I have always looked up to my dad and was constantly learning from him. A natural mentor, he possessed a unique blend of self-confidence and humility, while his candid honesty and uncompromising integrity earned him the love and respect of everyone who knew him. He was a role model for practically everything I’ve done in my life. My dad was simply one of the finest people I have ever known.

Every day he showed me the kind of person he was. When I was a teenager, I was in a car accident that demolished the family’s beloved 1967 Mustang. I escaped unharmed, but it was well after midnight (and well past my curfew) before I was finally able to call home. My dad answered the phone and I anxiously explained what happened, apologizing with every other sentence. He listened without interruption, and when I finished he calmly replied, “Never mind the car, son. I’m just glad you’re safe. Tell me where you are, and I’ll be over to help.”

He quit school after the 8th grade so he could work full-time to help his parents and their seven children. Despite this, my dad never stopped learning — he was a fountain of knowledge with an unmatched work ethic. As an adult, he worked even harder to provide for his own family, often putting in ten-hour days, six days a week. But even with his busy schedule as a self-employed building contractor, he always made his wife and kids his top priority and took plenty of time off when he could.

My childhood is filled with wonderful memories of family road trips, Dad teaching me how to ride and care for horses, making banana splits together (with extra sprinkles), and watching Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, where he would often talk over Marlin Perkins to elaborate on something. Being outdoors with him was always a teaching moment — there wasn’t a tree, plant, flower, or bird he couldn’t identify. When my mom was gone for a week each summer directing Girls Camp, he would come home from work early and we’d crack open the Dr. Pepper while eating Kentucky Fried Chicken almost every night. We’d talk to truckers on the CB radio and listen to Johnny Cash or Hank Williams on 8-track. If I begged him, he’d yodel for me, which he was very good at, though a little shy.

Dad had a somewhat folksy and offbeat sense of humor that bounced effortlessly off my mom’s razor-sharp wit, and (for better or worse) it has rubbed off on their children. I’m almost certain the term “dad joke” was coined by somebody who knew him. Whether it was a one-liner you’d heard him tell a million times before, or spontaneously breaking out in song to perform “It’s Hard To Be Humble,” he had a good-natured playfulness with a natural ability to put people at ease and make them at least chuckle if not laugh out loud.

He met my mom on a blind date, and they married less than six months later. They loved each other for 46 years, and as best friends celebrated their achievements and took on life’s challenges together. They were the epitome of a strong and healthy relationship. I remember my dad planting flowers every Mother’s Day, and how carefully he would arrange each of the marigolds and impatiens in the planters we had outside the house. This was a tradition he had for years, and every year my mom would be so delighted, as though it were the first time he’d surprised her. Doing little things for her is what made him happy because it made her happy.

Music held an important role in our family, and as well as playing the harmonica, my dad had a great singing voice. Mom was an accomplished accordionist and played baritone ukulele. When they retired, they sold the house to be on the road full-time in their RV,  and together they helped lead a group of traveling senior musicians, calling themselves The Frustrated Maestros. They drove around the country performing at various events, large and small, gaining quite a reputation within certain circles. Entertaining others with music was a great source of joy for both of them, and my dad continued to be part of it for five more years after my mom unexpectedly passed away in 2005.

My wife, Dawn, and I traveled to the Netherlands for the first time in 2019, and my dad was so excited for us to visit his homeland. We spent time with friends, met family, and immersed ourselves in the culture of my father’s childhood. We even found the family home he lived in before immigrating to the United States when he was twelve. At the time of our trip, his health had taken a downturn, which amplified the already emotional experience of walking the same streets he did as a boy. It was a sentimental journey we will never forget, and a heartfelt bonding moment when I talked all about it with my dad on the phone when we returned home.

Dad died October 22, 2020. He showed strength and courage right up to the end, always putting the needs of others first and never losing his talent for making those around him smile. Throughout his life, his love was unconditional and his capacity to give of himself was enormous. He leaves behind a legacy of wisdom, gentleness, kindness, humor, and generosity.

I love you, Dad. You were and will always be my hero.