by Father Mark Goldasich
At a recent rehearsal, I got to visit with the most neglected person in the wedding procession.
Obviously, it’s not the bride or groom, the best man, maid/matron of honor or the other attendants. Smiles light up faces as the ring bearers and flower girls sprint up the aisle . . . or not. The mother of the bride is escorted in; the father of the bride walks his daughter in.
So, who’s left? Well, while the groom accompanies his mother into the church, the poor father of the groom humbly — and all by himself — follows behind. When I pointed this out to the groom’s father, he replied, with a laugh, “Father, I know my role in all this! Just write the checks!”
This issue’s center spread, pages 8 and 9, offers some reflections on fathers as we honor them this weekend. It’s hard to believe that my dad has been gone for over 41 years. I still miss him.
The following story, originally written by Art Ernst (but adapted here), who was a former Methodist minister, reminds me of my dad. Ernst wrote:
When I was a kid, my mom liked to make breakfast food for dinner every now and then. I especially remember one evening when she made a breakfast meal after spending a long, hard day at work.
On that evening, my mom placed a plate of eggs, sausage and a batch of extremely burned biscuits on the table in front of my dad. I remember waiting to see his reaction.
All Dad did was reach for his biscuit, smile at my mom and ask me about my day at school. I don’t remember what I told him, but I do remember watching him smear butter and jelly on that ugly burned biscuit. He ate every bit of that thing and never made a face or uttered a word about it.
When I got up from the table, I remember hearing my mom apologize for burning the biscuits. Dad said, “Honey, I love burned biscuits every now and then.”
Later that night when I went to say good night to my dad, I asked if he really liked burned biscuits. He wrapped me in his arms and said lovingly, “Your mom put in a hard day at work today and she’s really tired. And besides, a little burned biscuit never hurt anyone!”
The “burned biscuit episode” and his father’s handling of it made a lasting impression on Ernst’s life. He later wrote: “Throughout our married life, if my wife Jane burned something, I’d say, ‘Sweetheart, I like it that way.’ Which I really did, as she prepared it out of love. . . . And that’s my wish for each of my children and grandchildren: Learn to take the good, bad and ugly parts of your life and overcome them with kindness. Because, in the end, true thoughtfulness, forgiveness and consideration will give you a relationship where a burnt biscuit ain’t such a big deal!”
Honestly, I don’t remember too much of what my dad said, but the way that he lived his life sticks with me. His gentle spirit lovingly surrounded my mom and me . . . and oozed outward to family and friends. He was dedicated to his Catholic faith and to service both in church and in the community. He had a “Dad” sense of humor — he could always make himself laugh — and would often break out into song.
I owe him a debt that can never be fully repaid.
What a blessing great dads are! The best gift we can give them is to follow in their footsteps.
One last thought, reminiscent of that groom’s dad, is a definition of a father as “one who carries photos in his wallet where his money used to be!” True ‘dat!
