Remembering Dad- June, 2010

Each June we pause to pay tribute to our fathers with gifts, dinners, etc. for those we still have with us. Fond memories for those of us whose Fathers have departed this life.

My Dad, Harvey E. Wright, or Ernie as family and friends called him, or “Slick” as his co-workers at Santa Fe Railroad knew him, was a unique man. He had an uncanny ability for unconditional love. Each family member, close and distant, thought they were his favorite because he made them feel so without slighting anyone else.

As a teenager Dad won a Purple Heart and Bronze Star in the Battle of the Bulge during World War II. He always said he was old enough to fight for his country, but not old enough to vote. He was a member of Tom Brokaw’s “Greatest Generation.”

We measure success in our world in many ways. Longevity, education, and financial accumulation are just three of a list that could be much longer. Dad lived just a little over sixty- five years, completed only a sixth- grade education, and I doubt that his income level ever reached $10,000 a year. Yet he raised three successful children and provided funds for my Mother, Jean, to live on for the last twenty-one years since his passing.

Dad had three simple rules dealing with finances.  First, if you make money save some, second, don’t spend money before you make it, and finally, stay away from credit. When I entered my career in life insurance I began to realize the wisdom of his views.

Dad was a natural craftsman and artist who could draw or build nearly anything. Over a period of years he built three houses on two lots in Southwest Wichita. We sold the last house he built in 2003 to provide funds for Mom to reside at Cumbernauld.

Two of the more meaningful events of my life were comments from my Dad. In 1974 he was in the Veteran’s Hospital in Kansas City and he and I were visiting. He said, “We were lucky. This could have happened when all of you were in school, but it didn’t. We got you through on about half of what you needed. Then one turns out like you, it makes you kind of proud.”  Years later at the VA Hospital in Wichita my oldest daughter Sharla was going for a visit. Before she turned the corner into a lounge area she could here Grandpa bragging again about her Dad.

Those events might not seem so special to some of you. Just a father being proud, that’s not too unusual. But you see, Dad wasn’t my biological father. He got me in the deal when he married my Mom. No one ever knew the difference. That was his unconditional love on display again. Thanks Dad.