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Lessons I Learned From My Dad


Think. Time after time he reminded me to always think before I acted upon anything. He probably grew tired of telling me over and over to use a little fore thought. I know I was not the easiest of the three boys to raise. My attention span was nil. My nick-name should have been squirrel because I was easily distracted. But after losing him when I was twenty four I’ve heeded his advice many times over the years, and it has always paid off.

Do what you say you’re going to do or die trying. He was a firm believer of owning your words. If you told someone you were going to do something, do it. If you told someone you were going to show up at a certain time, be there. Many times he told me, “Boy, your word is your bond. If you don’t do what you say - people will never believe again. It takes a lifetime to build a good reputation, but you can destroy it all with one misdeed.”

Say please and thank you, yes mam, no mam and yes sir, no sir. He was right. A little courtesy never goes out of style. It’s not hard to be polite, and it has taken me far in life. When all else fails, just be nice. It isn’t difficult.

Pray. I can’t say enough about this. There is power in prayer. I am not much on saying my prayers out loud. Prayer is a very personal thing for me. I guess I’m different that way. I’m uncomfortable when called upon to pray in public because I believe prayer is a conversation between me and God - just like I’d have a conversation with anyone else. Having someone else listen in is a little awkward for me. I talk to him one on one a lot during the day, and most people have no idea when I’m talking to him. Many times I watched my father stand silently, staring off over a field past the horizon, looking at nothing in particular, but I knew what he was doing. I believe farmers have a closeness with God unlike a lot of other people. Give us our daily bread meant more to him than just a meal. I couldn’t begin to thank him enough for that bit of wisdom.

Actions speak louder than words. Daddy wasn’t a big talker. He was a quiet man. But his actions spoke volumes. I watched as he did kindnesses for folks others never knew about. He figured some things didn’t need to be flaunted. That impressed me. In the last few months of his life he was terribly ill, but he never complained. A lot of folks from all walks of life came to our home to pay their last respects to him and were shocked by frail condition. Somehow it was he who lifted their spirits rather than the other way around. He had that gift. In watching how he lived his life during those difficult last days I knew where his strength came from. His faith was genuine. He needed to say nothing to speak volumes, and I heard him loud and clear

Love unconditionally. He wasn’t much on vocalizing the word love. I just knew I was loved. As a kid growing up I know I was a challenge to him. But he never gave up on me. He was a rock unmoved by waves I pushed toward his shore. He was always there and I knew he cared. Not long before he passed away I mustered the courage to tell him I loved him. We were sitting on the front steps one day and I said, “Daddy, I just want you to know I love you and I’m glad you are my father.” He struggled with his words, too, “I know, boy. I’ve always known, but it sure is good to hear it spoken out loud.” We both were choked up that day. We knew what the future held in store for him. It wasn’t long after he passed away I made my profession of faith. I wanted what I had seen in his life – something genuine, something real.

I heard him loud and clear that day sitting on the steps of our home on the hill. Nowadays I try to never miss an opportunity to let people I care about know they are loved. Something that was so difficult for my father and I to verbalize to each other comes easily forty years later, and that’s one thing I’d like to add to his list. Never miss a chance to tell someone you love them out loud. You may never get another chance, and it is painless.

There are so many more things I could say about the quiet man that wore hats, but those are stories for another day. I’m just thankful he was my father, and I’m thankful he never gave up on me.

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Rick Algood
June 18, 2016

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