Today would have been my dad’s 90th birthday.
Dad was always the man behind the camera — positioned in front of us, but often quietly operating in the background. He was an engineer, a builder, who made sure things got done in an organized fashion, that we were provided for, and that life stayed on a safe course. He could be pretty serious, but underneath that was a spirited heart anchored in faith and love.
Like his dad, he loved the outdoors: fishing, hunting, the big wide open. In the mid-70s, that love carried our family from the golden prairie lands of Kansas to Colorado, where the Rocky Mountains gave us an elevated appreciation of God’s majesty.
When Dad was stationed overseas in Germany in the 1950s — or maybe just after returning home — he bought a Kodak 35mm camera. That camera became part of our family’s story, capturing birthdays, holidays, and many ordinary moments in between.
I don’t have too many of those photos anymore, but there’s one that captivates me more and more as the years roll by. It’s circa 1973, when we were still living in Kansas — Mom and me at the kitchen table, hands folded in prayer before lunch. I’m about five, saying grace with a hollowed-out square of Wonder Bread draped over my wrist like a bracelet. Dad must have snapped it with that same Kodak — freezing this moment with God in time with the click of his shutter.
In the picture, the mystery might be: where did the middle of the bread go? Bits of another slice littered the edge of my plate, but the core of the piece I wore on my wrist sits on a napkin to my right. I remember how I used to tear out the soft white centers of the bread and roll them into tiny little pancakes. Then, one by one, I’d whisper, “Body of Christ,” placing each small piece on my tongue — practicing for the day I’d finally receive my First Holy Communion. I could hardly wait for that day! It shows how deeply my Catholic faith was already being formed, thanks to the seriousness with which Mom and Dad embraced their roles as our first teachers of faith.
I also remember stormy Kansas days, when tornado warnings wailed. Dad would fire up his old 16mm projector in the basement, and neighbors would join us for the show. His movies captured “reel” love and wonder that filled our childhood days and transcended boundaries. He even collaborated with other dads to take down our chain-link fences so all of us kids (and our dogs) could run wild and free.
I’m glad to have this photo to remind me of Dad’s loving presence, even though I can’t see him standing beside us in the picture — just as I am ever so lucky now to know the loving presence of Jesus in the Eucharist, even though I can’t “see” Him there.
Well, Dad — Happy Heavenly Birthday! I know you’re with Jesus now. And you both continue to be present in my life, making all the difference in the world.
