Father's Day 2009

Where and how do you begin to say thanks to the most important man in your life?

The one who helped conceive you and held you as a newborn. The one who toiled long, irregular hours at physical jobs to provide for our family and yet set aside time to be there as a Cub Scout volunteer and baseball coach.

The one who took you fishing (I still remember catching a tiger shark in San Mateo Bay), taught you how to use the gas-powered lawnmower, showed you how to change the oil and check the tire pressure. The one who shared your love of Sunday doubleheaders at old Candlestick Park, watching Willie Mays and the Giants take on the best of the National League.

It broke my heart when he and my mom divorced. I was 15 then and I remember questioning why a wise and merciful god would allow my parents to split up. At the same time, I was old enough to realize the break-up probably was for the best, knowing it would relieve the stress in our home. Still, it meant not having my dad under the same roof during the very years when I could have used him the most. Not that there were any nasty consequences.

With his and my mom's encouragement, I did just fine in school and in sports, becoming the first in my family to attend college, while absorbing all the values that they tried to pass along: honesty, hard work, commitment to family, self-respect, modesty, responsibility, compassion for the less fortunate, pride in our Mexican heritage ... just to mention a few.

As a father of three myself, I look at my dad, now in his early 80s, and appreciate him more with each passing year. He was one of 10 kids born to Luciano and Justa Rede in rural New Mexico. He left home in his teens to earn a living, served in the U.S. Navy during WWII and, despite an eighth-grade education, managed to buy a home and break into the middle class.

He's always been on the quiet side, more apt to let others have the spotlight, yet enjoying their company. And he's always respected me as a fellow adult and parent, never questioning whatever decisions I've made concerning family, work and money; never trying to meddle. Today, remarried, he lives in Silver City (population 10,000) in southwestern New Mexico, about 75 miles from the Mexico border.

How do I say thanks to my dad? Today, I'll call to tell him -- again -- that I love him, respect him and appreciate all the support he's given me. And I will take opportunities like this to tell the world about my father, Catarino Allala Rede.