This past Sunday (Father’s Day) our pastor went on a tirade about the role of the father in the family. One of the most interesting comments our pastor made was when he said that when he was a prison chaplain, he noticed that on Mother’s Day all the Mother’s Day cards in the prison commissary would sell out. However, on Father’s Day, you couldn’t give a Father’s Card away much less sell one at the prison commissary. Meaning, I guess, that most prison inmates had little regard or love for their fathers. He went on to tell the fathers in attendance that we needed to bond in a loving and caring way with our wives and children. And that statistics prove that most college graduates come from students who have a strong bond with their father and mother.

As I listen to Father Tom speak I thought about my own role as a father and how though I was rather strict with my children, I also tried though not as much as I wish I could have, to show my love for them. I’ve seen parents who have gone all out for their kids and their kids turn out to be hell on wheels. And, I’ve seen fathers and mothers who neglected their kids and those kids somehow or another turned out to be outstanding men and women. Having said that, the odds of your children turning out to be good people do in my estimation come from having loving parents.

Sort of ashamed, my dad and I till the day he died never had a close relationship. I still painfully remember my dad telling my mom once when he came home drunk when I was about 8 years old to get me out of his sight. I can still hear him hollering, "Get that kid out of here Anna, and if you bring him back to my house I’m going to take him to the Trinity River and drown him!" I remember mom taking my sister and me out of the house late at night to catch a bus to take us to my grandparent’s house who lived in the Southside of Fort Worth.

Funny, though my dad cared little for me, I, in turn, could have cared less. "Why?" some might ask. Folks, I had the most loving and caring grandparents any kid would ever wished for. Luis and Francisca (Louis and Frances) Vazquez showered me with more love that I really didn’t give a rat’s rear end if my dad loved me or not. And to put the icing on the cake, two of Mom’s brothers, Uncle Joe and Uncle James also spoiled me rotten. And though kind of embarrassing now, my grandparents who had other sons and daughters with kids, and to which I’m sure they liked a lot, never displayed the same affection for them as they did for me. I remember once, my Tia Elvira (Aunt Elvira) telling me at a dance that as a kid she hated me. "Gino, when, you were a little boy I couldn’t stand you because Daddy Luis and Mama Chita (names my grandparents were given by the family) never cared for my kids as much as they cared for you!" she almost in tears told me. I consoled her by telling her that my parents never cared much for my kids as they did for my sister’s kids. But, regardless, I still loved my mom very much and managed to have a lukewarm relationship with my dad. I then explained to her that during Christmas I would take presents to both of my parents and though there were a lot of presents for my sister’s kids, they almost never gave my kids anything. That dumbfounded my aunt.

As a youngster I was an altar boy, when it in itself was a difficult chore. We had to learn Latin, know every aspect of the mass and get up early in the morning daily to serve mass. Again, the love that never existed at home from my dad came in mass doses towards me from Father Louis Dot, Father Antonio Bandres, and the wonderful Sisters of St. Mary of Numur at my beloved San Jose Catholic School and church. Interestingly, while at San Jose I won the Spelling Bee contest sponsored by the Fort Worth Press, played in two All Parochial School baseball and football championship teams and regretfully, my parents were never in attendance. But, I didn’t care, because my wonderful grandparents were there for me. Sometimes my grandmother would jump out of her pew as I in my altar boy outfit would pass by her during mass and she would hug and shower me with kisses. It was embarrassing, but now I cherished those wonderful gestures of love.

After years of being showered with love, taking me to the movies weekly, to the zoo, spending every weekend and summer school vacations with my grandparents I suddenly grew into a teenager. Sadly, all of a sudden being with my grandparents no longer seemed a cool thing for me. Suddenly, another strong interest took my undivided attention — GIRLS! Yep, like most teenagers, being with one’s parents or grandparents took a back seat to skirt chasing and boy I went at it at full steam. Shortly thereafter, my grandfather died and though I loved him very much, I didn’t appreciate all that he and my grandmother did for me until now that I myself am a grandfather. Folks, let’s be honest here, as we grow older that inner fire we call love slowly dissipates. However, never in my life could I ever phantom ever loving something or someone so much ever again. But life is full of surprises. Yes, I have learned to love again more than ever — and that love grows almost daily when I see and hang out with my grandkids. I must confess that my being a grandparent has to be one of the most gratifying times of my entire life.

I’ll leave with this last note. After mom was killed in an auto pedestrian accident in 1980, I continued to visit my dad until he died a couple of years ago at 93. I didn’t go see him, sad to say because I loved him, but more so to do as the Good Book says: "Honor Thy Father and Thy Mother."

Hope you had a Happy Father’s Day and let’s celebrate one for the GRANDPARENTS!