My Father’s Inheritance

I would be lying if I started out with, “I wish I could say that my father left me land, riches and money.”  I could never even dream of such a wish.  It would be a bit of an insult (no offense meant).  All of that can be measured, calculated and lost.

The inheritance my father left me is priceless.

Today is my father’s birthday and I am normally with my mother on this day.  I am sorry that I am not with her for the first time in six years.  The ministry that he and my mother founded more than forty years ago celebrates his birthday as Founder’s Day.  A great way to remember him and his amazing achievements.  Every asset of the organizations he founded was made in the name of the Trust and the work.  He took nothing, not even a square inch of land, not for himself or his family. Yet, I can honestly say I had the best childhood and I would trade my life for no other.

If you would have asked me as a child if my father was my best friend, I would have looked at you aghast.  He was not my back slapping buddy.  No, he was MY FATHER – highly esteemed, greatly feared and loved to distraction.  There was no one’s praise I craved as much, no one’s criticism I cringed at as deeply and no one’s advice I valued as greatly as his.   I just knew he was always right.  This might seem crazy – but it was not worship.  He was almost always right – really!  When he wasn’t, he was never embarrassed to admit that – which only strengthened his  esteemed image in my mind.

He left me with more than I could possibly imagine!

His perception of God greatly impacted me.  When, as a disillusioned young Marxist, he found Jesus Christ as his Savior, he radically gave up all for Him.  His unashamed stand for God was amazing, but  he was never pushy or forceful with others.  He instated in me a passion for God,  a craving to maintain a personal relationship with the Creator and at the same time have respect for all men and all faiths.  He loved to pray and read the Bible.

He always said, “People are more important than their problems.”  He loved, just loved doing whatever he could for someone else.  NOTHING was ever an inconvenience.  He NEVER sought attention or praise for himself.  If anyone did something for him it was always noticed and deeply appreciated.  I knew I had his whole attention even when other people were around- which was most of the time. In fact, I can honestly remember very few times when it was just us as a family.

He never imposed himself on others.  He never actually bragged on any of his children’s achievements in public but I could feel the pride in his smile and at home he made me feel like a star!

He adored my mother and made no bones about it.  Back in the day when the acceptable Indian man was basically a macho, outwardly civilized, cave-man, my father loved to praise and appreciate my mother.  He openly despised the patronizing masculine role.  That he had four daughters and no sons was no shame to him.  We all knew he would have loved a son (and secretly many times I have wished I had been one), but I still felt deeply cherished as a daughter.

I hardly had one-on-one times with my father while growing up.  He was extremely busy and often we only saw him at the dining table.  Again, I never felt neglected.  Dinner was one of my favorite times of the day.  It was when we were all together and my father would narrate the happenings of the day.  There was always an exciting story or some controversy in the news or a stimulating theological thought.  My father never read to me.  My mother did.  But, he could tell a story!  Riveting!  His pauses, his gestures, his tone, all ingrained the stories in my mind and now I love re-telling them to my children – I try to imitate his malyali accent and expressions – it’s not quite the same but their excited faces tell me – it’s the same magical effect.  Ria and Brandon will sometimes beg for an “Appachan (grandfather) story”!

My father was an artist and he had a tremendous appreciation for art in any form.  He was a brilliant caricaturist and he also loved to paint with water colors.  He was very gifted with sketching – in just a few strokes he could capture an image.  A commercial artist by profession, he put every effort into a brochure, a logo, a letter – no matter how simple or important.  He could look at a building and point out its beauty whether it was a temple, a cathedral, a high-rise. He would talk about the great artists, Picasso, Da Vinci, Michelangelo.  I’ll never forget his excitement when he made a trip to Italy and related to us the thrill he felt in the Sistine Chapel.

His love for music ranged from Gershwin to Handel.  One of his most treasured possessions was his LP HMV record player.  I loved those rare evenings when he was home and could relax.  We would sit together and listen.  My sister and I, on our bellies on the floor, scrutinizing every part of the LP cover.  He never actually called us to gather around and listen with him.  We just did.  His enthusiasm and appreciation was contagious.

I always wanted to be with him.  Except when he was angry.  He had a fiery temper.  I never wanted to make him upset and was extremely cautious to avoid that at all costs.  Again, this might be considered negative but that is not how I viewed it, nor do I still.  It never made me think less of him or resent him, on the contrary, it made me respect him more.

He loved literature and poetry.  When he found a quote he liked, he would write it down and read out to us.

He despised “sloppiness.”  He could not bear a job badly done, a book mistreated, an instrument abused.  As a family, back then, we would definitely have been considered poor but you would not have known that.  It is better to have two shirts that are neat and clean than ten that are shabby was his philosophy.  He liked us to always be neat and clean.  Perhaps this was the malayali in him!  He himself was always careful about his appearance.  I can never remember my Dad in a dilapidated state.   He always looked and smelled good!  He would comment on what I was wearing and there was no  mistaking whether he approved or not.  He had no appreciation for immodesty.  Again, I like to have his grandchildren looking neat and clean.   Not dressed ‘any old how’ – ‘appearances may not be everything but they matter when you can help it’  is another one of his mind sets that he has passed on to me.  Even after his heart attack, he insisted on being properly dressed before we took him to the hospital.

Sometimes when I am tired and would like to leave things in a mess, it is his resolution to do things well that spurs me to maintain  order and enjoy the after-satisfaction!

At some point in my adult life, even though my father never ceased to be my hero, he became my role model and one of my closest friends.  I was never ‘casual’ with my Dad and yet I was never inhibited.  Even today when crisis besieges me or when I am happiest, I long for his company.  He had an amazing ability to see into my soul when he listened.  He knew what I was REALLY saying, he could perceive my feeling and empathize in a way that is so unique.  I say that as his daughter, but hundreds of others will say that they felt the same way too.  He had a way of making others around him feel incredibly important and special.

What if my father had been a wealthy man?  It would have been nice!  But only if coupled with what he truly possessed.  Given a choice, I would gladly give up the material for the lasting.  He loved to give us gifts but his philosophy was never,  I want my children to have the best of everything.  I treasured the bicycle I got for my thirteenth birthday as much as I did the pen he gave me.  It wasn’t just the object, it was his affection that meant so much.

I still have every card and letter my father wrote me. Six years later I have not the courage to go through them without bitterly weeping and missing him so wretchedly.

The draw-back of this great inheritance that my father left me is this horrible vacuum that his absence brought.  It never goes but leaves me looking forward to our precious hope, that Great Resurrection when I shall see him again.  I think of him and miss him – literally – every single day.

When confronted with a difficult situation, I try to think of what my father would do.  He had a way of depending on God, thinking of the other person and then swiftly making a firm decision.  He never dithered.  If he was wrong, he never made excuses nor delayed to apologize and make amends.

I have not made much mention of my mother because I wanted to focus on my father, but I will say that her quiet, beautiful strength allowed him to be the unique man he was.  He could not do without her and had no qualms making that admission.

As a parent, I hope to emulate him and my mother.  I want to desperately pass on that same legacy to my children.   You see, what he bequeathed to me is why I am unafraid of the future, confident of the present and free of the past.  This is because of my upbringing – the ability to choose between what matters and what doesn’t – be it words, thoughts or deeds.

This is also why I homeschool.

It’s NOT making everything perfect for my child.  It’s focusing on what is important and disregarding the trivial.  It is tough.  It calls for sacrifice.  It calls for character.   It leaves memories, ideas and a sense of worth that will mould an individual to fend for oneself.  To be independent and happy, fulfilled,  enjoy the breath of life everyday without wanting what others have, or craving what the billboards scream.

This is a small glimpse into my father’s inheritance that I prize.   By the grace of God, I will do my part to entrust it unsullied and ever beautiful to my children’s care to enjoy, treasure and impart.