A Quiet Kind Of Love: Remembering My Dad On Father's Day

Remembering Dad on Father's Day. Dad and Mom during their dating phase.

A Father’s Day Tribute: Remembering the Man Who Taught Me Everything

Father’s Day looks a little different when your dad is no longer here. For me, it’s a day filled with memories—some that make me smile, and others that bring a lump to my throat. This year, I’m thinking of my dad, William—a man of few words, but with a heart that spoke volumes.

Dad had a gift for making the ordinary feel special. He took us to parades, all packed into the back of his pickup truck, laughing and waving as if we were in the parade ourselves. He drove us down to the shore, where the sea breeze felt like freedom, and every wave brought a new memory. And on Sundays, without fail, he brought us to church, then to the bakery, where he'd pick up crumb cake and sweets. To this day, I still crave that New Jersey crumb cake. I think part of the craving is simply wanting to relive those mornings again.

Some of his most unforgettable gestures were the ones no one else saw coming. Like the time he told my mom he was just taking my brother Bill and me to the store for cigarettes. Hours later, we were standing on top of the Empire State Building, peering out at the misty skyline of New York City. There were no cell phones back then—so when we finally got home, Mom was frantic, thinking something terrible had happened. I can only imagine the panic she felt. But for Bill and me, it was magic. An unexpected adventure, a spontaneous act of wonder that we’ve cherished ever since.

Another morning, I remember waking up to the sound of quiet rustling downstairs. Dad had gotten up at the crack of dawn to surprise Mom by hanging the new wallpaper she picked out for the kitchen. My heart swelled with admiration—I could see how much he loved her and just wanted to do something kind. When she came downstairs and saw the wallpaper, though, the surprise turned quickly to frustration. “They’re upside down!” she said. “They’re pineapples!” Dad looked genuinely confused. “I thought they were fish… swimming upstream.” We lived with those fish swimming upstream for years. And although the initial anger faded, the story lived on—becoming a family joke, a funny reminder of how far Dad would go just to make Mom happy.

But beyond the laughter and the lighthearted moments, my dad taught me something even deeper—something that still shapes the way I live my life.

He was one of the hardest working people I’ve ever known. A true self-starter, Dad built his own business from the ground up: Northwest Bergen Plumbing and Heating Co. He wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty, putting in long hours, and doing whatever it took to provide for our family. There was a quiet pride in his work, not because it brought him wealth or recognition, but because it was honest work. It mattered to him that he did things right, even when no one was looking.

I watched him juggle the demands of running a business with the responsibilities of being a husband and father, and somehow, he managed it all with quiet strength and dignity. He’d come home tired, sometimes with worn-out boots and sore hands, but he never brought complaints through the door. He showed up—for us, and for his customers—day after day. That consistency, that reliability, is something I strive for in my own life. And every time I face a challenge at work or feel tempted to take the easy way out, I hear his example reminding me: Do the job right. Give it your best. Show up.

When I started working myself—whether it was babysitting, retail, or office jobs—my dad’s work ethic was already stitched into my character. He had taught me, without ever lecturing, what it meant to take pride in your work. To treat people with respect. To be honest, even when it’s hard. And above all, to care. He made me believe that doing something well was its own kind of reward.

When I moved into my first apartment, he didn’t stop showing up. He’d visit, check on me, and always press a little money into my hand—just in case. He never said much, but I always knew what he meant. It was his way of saying, “I’ve got you.”

One of the moments that will stay with me forever is when my uncle passed away. Dad came to get me, no questions asked, making sure I had the chance to say goodbye. That’s who he was—steady, dependable, quietly strong.

Looking back now, I see what a rare and beautiful thing it was to be loved by someone like him. My dad was an empath. He may not have said it out loud, but he felt deeply. And he taught me—by example—how to quietly care for the people we love. Not for recognition. Not for praise. Just because it’s what we do when we love someone.

That lesson is my inheritance. More than anything he gave me, that’s what I hold closest.

I carry it with me now—in the way I raise my own family, in how I treat others, in the standards I set for myself. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t feel his influence in the background of my life, like a steady rhythm guiding me forward. I may not be hanging wallpaper or climbing the Empire State Building with my kids, but I hope I can pass on even a fraction of the love, care, and strength he gave to us.

So this Father’s Day, I honor William. My dad. I miss him more than words can say, but I carry him with me in the way I live, the way I love, and the way I try to care for others.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Thank you for everything—from bakery mornings to city skylines, from crumb cake to wallpapered kitchens. From plumbing jobs to life lessons.You are forever in my heart.

Margaret (the author as a young child). Remembering Dad on Father's Day