Legacy of a Rich Man

Today, my daddy would have turned 88 years old. A little over 3 years ago, he shed his earthly, broken vessel in exchange for a glorious new body. The day he went to heaven, I found out through a text from my brother. It said simply, “Daddy is dancing with Jesus.” I love to think of him that way still.

At age 4, he won first place in a “beautiful child” contest. This is one of my favorite pics and it hangs in my dining room

My father didn’t have much according to this world’s standards. He was born the youngest of 9 children to an Italian immigrant family in Brooklyn, New York. He grew up in an era when you could buy “penny candy” for a penny and I loved to hear him tell the story of his own father, who decided to sell his car and walk to work because the price of gas had increased from 3 cents to 5 cents a gallon! As a child of the Great Depression, he knew how to squeeze every last drop of toothpaste from the tube. And then he knew how to slice open the tube with an exacto knife to get out any remnants that had managed to evade him! The man didn’t waste a thing.

My dad taught me to “thrift” before it was cool. I was the kid buying second hand designer clothes in sixth grade from our “secret” store. But there came a day when Daddy took things a bit too far. I noticed that he was wearing two different shoes. When I pointed it out to him, he told me that he had gotten them at our favorite thrift store. “But they don’t match!” I protested. “Well that’s why I got them for such a great price!” I am all for a great bargain, but I draw the line at mismatched shoes.

My father was Italian and proud of his heritage, but even more so, he was an American who was fiercely loyal to his country. He was involved in our community and always encouraged us to be aware of what was happening politically. He may have been a bit of a conspiracy theorist, but no one could ever accuse him of being dispassionate.

57 years of marriage to my beautiful mom.

My mom and he were married in 1958 and he loved her faithfully for 57 years. He loved all six of his children, their spouses, and all 22 of his grandchildren. He was an epic “Pop-Pop”. He told corny jokes, always scraped his plate clean and pretended that he didn’t get any food, and signed his name by drawing two popsicles. He was legendary for his ability to invent endless uses for wire hangers, cardboard, and string. He needed nothing else. Anytime he undertook a project, he always took a kid or two along.

My earliest memories of my father were when I must have been about 3 or 4 years old. I would climb out of my crib, and patter to my parent’s room whenever I had a nightmare. I remember him bringing me out to the living room and rocking me back to sleep while he sang me Brahm’s Lullaby. However, I just now realized that he was making up his own words. It didn’t matter though, because I felt safe and loved in those moments.

As a child he gave me a toy tool set and he would let me “fix” things with him. When I was old enough he bought me real tools and showed me how to use them. Maybe that’s why to this day, I love the feeling of fixing something. He also bought me a red plastic toy razor and he would let me “shave” with him. I always delighted in spreading the the fluffy shaving cream on my face, and then taking it off in clean lines. (I was a tomboy long before I ever learned to “shave”!)

As I grew older, I knew that my dad always, always, always loved me and believed in me. He encouraged me and did what he could to help me follow God’s path for my life. He never had great wealth, financially, but my father was rich in other ways. What he lacked in money, he made up for in personality. He was rich in love, in passion, and hospitality He was always willing to help others. He never knew a stranger. And he could talk to anyone for hours…and hours …and hours, while the rest of the family tried vainly to get out of the church foyer, or exit a party. He would leave ten minute messages on our answering machine, telling us all about his trip to the dentist, what he had for lunch, and recounting his conversations with my mom. He loved words; speaking them, writing them, and arranging them into poetry.

My dad taught me to drive, to save money and to care about people. He taught me to shake hands firmly, look people in the eye, and stand up for what I believe is right. To this day, I think about the many things I learned from him. When I pull up behind a car, I make sure I can see the pavement under their back tires, and I remember him teaching me that on Main Street. When I fix my broken vacuum cleaner with a wire hanger, I’m sure that I am making him smile. When I squeeze out all of the toothpaste, I recount his money saving methods - but trust me, I will not be looking for my exacto knife!

I have other memories too: Memories that remind me of the man he used to be before God changed his life. I remember my brothers getting “the belt”, raging fits. and him yelling about things that seemed so insignificant. Like every human to walk the earth, he had deep struggles, hidden hurts, and faulty coping mechanisms. He was easily angered, overly emotional, and couldn’t let go of a single scrap of paper that came into the house. Only near the end of his life did he tell me about his childhood and the abuse he had endured. It helped me make sense of the things I sometimes saw in his eyes. He became so much more human to me when I learned his story. I saw him as a little boy, and not “My Dad”. I felt a new sense of love and compassion for him. And I admired how he fought to change what had been passed down to him. When my dad came to know Jesus, his life changed drastically. He was still human, but God redeemed and restored so much of what had been broken in his life. Up until his last breath, he was growing in his faith and learning to follow Jesus more fully.

During his last days, as his body was breaking down, he was trying to stay positive. Though he was weak and fragile, and he seemed to be gasping for breath, he would say with a smile, “I’m getting better every day!” Even though I think that he knew that wasn’t really happening. One evening as we sat on the couch he confessed to me, “I’m afraid to die.” I was surprised. But he quickly explained, “I’m not afraid for me. I’m going to heaven. But I’m afraid to leave your mom.” He was worried about her. “It’s ok Dad”, I assured him, “We will take care of her.”

He lived 84 rich, full years. My Dad didn’t leave us money. He left us something so much better: a legacy of deep love, strong passion, patriotism, integrity, conviction, affection and a life transformed by Jesus. The last memory that I have of my daddy was several months before he went to heaven. I went to Florida and spent a couple of weeks with him because his health was failing. I sat on his bed, hugged him, cried, and said goodbye. I could feel all the bones in his body and his shallow breathing was labored. He told me how much he loved me and each of my children and he reminded me that I would always be his “little peanut.”

1 Thessalonians 4:13-14 Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.