Last week’s message (Part 1) was wrapped
around how long hair taught me not to judge others. That stupid ponytail (which
I had for many years) also came into play later on in my life when it helped me
learn the true meaning of love and sacrifice. Let me explain…
In 2000, I was 45 years old and still wearing my hair in a long ponytail. It had become symbolic of my youth and a reminder that I should always follow my own path in life regardless of what others think. My wife loved it and wouldn’t let me cut if I wanted to, and guess I just loved being different.
Unfortunately, my Dad, a Captain in the Marine Corps, didn’t love my long hair like I did. He didn’t even like my long hair a little bit and often asked me with a wry smile, “When you gonna get that sh$%&#t cut off?”. My Dad never spoke to me in a mean way, quite the opposite. But he did enjoy giving me a bit of a hard time in a good-natured way. Our relationship was really special because I looked up to him and admired him on so many levels. Despite being the winner of the Marine Corps Medal of Valor, he was the humblest man I ever met, and also one of the smartest. He loved to teach me things and instilled in me at a young age, the desire to learn, which has served me well throughout my life. He was a soldier, a scholar, loyal to his friends, faithful to his wife, and loving to his children.
I will never forget the day he asked me if I would go with him to the hospital for a follow up visit. I had noticed he was having trouble swallowing, but didn’t know that it was getting serious. When the Doctor closed the door and sat down and sighed, I got butterflies in my stomach. When the Doctor finally spoke and told my Dad that he had esophageal cancer, and it wasn’t curable, I thought I was going to throw up. I was fighting back tears as I looked at my Dad, but he wasn’t upset at all. He thanked the Doctor for doing what he could and asked him, “How long?” That’s when I really lost it.
They operated on my Dad one last time in January 2001, but he never got well enough to leave the hospital. I visited him almost every day and when he could speak, which wasn’t often, we had some good laughs. I don’t remember him ever complaining about his medical issues. In fact, he kept his sense of humor and even needled me about my hair one last time. The next day I made a decision that just felt right… and when I walked into his hospital room carrying my former ponytail in my hand, he smiled a huge smile and said, “You know, I think I was wrong. You look like sh$%&#t with short hair!” He laughed, I laughed, and I hugged him and told him I loved him. He died a few weeks later but I carry a picture with me everywhere I go, a picture of him and I at the hospital that day, as a reminder of the true meaning of love… the willingness to sacrifice for the good of others.
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