My dad reminded me of St. Joseph. Like Jesus’s earthly father, dad was a fierce protector of his family and a bit of a carpenter too. Like St. Joseph, he worked hard for his family. As a steam presser in a clothing factory, he worked directly in front of a hot steam press for 45 years. There were many terribly hot summer days when he would come home for lunch drenched with sweat; his entire body physically drained. I would plead with him to stay home, fearful he would succumb to heat exhaustion, but back to work he went because if he didn’t, he was not paid. God gave him the strength!

As a teen, I loved going to my high school football games with my friends. One year, dad bought a huge new car, big enough to fit me and five friends. I sheepishly asked him if I could drive his new car to the game with my friends. He didn’t hesitate to say yes. I pushed a little further and asked if I could “decorate” the car with blue and white crepe paper streamers, our school colors. He happily agreed, even though it was raining and the colors bled throughout the exterior of his beautiful car. He didn’t care because he knew I was having a grand old time. That’s the kind of dad he was. Every Friday night, my friends and I went to the Central Catholic dances. Dad always offered to drive us. I think he enjoyed hearing us giggling with excitement looking forward to the fun we would have.

My dad was a faithful parishioner at Holy Rosary; our family were fixtures at the 9:00 Sunday mass. He also volunteered for 50 years every night after work at St. Basil’s Seminary. When he was in his 80’s, the seminary gave him a new “job” of getting the seminary’s mail every day at the Methuen post office. Even though the mail bag was heavy and awkward, he took on this new role with pride. My dad’s motto was “always do the right thing”, which I try to live by every day. Watching him, my little St. Joseph, fade away was heartbreaking. I am blessed to have had him for so long, although it doesn’t matter the age; it’s the loss, but God blessed me with heartfelt memories of the man who taught me to drive when I was only 13, taught me what true values are, taught me respect for all I meet, and most importantly, instilled in me great faith. Dad was a humble, fearless man who loved his family and his simple home. I know he and St. Joseph are in Heaven sharing stories and maybe even doing a little carpentry work for God.

Happy Father’s Day in Heaven, dad. You are forever missed.

~Connie Pickles