It was a Newfoundland morning best spent curled up under the blankets—thick fog, fine misty rain, cold easterly wind. But I could hear the family truck's engine idling outside. I crept to the front room where I peered out the window, my nose pressed against the glass.

I could see him, a dark shadow moving against the grey background, work boots crunching on the snow as he walked around the truck to check the headlights and the tires. As he looked under the hood, I could see one gloved hand removing the radiator cap while the other verified the fluid in the tank.

He slid behind the steering wheel and drove carefully down the street, the truck swallowed up by the foggy dawn.

That was my dad, moving quickly, with purpose, driven by a commitment and a responsibility to his family, awake when most of the world slept.

Dangerous Delusion
For two decades, my father had been very active as a Salvation Army pastor in Newfoundland and Labrador, but some serious health issues had forced him to leave the work with an honorary pension. But while his health improved, his finances didn't. To make ends meet, he became a travelling salesman.

During my high-school years, I still watched as my father went to work. He'd go on sales trips—campaigns, as he called them—for days and weeks at a time. Without complaint, he kept the kitchen filled with food, made the house payments, dragged me to church on Sundays, drove us to visit relatives. Maybe it was because these scenes seemed so ordinary that I never remarked on them, or wondered at what motivated my dad to do what he did.

When I left home to pursue my studies and a career, Dad's presence became merely a voice on the phone, a name scribbled at the end of a letter stuffed with a cheque. In my selfish adolescence, I sometimes thought that other men were more significant than my dad, those men who taught university classes in accounting or the supervisors who taught me about the banking industry, men with titles and authority. It was then that my dad's importance lessened somewhat. I was deluded into thinking that degrees and accolades, power and money outweighed the achievements of my father.

In a Different Light
But as I entered the business world and started to provide for a family, I began to see life from a different perspective. I rediscovered my dad, not as a boy in awe, but with respect as a man.

When I awoke in the early morning, forgoing my own needs while working three jobs to provide for my wife and three children, I realized I could do this because of what my father had done for me. His example, his influence, his integrity, had left an impression.

I now realized a truth I'd never thought of as a child: unlike professors or superiors, my dad—a man who'd committed himself to God and to his family—had always been there for me and will always be with me.

Legacy of Love
Now when I spend time with my own son, at home, at church or at work, I wonder what he thinks of me. How will he measure my strengths and weaknesses, accomplishments and dreams? At what point will I slip away from his world of important men, and at what point will I return to him with a nod of understanding?

Sometimes the simple lessons are the most difficult ones to teach, and the essential truths are the toughest to learn. I only hope that one day my children will absorb the lessons and truths that have filtered down to them through my father's influence.

My father is gone now, but he left some things with me. He left me his smile. He left me his compassion, his honour and his reliability. He left me a desire to love and serve God. And he left me a father's love. I'll always cherish that.