MY FATHER, MY HERO

WHEN I WAS A FOOLISH TEENAGER, I BOASTED TO MY DAD how one day I would be more successful than him at business. He grinned at me from ear to ear, "I hope you are more successful than me but you won't ever have to go through the same things I did." I scrunched my face, "What do you mean by that?" My father chuckled, "You'll never have to eat bologna sandwiches for two years." I gasped and averted my gaze as I tried to imagine the scenario.
I slowly looked up at him with all the humility and love I could muster up, "Wow! Thank you, dad for doing what you did because..." I paused for dramatic effect "...I hate bologna! Gross!" We both laughed. This isn't the first time I've heard about my dad eating disgusting sandwiches to be more frugal with his finances during a time when he had very little.

I am honored to write a story about my dad for his book, but I feel overwhelmed by it. It's easy to write about his many accolades and achievements, but what does that tell you about him? Is he a grumpy overachiever or a jovial team player? I want to share the best of my dad but where do I begin as the fifth member of the family, the youngest child of three, and his youngest daughter?
We can start with a story about how I won a pageant because of him. My mom thought it would be a good idea for me, and at her behest, she entered me into the local competition. I was 16 years old in my junior year of high school weeks before turning 17 when I took the stage as one of the finalists. The judges asked us all the same question, "Who is your hero, and what are two qualities that make him a hero?" I was the last contestant to go, so when it was my turn, I didn't hesitate when I responded, "My dad. The first trait is his sense of humor! My dad loves making people laugh and cracking jokes!" This seemed to erupt the audience into chuckles since no one had mentioned a parent until me.
The second part took a few seconds to ponder. I could feel the audience's anticipation as I looked down at the floor, searching for the words. Suddenly, I felt the answer rise from the pit of my stomach and with a sincere smile I shared, "...his heart. My dad loves to help people and is a nice person. That's why he is my hero." My mom and my friend Sheena cheered and hollered loudly in the audience when I won the competition for my age group. I was crowned Miss Teen Seattle 2001 and took home a giant trophy and a sparkling tiara.
Let's dive a little deeper into the two answers: humor and heart.
Here's one of my dad's favorite jokes:
An unemployed man was looking for a job when he saw an ad for an entry-level position at an underwear factory. The man goes to the factory and gets hired on the spot. The manager then takes

the newly hired man to the factory floor and gives him specific tasks for his new job. The manager says, "In the first box, you are going to pack up seven underwear and put them in the first pile. In the second box, you will pack five underwear items and put them in the second pile. In the third box, you will pack twelve pieces of underwear and put them in the third pile. Then repeat, starting with seven, five, and then twelve. Got it?"
The man felt confident he could do this job and started packing the boxes as per the manager's instructions. As the hours went by, the man began to wonder about the specific numbers for the boxes, so when the manager came by to check in on him, the man had some questions. The man asked, "Sir, I'm grateful for the job and find the task easy to manage, but I wondered why seven, five, and twelve underwear are packed for the boxes that way?"
The manager grinned as he stated, "That's easy, the first box of underwear is for the Americans; they wear underwear every day of the week. The second box is for the Greeks because they only wear underwear during the week and not on the weekends." The man asked, "Who is the third box for?" The manager stated, "That's for the Indians [South Asian Indians]. They wear their underwear January, February, March..."
I erupted into bellowing laughter the first time I heard that joke, although I was unsure if I heard him tell it at home or during a church service in front of everyone. Either way, it kept bringing me joy whenever my dad shared it with someone who hadn't heard it and reacted the same way. It was edgy to tell a joke about your race when I was growing up in Seattle, but coming from my dad made it even more epic. But jokes are only a part of my dad's humor. His humor lies in his timing.
We went out to a family dinner while visiting a Mexican res-taurant in downtown Kent, Washington, when I noticed my dad

passing out on the other side of the table. He had a heart episode from sitting outside in the heat and unusually salty food. I remained calm and helped to gather ice packs and water for him. After several minutes, he was back to normal. Everything was okay again until we returned to my parent's place when emotions overwhelmed my body.
My dad walked by and saw the tears welling in my eyes. What my father didn't know was that I was a few weeks into my pregnancy, and I didn't want to share the news until the pregnancy was viable. He asked me if I was okay. I replied, "No, I'm not okay. I don't want you to die." He laughed, "I tried to go to Heaven but God rejected so I'm stuck down here for a while until my spot up there is ready."
Who else can laugh in the face of their mortality? And then he gave me the best information I could have heard which was "Don't cry for me Julie. I've lived a good life and I've done many things. I'll be okay." But would I be? Luckily, my husband Michael and I got to introduce our daughter Alithea to her Appacha and face time with him anytime she could.
Back to the next part: my dad's heart.
In 1994, our family took an international trip to Israel for Christian tourism and Egypt for the pyramids. While in Egypt, my father spoke to a rug shop owner about the rug's origins and where they came from. At the time, I was a naïve 6-year-old kid rubbing my hands along the rug piles as I wandered down the aisle of the exotic perfumed-filled shop when my dad called my siblings and me to the back of the store where a red fabric curtain veiled an entrance. Beyond the red curtain, the owner escorted us down the hall to an open factory room where fifteen to twenty children aged six to sixteen were working on the looms and crafting the rugs we had seen in the shop.

My dad wanted us to say hi to the kids and learn about rug making. The kids didn't speak English, but our eagerness to commu-nicate translated enough for us to get the gist of the job. I remember thinking how fun it was but realized that these kids weren't doing this for fun; for them, it was their job. My dad gathered my siblings and me in a huddle and gave us an unforgettable speech, "These children aren't as fortunate as you; they don't get to have a child-hood of running around and playing. These children are working because their families can't afford to send them to school; so they send them to work to help provide for the family so that they can eat and have a roof over their heads."
Then my dad busted out a stack of large US one-dollar bills somewhere out of his pockets and gave us instructions, "I want you each to stand separately where you'll hand one dollar to each kid and say 'thank you.' I want you to thank them for having a childhood they didn't have." So, there we were, distributing dollars to these Egyptian kids who were all the same ages as us when one of the boys who had already received money tried to sneak into the line again. One of the shop owners' handlers spanked the boy and wanted to punish him for trying to deceive us when my dad walked up to the boy and stopped the beating.

My dad smiled at the boy and gave him a US five dollar bill. The boy's eyes lit up, and he walked away, beaming with gratitude. The shop owner was very confused by what my dad had done and asked him, "Why did you give him more money?" He casually replied, "Because he needed it." These are the moments in time that make up my dad's life.
Whether paying for a friend's college tuition with the promise that they'd pay it forward in the future by helping out others whenever they can or forgiving others even when everyone else says they shouldn't, my Dad's heart knows no boundaries. How does a man like him maintain his peace and love during even the most turbulent situations?
As a young girl, I used to ignorantly think that if I were a Chris-tian (like my dad), I too would be rewarded with wealth and riches, but I've learned along my own spiritual path that is not the case.
When my dad worked as a janitor for Bon Marche, he found a wood block with a biblical verse that said something like "The Lord is with me," and he kept and placed it in our childhood home growing up. Although I do not consider myself a Christian, I am grateful for the love from being raised in a Christian home by Christian parents. The bliss in my dad's voice as he belted, "Go tell it on the mountain" or "Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day. I have a wonderful feeling, everything's going my way" and other Christian hymns raised his spirit and ours as well.
One of his most incredible powers on this Earth is his ability to love unconditionally, that he's able to forgive all those who have ill will towards him or who have caused him harm. I may not believe in Christianity but I believe in the goodness of my father's soul. I've seen my dad forgive a lot of people, including myself, on multiple occasions; it is a good reminder that people are human and make mistakes.
I've known my dad only for four decades, and there's still so much I want to learn about the parts of his life I wasn't there. I am certain it will be great fun to know all that in his story. I am grateful that I could share a couple of snapshots and moments from our sacred time together as his 'ilaya mol.
(Narrated by John's daughter Julie Ann Titus)

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