By Shirley Mays

“I will defend to my death your right to be wrong!” My dad often uttered this phrase to me during the course of my childhood. You see, my dad wasn’t the hugging, tell-me-he-loves-me kind of father. In fact, I can’t recall one time he said “I love you” to me. He definitely was old school in many ways. He opened my doors, believed I shouldn’t drive by myself at night (even after I reached the age of 60), and enjoyed engaging in conversations about the proper role of women.

Growing up during the depression made my dad a true realist; he was man who would speak his mind and not spare my feelings. Add to that the fact that he served in the army during World War II and expected that same level of military precision and obedience from me, and you truly could have had a prescription for a father/daughter disaster.

However, our relationship was one built on a unique kind of mutual respect for one another. We were diametrically opposed in our political beliefs. He was a Reagan Republican who believed anyone could pull themselves up by their bootstraps. After all, he grew up in the projects of Dayton, Ohio, where he had to fight to survive. He firmly believed that if he could make it, anyone could. He went to college on the GI Bill, rose to become the Chief of the Division of Foreign Technology at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, moved his family to a quiet country life in Wilberforce, Ohio where he had a beautiful home built for his family, and became a well-known face in the community. I, on the other hand, led a sit-in during my last year of high school to protest racial inequities in the school, started an underground newspaper at my college, organized a conference to commemorate the death of El Haj Malik El Shabazz (Malcom X), and was a constant and vocal opponent of many things he held dear.

The irony of our situation is that our disparate beliefs didn’t create a permanent rift between us. My dad and I engaged in vigorous and passionate disagreement about matters of important to us. However, once we had fully aired our grievances and staked out our positions, we recognized the right we each had to our own opinions. We still were family, and those family bonds meant more to us than our views on any particular subject.

Dad lived his life fully up until its very end. He was cracking jokes and making folks laugh 30 minutes before he died. Dad remains a strong and ever-present force in my life. I honor him on Father’s Day this year for the difference he made in my life.

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