My dad is my hero.  Although not perfect because, thankfully, no one is, he is the epitome of the term role model.

Although I struggle to remember (and have to look them up every single time) what the title of the good works are (Corporal and Spiritual Works of Mercy) I don't have to look very far to see their embodiment; my dad.

The seven practices of charity toward our neighbor's body:

1. Feed the hungry
2. Give drink to the thirsty
3. Clothe the naked
4. Shelter the homeless
5. Visit the sick
6. Visit those in prison
7. Bury the dead

The seven practices of charity toward our neighbor’s soul:

1.  Convert the sinner
2.  Instruct the ignorant
3.  Counsel the doubtful
4.  Comfort the sorrowful
5.  Bear wrongs patiently
6.  Forgive injuries
7.  Pray for the living and the dead

I can cite hundreds of examples of my father performing these mercies in the everyday course of his life with no fanfare at all.  He did them because he knew they were the right things to do and he expected absolutely nothing in return but the satisfaction of knowing that he helped someone else. He was extremely well grounded in conscience and in soul. 

I should begin by saying that my father (who is still alive at 93 but who has suffered from Alzheimers for more than the last 13 years and is therefore not really with us anymore) had all of the gifts and abilities that could have made him, and often make lesser men, selfish, arrogant, lazy, obnoxious, shallow and extremely poor company.  Not my dad.  He had immeasurable style but he trumped that in spades with his substance.

My brother pointed out that growing up with my dad was akin to growing up with a movie star.  I never made that connection but then being the girl I wasn't in competition with our dad.  From youth until his late 80s when Alzheimers finally got him, my dad was drop dead gorgeous, definitely movie star handsome.  He had the kind of looks that caused people, women and men, to stare at him.  He was also a clothes horse and wore them exceedingly well so the end result was a Hollywood leading man to be sure.

Starting in high school, continuing through college and into his early 80s my dad was athletically talented.  

He was a football star in high school and college and would regale anyone who would listen about his championship football days at St. John's University in the 1930s. He had season tickets for two to the football games at his alma mater until his middle 80s when it just wasn't possible to go anymore.   But, he could still repeat the details of every single game he ever played there and his eyes would twinkle and he would throw back his head and laugh every time he relived those memories.

He loved his years at St. John's and always felt so blessed to be able to attend.  He would often talk about the sacrifices his parents made to send him and his brother to St. John's.

He would tell you over and over and over again about his math professor, Father Polycarp, who was an alcoholic but, according to my father, an absolute genius.  Dad would describe how Polycarp would be writing some very complex math formula on the blackboard and my dad would be trying to both follow Polycarp's explanation and take furious notes about the formula and just after Polycarp was through noting the formula he would erase it and ask, " Did you dumm kopfs get that?  You are all such dumm kopfs."

Some days Polycarp was too drunk to get to class by himself and a couple students would have to go and drag him to the room.  My  dad swore that once he was placed in front of the class Polycarp would sober up on a dime.  Some days Polycarp didn't make it to class at all but his class would gather and wait in the hopes that he would arrive at some point staggering through the door.   My dad signed up for every class he could take with Polycarp and Polycarp, I think, left an indelible mark on my dad as what a teacher can mean to a student.  

He took golf and tennis lessons at St. John's and he played golf and a mean game of tennis on a weekly basis from college on.  On his 80th birthday he and I met at the tennis court at 8:00 a.m. for a celebratory round of tennis.  It took me two serves to realize that he was still the master of the topspin, twist and slice and that it was going to be a long hour or two for me.   I would return the ball and it would go anywhere but where I wanted it to go and Dad would say, "That's okay, honey.  You'll hit the next one."  LOL.  Right.

So, I would miss by a mile a couple more times and then the game would come to a halt so my dad could teach me how to "hit back".   He would demonstrate and we would play and I would get it but if I didn't, it would become another teaching moment.  You see, my dad wanted me to be just as good and even better than he was.  He was, after all, a teacher.

My dad was playful and witty and continually light hearted.  He absolutely loved his life and was always astonished when he would run into a sour puss.  Dad didn't get why everyone wasn't just thrilled to be alive.   He planned on having nothing but good times and was a firm believer that having a great life was solely in your hands.

He was gregarious and outgoing and because he cared far more about you than he cared about himself, people were attracted to him wherever he went.  My dad simply never met a stranger.   He also never went anywhere on this earth, be it China, Thailand, Iceland or San Francisco, that he didn't run into at least one person he knew.  That greatly tickled him and he couldn't wait to return from his current journey to ask, "Guess who I ran into on  the Champs-Elysees?"    

Dad had a master's degree in mathematics so you know he was smart.  He, of course, was also logical.  He could be seen rolling his eyes from time-to-time when some scenario or another that I laid out was based solely on highly-charged emotion. 

He took the problem as I presented it, figured its solution logically and would point out that math doesn't lie and therefore your fears are groundless and the answer really lies here.  I can remember this buoying response, "Everyone has some problems, honey, but that isn't and won't be one of yours." Wow!  That always lifted the weight of the world off my shoulders when he said that because I knew he was not to be doubted in his analyses.  

Okay, so my dad was handsome, athletic, witty, fun-to-be-around and smart.  Nice package, eh?

Well, he was all of those things but he was also more than that:  He was humble, thankful, generous, helpful, hard-working, empathetic, loving, non-judgmental and happy.

My dad worked three jobs when I was growing up and then he would spend his summer vacation from the teaching job breaking up concrete with a pick axe and a sledge hammer to fashion an aesthetic low wall between our yard and the neighbor's yard.   He went into the woods and dug up 20 little fir trees and planted them in a border between our yard and the other neighbor's yard.  He watered them by hand with a bucket and a tin can and took great pleasure in watching them grow.   I learned the value of hard work and pride in accomplishment from watching him.   I also learned that just because a task is hard doesn't mean it should be avoided and that is a wonderful lesson to learn.   

My dad loved animals, especially dogs he would say but when our cats died (we had terrible luck with cats!) Dad always led the way with the shovel and the handmade cross into the empty lot behind our house where we would have a nice Catholic funeral for Fluffy or Snowball or whomever was this time resting-in-peace.  I learned the value of love of animals and respect for the dead from those solemn times.

I remember an epiphany I had in high school.  Our family doctor was very ill, dying actually, and in the hospital.  My dad would work his jobs and come home and eat dinner and announce that he was going to the hospital to visit with "Doc" because he would be needing a diversion and some company. 

I know that without my dad demonstrating 'visit the sick', it would never have occurred to me that you would use your valuable time to do that for someone, particularly someone who wasn't family.  More than that, it would have never occurred to me to feel personally responsible for making a dying person feel a little bit better because of some small action I could elect to make.  

My dad did a lot of generous things on the sly.  One that leaked out was an act of kindness that he performed for a relatively new widow who lived in a condominium in the same building as my dad and mom.  Monthly dues were paid by the residents as is customary in every condominium, I guess.  If your dues got two months' behind your name was published along with the amount owing in the condominium bulletin where everyone could see your sins and tsk over them. 

Well, said widow was behind in payments so my dad on the QT paid those dues for her.  He said that he just couldn't bear to think of her embarrassment in seeing her name published like that with all of the other truly sorrowful things she had on her plate.   It wasn't the money for my dad it was the feelings.  I think I have learned that and I am so grateful.  I try to live by the axiom, tread softly, there are feelings everywhere.

The reason my dad had so many jobs was because his very favorite job was that of teacher but that didn't pay enough money for the life he wanted us to live. So, he kept his favorite job and added on two that he liked some but that he did primarily because they paid the bills. 

If there ever was a better example of "instruct the ignorant" I haven't experienced it.  My dad was an excellent teacher of a difficult subject for a lot of people.  He not only taught the basic subject extremely well but he added bonus points!

When binary language was just becoming known with the dawning of the computer age, Dad added that instruction to the last few minutes of every daily advanced math class he taught.  During the cold war he taught counting in the Russian language. 

He also had a firm policy of no homework.  He would announce at the beginning of the year that if you paid attention during class and asked questions about anything you didn't understand until you finally got an answer that you did understand, you would have learned the subject and could spend your homework time for math doing something else.

He was proud of the influence he had on his students and was very pleased that he was often the only teacher asked to attend class reunions over the years.  I would be proud when his students would tell me he was the best teacher they ever had and a number of them became teachers because of my dad.

As for feeding the hungry and giving drink to the thirsty; my dad always bought!  I'm sure I don't remember a time that we went out for dinner with others that he didn't pay and enjoyed the heck out of the fact that he could.  

I  learned compassion from my dad.  He considered himself to be so blessed and so lucky and it would break his heart to see others in misery.  He could be brought to tears quite easily over the plight of others.  It was especially hard for him when he was powerless to help.

I can remember him crying over his roommate in rehab (Dad had a hip replacement) who was really crippled.  Dad would simply say through his tears, "That poor bastard" and he would feel so woebegone because he had time, money, comforting words and actions for anyone who needed any of them and hated when that wouldn't fill the bill.   

Finally, my dad had expectations and standards.  He knew right from wrong and he practiced what he preached and he expected you to follow suit.  Dad had no tolerance at all for people who didn't demand something from themselves.   Those who took the low road or no road at all would certainly hear about it from my dad.  He expected people to be worthy rather than worthless and if he couldn't get you to follow his lead or the lead of some other worthy person than he would leave you behind and move on to those he could help.

I am thankful for my dad every day but since it is Father's Day, I thought I would pay him special tribute! 

Happy Father's Day, Dad!  I love you and I miss you.