My dad died about a month ago and, of course, this will be my first Father’s Day without him.  I have thought about him on numerous occasions in the past month and, in his honor, would share with you what I read about him at his funeral:

I am honored to have the opportunity to speak about my dad today and share some of my personal reflections about his life and our time together.  I don’t think it would be much of a reach to say that I gleaned from dad a great number of things, not the least of which being my matinee-idol good looks, my sense of humor, my love of Kentucky basketball, my interest in sports, my musical ability, and the gift of compassion.

Dad was a lifelong UK basketball fan.  As a result, I too, became a follower of UK basketball.  So much so that in my early childhood years, in nearly every childhood birthday party picture of me I was wearing a University of Kentucky shirt.  The difficulty, of course, is that we lived less than an hour from LSU.  In fact my love of UK was so strong, I don’t think I’ve ever owned anything purple and gold.

I can remember dad playing pickup basketball with colleagues at Southeastern Louisiana University where he taught for over 30 years and playing first base in a softball league.  Many years later, while rummaging through the attic of his parents’ house I found several awards he had received for his athletic prowess in high school.  He was a multi-year letterman and his senior year he was named a Louisiana All-Star in basketball.  I asked him about those days and his response about those days I have stolen for my own use when I talk about my days of playing sports in high school, “that was a lifetime and 40 pounds ago.”

It is no secret that dad loved making music.  My earliest memories are of him singing in the church choir.  Every Sunday the choir wore robes and he would hang his suit coat in the robing room.  After the morning service, I would make a beeline for his hanger, slip his size 44 coat onto my very young, small frame and greet him in the hallway.  He would take off his robe and hand it to me in exchange for his coat and I would wear the robe back and place it on the hanger.  I’m sure it was not placed well on the hanger but he never said a thing about it.

He played in the North Caddo High School Band and the choir director at that time was a young fellow fresh out of college named Robert Ferrington.  Fast forward about forty years and I’m auditioning at Louisiana Tech for a choral scholarship and after I’ve introduced myself and announced the selection I would be singing, a voice in the back of the room said, “Ballard?  Your dad wouldn’t be Pete Ballard, would it?”  Dr. Bob Ferrington, the Director of Choral Activities at Tech then said, “I knew your parents when they were in high school.”  We proceeded to have a 5-minute conversation about family, north Caddo Parish, and sundry other things that completely had me rattled by the time I actually sang.

Dad was seemingly always playing the piano at home.  He would play and sing from the Reader’s Digest songbooks and introduced us to a vast number of songs from the 20’s and on.  As I grew older I began following dad at the piano and try to pick out what he was playing at the piano in the manner and style with which he was playing it.  It wasn’t until some time later that I realized what he was playing wasn’t exactly what was written page but a stylized version of the music.  Though I had a number of piano teachers in my life, I learned as much or more by imitating dad’s playing and singing.  Because of the repertoire he was playing, there have been a number of times in my married life when I would sing or hum along with a song in a store, on the radio, or in a movie and Sue Ellen would ask how I knew that song and I would simply shrug and say, “dad.”

Also, he was a whistler and singer of silly songs.  On the 6-hour trips from Hammond to Oil City, we would learn the states and capitals, list the presidents, and any number of other educational, time-passing activities.  But no trip was complete without the singing of silly, non-sensical songs.  I have become a whistler as well.  So much so that fellow church staff members know when and where I am in the building from the sound of my whistle.  On the rare occasions when I’m not whistling in the halls, I tend to startle the secretary because she doesn’t hear me approaching.

Dad would joke that he was the “interim” pianist at church for about 12 years.  He demonstrated to me the importance of using one’s talents and gifts in service to the local church.  Even after moving to Shreveport, he continued to play the piano for any number of services and groups that needed a volunteer to step up.  He was a valued member of the musical community here at Broadmoor and I believe Herb came to value his friendship, dedication, and leadership.  Herb, if he’ll forgive my telling this story, thought so highly of dad and trusted him so much that on one occasion when I had come to town, Herb asked me to try to convince my dad to serve as the choir president at church.  Dad, however, could not be swayed.

It wasn’t always a bed of roses for our family and we had our share of difficulties.  At the wise, old age of 16, when I had amassed all wisdom and knowledge, I gathered up all “my things”, wrote a good-bye note to my mother and step-father which said I wasn’t coming home, and went to school that day because, after all, we were taught the importance of school and doing our best.  My guidance counselor/choir director asked where I was going to sleep that night.  When I responded that I had no idea, she suggested I call my dad – something I hadn’t done with any regularity the previous years.  My sister, Beth, was living with him in a 2-bedroom apartment and without hesitation, dad welcomed me into his home.  He gave me the second bedroom and for the next year or so he slept every night on a fold-out sofa.  I reminded him of this during his hospital stay in November when I spent the week sleeping on the couch in his hospital room, but he said he had no recollection of doing that which is too bad, because I shall never forget it.  That was indicative of the generosity and grace he offered to all of us.

In the book The 5 Love Languages , psychologist Gary Chapman posits that there are 5 basic ways by which we express and receive love.  I would dare say that dad’s was gift giving.  His mantra seemingly was, if you need it and I can afford it, I’ll get it for you.  In the same vane, if you simply want it and I can afford it, I’ll still probably get it for you.  It was not uncommon for him to take Jake to Best Buy to walk the aisles and ask if there was anything he wanted.  Jake would reply along the lines of I don’t think I need anything, to which dad would respond that wasn’t the question.  I think it was his way of connecting and showing love to us.  It was not uncommon for him to hand me $40 on my way out the door and say get a hamburger or something on the way home.  I don’t know where he bought his hamburgers, but at $40 they must have been amazing!

His quick wit, his humor, his generosity, his love for music, sports, and the church (not necessarily in that order) and his love of Jesus is what I will carry with me forever.