A Father's Legacy
A "legacy" is the sum, the total, of all the years of a human life as it affects the lives of those who are its heirs: all the good, all the bad, all the material, all the moral, all the spiritual. In death, the departed says to the remaining: "Here is my life. Every thought and every attitude, every motive and every deed. This is my legacy; this is your inheritance. This is the final distillation of my love for you."
Last week I shared with countless others the sad experience of burying the mortal remains of my father. Now, days later, I sit down to examine and evaluate my inheritance. Not just to remember the half-forgotten goods and bads of our association, but to know, and consciously receive, in humility and gratitude, the things which are of enduring value, that I may add them to the legacy I am building for my own heirs. There isn't a dime of money in my inheritance, yet I fine treasures — some of them quite odd — which are of tremendous worth.
My father left me the memory of a home. Not a house. Not a place where we were fed and clothed, sheltered and taught, spanked and loved. Sometimes the house was crude, but there was more than this to our home. It was an association, a united family, bound together in a love that didn't have to be spoken to be felt. I never remember hearing my father say "I love you!" but I never doubted it for a moment. In my family we seldom said that, but we lived it. No, we never had a fine house in our lives, but our home was a mansion. To share this concept, this dream, he married the girl who was to become my mother. She was and is all things to all of us: all songs, all poetry, all virtue, all beauty, all praise.
He gave his children the gift of discipline; hard, sure and swift. We learned early that retribution followed rebellion as certainly as night follows the day. Rewards were few and sparingly dispensed so we learned to savor each one fully and the grace of gratitude came naturally. We learned the worth of honest toil and the pride of accomplishment which takes no account of money earned. We learned of the debt everyone owes — to do the most, and the best, he can, and that he who does less cheats his employer, his family, his country and his God. That no one has the right to ask more till he has used to the uttermost what he has. That it is not a shame to fail, but is a shame not to try. Thus when we faced life for ourselves, where these principles are changeless verities, we found them neither strange nor fearsome.
He gave us the sharp, clean gift of poverty. In this we learned that the dignity of man is not measured in dollars. We learned to look the rich and mighty straight in the eye and not feel inferior to them. We learned compassion for the kids who had everything but never knew the delights of a penny sucker earned by the sweat of toil. He did not give us riches but he did give us a deep appreciation of the things that are better than man's tawdry riches.
He gave to me an abiding respect for womanhood which has kept me in all my ways from sullying any woman's virtue. He taught me that a good woman cannot be touched by a profane hand, and one who can be isn't fit to be touched. He instilled in me the pride of manhood and the honor of keeping it clean. From him I learned to be indignant of dishonesty, disdainful of pretense and angry with injustice. That a five-foot-seven man can stand ten feet tall if his spirit is big enough.
These are the treasures of my inheritance. My father did not teach me to be a Christian, but he did endow me with the principles which made me love the truth and righteousness of Christianity, and reach out to it with a hunger that would not be denied. Thus he had a hand in this also. My heart is not empty nor my life barren because of his passing. So much of him lives on in me. He had many faults and I am aware of most of them. Yet, somehow, he managed not to pass any of his faults on to me. Mine are of my own doing. So, with the whole of his life before me, I salute the memory of my father.
Why do I make public such musings as these? Only because I believe there is a lesson here we all need. What can our own children say of us when we live only in their memory? Each of us is putting together the legacy which will be our true monument in the hearts of those we love. Will my sons and my daughter stand taller and nobler before God and men because of me? Is money and cattle and houses and land enough to leave our children? They may be glad to get such things unearned, but neither respect nor love can be thus purchased. The best way to say "I love you!" is to bring our children's feet step by step nearer heaven while we may. A child's tenderest memory is of a Heaven-bound parent.