Fathers Day 2025
Every year I write something for Father’s Day, sometimes I try to inspire and sometimes I honor people that I have known. This year it is time to tell my side of what a strong father presence means as well as some humor along the way. As I have thought about this, I came to realize that there were similarities between my relationship with my dad, and things we did together, and the things I did with my son. Some were planned and some just happened.
Both of us were in our thirties when we became fathers. He
was 30 and I was 35, a bit older for our generations. 
My father passed away when I was 19. His father, the grandfather I am named after, passed when my dad was 16.
I had only one living grandfather and my son only had one living grandfather. For both of us, it was on the maternal side.
I had a great-grandfather who passed when I was young. I had a great-grandmother and my son had a great-grandmother.
The firstborn for my father and myself were both boys.
The apple didn’t fall from the tree.
Lessons from my father
One thing that stuck with me was a day at the family hardware store. Old-school hardware stores were as much about teaching as they were about selling products to customers. I was standing next to him as he waited on an older black man teaching him how to fix his bathroom sink. A redneck rubber worker came up to the counter and demanded that he wait on him before he waited on that “nigger”.
Dad - “I will wait on you when I am done with this gentleman.”
Redneck - “No, you are going to wait on me now”.
Dad - “Look the color of his money is the same as yours and he is first in line.”
Redneck - “You are going to wait on me first”.
Dad - “If you don’t like it, please feel free to leave”.
Redneck – “You can’t throw me out of here”.
Dad – “Yes, I can. Tim, please show this man the door. I believe he came in the back door, so show him out the front door”.
Dad to the gentleman he was waiting on – “Sorry about that”.
That was a life lesson in equality that stuck with me throughout my life.
I did continue that stance as well as many know.
I wonder what he would have thought about me being in a Pulitzer-winning series about black and white relations in Akron? Several of my comments were in the story and a picture of myself, my son, and his mother were published in the Beacon. Even a public apology I made because of outdated information about a principal at a local junior high school. I ate crow on that comment. When you are wrong, admit it and move on with humility. I did get to see that Pulitzer when I was at the Beacon for a follow-up years later. It is a shame it was lost in their move out of the building they called home for so long.
Golf was something that I shared with my dad and I shared with my son. He did get me started early and it was a game we enjoyed together. My son, I knew I had a golfer when I held my finger out to him right after he was born and he gripped it with a perfect Vardon grip.
My dad bought me my first set of clubs when I showed interest by using his clubs to chip the ball around in the yard. As I got older there were evenings when the two of us would tee them up in the front yard and hit balls into the reservoir that became the North Course at Firestone. We continued that until they planted the trees along the first fairway got too big.
My son’s first clubs were bought by a neighbor shortly after he was born. I saw the humor in that child-sized plastic set but I don’t think his mother did. When he started crawling, he would sit on his butt, hit the ball, and then crawl after it. He’d then hit it back.
I cut off an old wedge for him and had him hitting soft rubber balls in my backyard when he was grown sone. One went into his sandbox and I told him to hit it out. I have no clue where or how he figured out that the swing is different between grass and sand, but he had.
My first round was on Firestone South. My son’s first was with his grandfather on a par 3 course but with me, it was Firestone Public. I hit his tee shots for him but that almost bit me on the first hole when he made par. We returned often.
My sarcastic comments come from my dad as an inherited trait as does my potty mouth. I was not immune to either from him at times. I could dish them back with the same biting tones.
Dad – You’ll make someone a good wife someday.
I was learning to cook and sew from my great aunt and grandmother. Little did he know what the future would hold for me.
Dad – Alright, tee another one up and try not to kill us next time.
Playing golf at Prestwick and my tee shot hit and tree and came back over everyone’s head.
Counting inventory at the hardware store and my job was to count bins of nuts that we had. One year he told me he was going to help and proceeded to estimate the totals.
Me – You mean I have been counting these one by one every year when they could have been guessed?
Dad – Yep, I had to give you something you could happen.
I stopped just short of calling him a SOB that day.
Football
My dad loved professional football. I froze many times at Municipal Stadium when we went to a Browns game. We only went to one Ohio State game together but that got me hooked.
He wanted to go to the Pro Football Hall of Fame and decided to make the trek on Sunday. We got to the front door and they were closed. We never went back together.
I did beat him there when I worked an autism event on the field
next to the building. I got a ticket to tour it for working with that group of
kids. 
Pete Johnson who played for the Buckeyes and then in the pros was there and we talked a lot throughout the day.
At one point we had to be let into the building to use the restroom. As I was walking down the hall there was a knock at the door and Pete was standing there.
I let him in and then said “Congratulations, Pete, you did something my dad didn’t do, got me into the building.” He saw the humor but still told me I was sick.
As I close out this year’s message, I thank my father for making me the man that I am.
I thank my son for allowing me to be your father and teach you along the way.
I love you both.
Build the memories with your sons and daughters and your father in person and through your eyes, not a camera lens. Unfortunately, they will not be around forever.
Legislative Director
440-281-5478
legislation@ohiofamilyrights.com
