Today is the first anniversary of my dad’s death. It has gotten me thinking of what is the true measure of a man? I don’t think my dad actually knew how many lives he touched just by being himself. He wasn’t “famous.” He wasn’t “rich.” He didn’t invent anything that changed the course of history. However, I think by any measure that matters, he was a good man.
It seems to me that a man should not be measured by what accumulates over his life, but by what he has given away. When my dad first got sick in 2009, I didn’t give much thought to him actually dying. Yes, I knew he had cancer and that it was serious. Yes, I knew that he could die. But, the reality is that he had always overcome adversities in his life (whether it be shattering his heel or having acid spilled into his eye) and my family has always seemed to weather serious illness (my aunt beat a very rare and deadly cancer shortly before my dad was diagnosed) so I believed that he could beat this as well. Unfortunately he didn’t.
His death has impacted me differently than others in my family. I have always been somewhat of an independent soul with my own quirky way. I am a fatalist and so am very accepting of what happens and take a practical approach to things and move on. That being said, I find that I miss certain things about my dad a great deal. I miss being able to call him up and talk about obscure facts or trivia. I miss talking to him about the trials and tribulations of being a Cleveland Indians fan. I miss seeing his eyes light up when he laughed or my daughters walked into the room.
So what is the measure of a man and why do I think that my dad was a good man? A good man gives more than he takes. He guides, teaches, and supports without reservation or an expectation of reciprocation. He helps the helpless. He provides for those that depend on him. He puts the welfare and happiness of those around him before himself and by doing so, finds true happiness. He advises without commanding.
My dad was a good man and I don’t think he knew just how good or how many people he touched over the years. After his death I heard from people who may not have seen him in 20 years but still remembered how he helped them, or touched them, taught them, or mentored them.
My dad was all of these things: a son; a brother; an uncle; a cousin; a husband; a confidant; a protector, a best friend; a coach; a mentor; a Gapa and GopGop (grandfather); and so many other things. But most important to me, he was my father.
