Honoring my Dad for Father’s Day

My Dad seemed to feel that his son sometimes was a bit slow in taking care of business. After waiting 24 years to write about him the week after Father’s Day, maybe he was correct.

He was quite a guy, back in the day. Born in Mexico, he moved with his family to El Paso, Texas, when he was quite young and became a naturalized U.S. citizen. He told me (more than once, as fathers do) that hard work will pay off.

One of his true stories was about selling copies of the El Paso Times on a street corner while growing up. He said that the price was 3 cents and that if a buyer paid a nickel and said to keep the change it was a big deal.

Actually, I’ve come to finally realize that my Dad was a big deal. After graduating from Bowie High School while being the main support of his five sisters and a brother, who died young of diphtheria, he went to work as a stock clerk in a drug store. In retrospect that was an ironical location, as many years later he became a super salesman of drug store pharmaceuticals and sundries for a major U.S. company.

That was in San Diego, where he had moved in the early ‘40s as a young adult with his family. His big success came because he did such a good job with the company noted above. He was first a telephone order taker, but because the firm wanted to expand into nearby Baja California, Mexico, he was chosen due to the respect he had earned as an extremely conscientious employee. Plus, he spoke fluent Spanish. The promotion took him into a highly paid situation because he worked so well at providing service.

Thus, as I was growing up, I often went with him to Tijuana and Ensenada, the latter being 80 miles south of “TJ.” There were good times as he did his job so diligently, always showing his customers excellence. It paid off for him and for me due to me learning that hard work does indeed result in good benefits. Paying attention to detail was important to him, and that lesson was good for me in being (years later) a newspaper reporter.

So, this rendition of a life well spent could go on for a long read, but it will suffice to say that Dad showed me how to be a good man. He died in 2002 at age 88 from the Alzheimer’s condition. I still miss him, but I will always be grateful for the lessons he taught me through example.

Note to Dad: Better late than never!