By HAROLD KELLER

In the last Drive Improvement and Substance Abuse class I conducted, I asked this question to the participants: “If you had one wish, what would it be?” The answers varied from a long life, winning the lottery, going to heaven, etc.

One man who was nearly 40 years of age said, “I wish my daddy was still living.” His dad died three years ago. I could feel the hurt in this man’s life. I said, “I certainly can relate to you. My dad died April 26, 1955, and I still miss him.” It’s hard to believe it’s been 47 years.

That night and the next day, I reminisced about my dad. He was a good dad. Today, I understand when I hear that love is spelled “TIME.” My dad gave his time to not only his children, but to all the neighborhood kids.

When we were young, my dad organized neighborhood baseball games when he came home from work. He was the pitcher for both teams. He built a basketball court for all the neighborhood. Some of the people I grew up with still talk about our baseball games and basketball tournaments. Those memories are good.

My dad gave a lot of himself. The incident I remember most was when we were about to leave for a football game at Leon Godchaux High School one Sunday afternoon, and a hobo knocked at our door, asking for something to eat. Since we didn’t own a car, and the walk to the school was a little over a mile, I was more interested in getting to the game than entertaining a stranger.

My dad invited the hobo in, but he didn’t want to come in the house. “I’ll eat on the steps,” he said. “If you want to eat, you have to come in,” my dad said. Reluctantly, he came into the house and sat at my dad’s place at the table. (We had already eaten.) My mom served him gumbo and potato salad. I can still see him sweating as he ate the hot gumbo.

This happened many years ago, but it was not until a few years ago that I appreciated the servant’s attitude of my dad. He treated that hobo as God wants us to treat everyone.

Yes, I had a good dad. He loved my mother and sacrificed for his children to provide our needs and plenty of our wants.

For all the good memories of my dad, I am most grateful for the act of kindness and generosity my dad extended to a homeless stranger.

HAROLD KELLER writes this column as part of his affiliation with the Get High on Life religious motivational group. Call him at (985) 652-8477 or write to P.O. Drawer U, Reserve, LA 70084.