Today is Father’s Day.
So today, I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot.
This post isn’t really about finding answers. It’s about remembering him and reflecting on some of the lessons he left behind.
The older I get, the more I realize I’m still learning from him.
Most of my grandparents lived into their mid-90s.
My dad didn’t. He passed away at 78.
On paper, it doesn’t make a lot of sense.
He was active in a way most people never are.
Three sets of tennis almost every morning. Half marathons. Bike races. Always moving.
If you saw him from the outside, you’d probably say he was doing everything right.
And in a lot of ways, he was.
My dad and I were close. We talked almost every day.
He wasn’t just my dad. He was my sounding board, my mentor, and the person I called when I needed perspective.
He had a sharp sense of humor and a quick wit. He could simplify a complicated problem in a way that made life feel manageable again.
His humor showed up in the simplest moments.
One year, I brought him a bottle of Grey Goose vodka as a gift. At the time, Grey Goose was being marketed as premium vodka, and I remember proudly telling him, “Dad, this is premium vodka.”
He looked at me, then looked at the bottle.
Without saying a word, he walked into the kitchen, opened a cupboard, and pulled out a giant plastic jug of vodka.
The label simply said, “Premium Vodka.”
He held it up and said, “I already drink premium vodka.”
We both started laughing.
For years afterward, whenever Grey Goose came up, one of us would mention his plastic jug of “Premium Vodka,” and we’d laugh all over again.
That’s who he was.
Funny. Practical. Never impressed by labels.
My dad taught me a lot over the years.
He taught me that details matter. The little things have a way of becoming the big things.
He taught me to be kind to people and to treat others with respect, regardless of their position or title.
And one lesson I heard more than once was, “If it’s to be, it’s up to me.”
In other words, take responsibility. Don’t wait for someone else to solve your problems. Put in the work and own the outcome.
Those lessons stayed with me throughout my career, my marriage, and my life.
I’ve done my best to pass them on to my children, because they came from someone I respected deeply.
His passing hit me hard. And like most things that hit hard, it leaves you asking questions.
Why him?
Why 78 when so many others in the family lived well into their 90s?
Of course, there are things you can point to.
My dad smoked when he was younger. Mostly a pipe, but cigarettes too, especially during his Army years.
Could that have played a role? Maybe.
But then again, his father smoked when he was younger as well and lived to 95.
That’s what makes these questions so difficult.
We want simple answers, but life rarely gives us one.
The older I get, the more I think health is about more than exercise and diet.
It’s also about what we carry.
My dad was married three times.
His last marriage was different. He and Tamara were together from 1993 until he passed away in 2015.
More than twenty years.
They were good together. There was stability, companionship, and happiness there. I’m grateful he had that.
When I think about my dad’s life, I don’t just think about the years people could see.
I think about the decades that came before them.
Work. Responsibilities. Relationships. Financial pressures. Losses. Expectations.
Life has a way of piling things on over time.
The things we carry often aren’t visible to anyone else.
That kind of weight doesn’t show up on a tennis court.
You can be physically fit and still be carrying a lot.
I’ve also thought about something else.
Most of my grandparents retired in their 60s.
Life slowed down.
The daily pressures eased.
Whether they realized it or not, they gave themselves time to rest.
My dad never really did.
He stayed active, but he also stayed engaged.
He kept working. Kept moving. Kept taking on responsibilities.
I admired that about him.
I still do.
But sometimes I wonder if there is a lesson in it.
Not because work is bad.
Not because staying active is bad.
Quite the opposite.
But maybe there is a difference between staying active and never slowing down.
Maybe there is value in stepping back once in a while.
Maybe there is value in giving yourself time to recover.
The truth is, I’ll never know exactly why my dad passed when he did.
None of us get those answers.
Today, on Father’s Day, I’m not really looking for them.
I’m just grateful I got 78 years with him.
Grateful for the conversations.
Grateful for the advice.
Grateful for the laughter.
And grateful that, even now, I’m still learning from him.
Miss you, Dad.