Words From The Warden
Father's Day
Last week, Kim and I traveled to northwest Ohio to spend a few days at one of our favorite state parks, Maumee Bay. The park is about 30 minutes from Waterville, where my dad, Henry Sr., lives with my brother Mike. Dad is 98½ years young. Although his body is frail, he still has a good sense of humor and a healthy ability to carry on conversations and ask questions. Over two days, we enjoyed several multi-hour visits filled with stories, laughter, and meaningful time together. Dad misses my mom terribly—she died in 2021—but he still enjoys reminiscing about our younger years and the many travels they shared together.
Father’s Day is celebrated in many parts of the world on the third Sunday in June. In the United States, the modern observance is often traced to Sonora Smart Dodd, who was raised by her widowed father, a Civil War veteran, and wanted fathers to receive recognition similar to Mother’s Day. In 1972, President Richard Nixon signed Father’s Day into law as a permanent national holiday.
Some of us were fortunate to have fathers who were actively involved in our lives; many people were not. My dad was a central figure in my development, though I was well into adulthood before I realized he did not, in fact, know everything.
Interestingly, my brothers and I remember our childhood in different ways. I remember Dad as very present, while my brothers recall that he was gone a great deal of the time. I suspect both memories are true. As a coach and school administrator, Dad’s responsibilities often kept him away. Even so, I also remember our family doing quite a bit together, and those shared experiences remain an important part of how I understand his presence in our lives.
My parents gave us the freedom to find our own paths. They supported our interests without trying to shape us around what mattered most to them. My mother loved music and musical activities, while my dad was a “sports guy.” Neither of them forced those interests on us. Instead, they encouraged us to pursue the paths we chose for ourselves.
When I was a sophomore at Marion Harding, I played on the junior varsity football team. I enjoyed some success, but I was not getting the playing time I thought I deserved. One cold, rainy Saturday morning, we traveled to Sandusky for a game. I remember standing on the sidelines, waiting for a chance to get into the game, when I looked up into the nearly empty stands. There stood my dad in a cardinal red jacket, holding an umbrella. He had made the hour-plus drive just to be there.
Later that day, after we were both home, I complained to him about my lack of playing time. He explained that the coaches knew our family would be moving because he had accepted a new job. Since I would not be there the following season, they needed to develop someone else in my position. Dad has always been the guy that said, “before you judge, walk a mile in the other guy’s shoes.”
Jesus honored the meaning of fatherhood through the story of a father who deeply loved his sons. In the parable, the younger son wanted to go out on his own, so his father gave him his inheritance and let him leave.
After making poor decisions, the son lost everything. When he finally returned home, he had no time to apologize when his father ran to him, embraced him, and restored his place in the family.
The story of the Prodigal Son has many layers of rich meaning, but for this reflection, I am drawn to several lessons about fatherhood:
Fathers need to respect free will and recognize that children need room to make their own choices.
Children sometimes must experience the natural consequences of their actions.
Fathers are called to remain watchful, eager to support and forgive when a child has a misstep.
Rather than dwelling on past resentments, fathers can celebrate the joy of restoration and return.
In the story of the Prodigal Son, Jesus emphasizes redemption over punishment. That is a powerful model for fatherhood—and a beautiful reminder of how God relates to each of us.
My dad and I rarely had religious or spiritual conversations, but I remember one from when I was about six years old. At the time, I was completely mystified by the question of where God lived.
Dad got down to my level, looked me in the eye, and pointed to my heart. “God lives there,” he said. Then he pointed to his own heart and added, “He lives here, too.”
Now, nearly 70 years into this life, I am still trying to see Jesus in everyone—and to let others see Jesus in me.
Peace,
Henry Zaborniak, Senior Warden