Dad died in 1993. Our youngest four kids never hugged him. It might seem unlikely that he could still be influencing me. But in marriage group we told stories about our fathers, and the feelings seemed remarkably fresh. 

 

My remembrance of his choices are distorted by the limits of my awareness as a child. And yet I was there. He felt called to the ministry when he had four children, and saved half of his salary at Ford Motor company for three years in anticipation of going back to school. Latin and Greek did not come easily for him, and my mother had to get a job which had never been her ambition. There were no promises of a pastorate. But he gave it all he had. He graduated. 

 

We were sent to California, which was the outer limits of my awareness at eight years old. Dad was a warm hearted pastor, and started a youth group to draw in the teens. Sometimes I was included in their activities because what else were they going to do with me, and I have sweet feelings about the classes and service projects. He got another itch, this time for a degree in counseling, and while it was an inconvenience for us kids at the time, the importance of pursuing a dream has lasted these fifty years. 

 

I doubt whether his decision to pursue those career moves included any potential for inspiring his daughter long after he was gone. But here it is.