 children. If he did not have a vehicle, he could not work. My dad walked down to his house, gave him his keys and told him to keep the car as long as he needed it. My father then carpooled with a colleague for several months.
Driving back home to Phoenix from my grandmother’s house in Litchfield Park one Sunday night, my father spotted headlights in a ditch alongside the road. He stopped and pulled a young mother and her daughter from the car. He drove them to St. Joseph’s Hospital and made sure someone would look after them.
His lifelong acts of empathy and compassion made a strong impression on me. First, I learned to act with kindness in every part of my life. Second, I learned that even the smallest gesture could make a difference for someone. Finally, I made a personal commitment that giving and being of service were going to be important values in my life.
My last dad story I have to tell here happened when I moved away from home in Arizona to Los Angeles. He wrote to me often but my most memorable letter, which I’ve still kept, went like this.
Dear Dori,
Parents often don’t tell their children how much they love them. Please remember that I love you very much and that I’m so proud of you.
Love,
Dad
P.S. I’ve enclosed coupons for Pop-Tarts and cat food.
I have never eaten a Pop-Tart in my life. But I did have a cat. And a father who never failed to let me know I was loved…and worthy of his retirement coupon clipping obsession.
Father’s Day is coming up and I’m preparing to do my usual Pretend Like It’s Just Another Day act. Maybe someday it will not be so difficult for me. Until that time I find solace in my remembrances of an unforgettable father and friend. I keep his memories alive by sharing his life, his actions of faith and charity—and most of all by sharing my stories.
He was a good man.
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