I still miss my father 10 years later…

My father passed away 10 years ago today. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t miss him still.

I had a good childhood under the parentage of him and my mother. Of course, there were the usual tantrums when I didn’t get to do what I wanted as a little boy, and some frustrations as a teenager wanting to strike out on my own, foiled by their protectiveness. But even at the time, I knew they were probably right.

As I have grown older, meeting many people through my writing and teaching care, and having discussions about our families, I have realized that mine were exceptional. I am stunned by the number of people dealing with traumas because of their childhood parenting. I have been tremendously blessed, and I am thankful.

One story from high school stands out for me. There was a rule that I had to be home by 10 PM on school nights, midnight on weekends. I thought 10 was a little early, but so be it.

I went to a party for a birthday with about 15 or 20 classmates. I rode with a friend who has his license, who said we would be back by 10. However, 10 approached and no one made any indication to leave. I finally said something, but he said he wasn’t ready yet. A girl he had a crush on was paying attention to him, which removed any concern about his friend getting in trouble.

I immediately found a payphone and called my parents. I told my dad what was going on. He was angry, told me I knew the rule, and I was irresponsible. I was stunned and angry at the unfairness of this. He said I not be allowed to go out on the weekend as a punishment.

When I finally got home, I went straight to bed, laying there angry and frustrated, feeling an unfairness I could do nothing about. Injustice struck me deeply, even at that age.

There was a knock at the door, and my dad entered. I thought, oh no, here we go again. He sat down on the side of the bed.

“Markus, I got angry with you tonight. It was inappropriate because you we’re not at fault. Someone else didn’t keep their promise to you. You did the right thing by calling as soon as you realized the problem. I had had a bad day, and I took it out on you. That’s unfair, and I apologize. I am deeply sorry. Will you forgive me?”

Of course I did! I felt vindicated, but there was something more important. Strong, successful, highly disciplined and competent man, just admitted weakness and unfairness. He asked for forgiveness! This was an incredible model for me that I have never forgotten. It is a strength, not a weakness to ask for forgiveness.

Throughout my life, as a child until he passed away, he unfailingly supported my creative endeavors (writing and music). I wanted to be a writer at a pretty young age, so he gave me a typewriter for Christmas (a Smith-Corona Coronet Super 12 Coronomatic!). He helped me submit stories and poetry to magazines. When I played in rock bands in college, he would come and listen, even though he did not care for rock at all. He even subscribed to a rock music magazine so he could better converse with me about my love of music.

When I began writing as a career, he read everything I wrote. He was always encouraging, he gave critique if I asked for it, and he told me to keep working because I had talent. (He even read my PhD dissertation, which had to be a terribly tedious!)

He taught me to work hard, be honest, never take advantage of anyone, and always be generous with what God has given me.

He taught me to be kind to others and what it meant to be a gentleman. That other people would sometimes be dishonest with me, take advantage of me, and might even lie about me. I might even experience great trauma through the actions of others (he was fired from an important corporate job because a boss saw him as a threat because my dad was so good at his job). My dad said, “You’ll never have control over the integrity of others. Pay attention to YOUR integrity—that’s all that matters.”

I was at his side when he passed away. The last thing he said to me, “I love you, son.” The last thing I said to him was, “I love you, dad.”

One can’t really ask for a better ending, as painful as it was.

So today, I lift a dram to Jack Holland McDowell, the true gentleman Jack, who not only showed me how to be a gentleman with integrity, but is an integral part of the writer that I became.
He believed in me, without fail.

Requiescat in pace, pater. I love you.