Funny, isn’t it, how some moments from childhood stay etched in your memory bank forever? 

When it comes to my father and my role model, Jimmy Villines, there are many scenes that come to mind: 

Standing as a 3-year-old next to him in the bathroom of our then-home in South Nashville and “shaving” as he did the same. 

Holding his hand, awestruck, as he led me into Fulton County Stadium for my first-ever Atlanta Braves game. 

Seeing the joy in his eyes as he held my newborn baby sister, Laurie, when I was 6. (I already had an older sister, Kim, who was so happy to have a little sister that she jumped in our pool, fully clothed, upon learning the news!).

But perhaps the moment that sticks with me the most, the one that first showed me what a Godly man my father is, occurred during a Sunday service at the church my family faithfully attended during my youth, Greenbrier United Methodist. 

Like most youngsters, I spent a good majority of the worship hour fidgeting in my seat, coloring, and trying to figure out what all I was taking in.

This particular Sunday was no different, but as the pastor delivered his sermon I noticed something on my father’s face — tears. He had been so moved by the message delivered that it elicited an emotion I had rarely, if ever, seen on display. I was 5 years old at the time, and the emotional response shown by my father was something I couldn’t fully comprehend at that moment.

Remembering it also happened to be Super Bowl Sunday, I tugged at my father’s suit jacket as he wiped tears. Trying to lighten the moment, I smiled, looked him in the eyes and exclaimed, “Wow Dad, we get to go home and watch the Super Bowl later today!” 

He patted me gently on my knee and said, “Yes, yes son we do.” Though I didn’t realize it at the time, his raw, real reaction was God reaching him on a higher level.

It was one of many, many examples set by my father I’ve tried to carry with me in my daily walk. Examples that required not a single word, but a deed of gentleness, kindness, or selflessness.

This is my father. This is my hero. I’ve never heard him browbeat another human being and never will.

He’s 87 now. The sands in the hourglass of life are funneling rapidly. I’m trying to soak in every moment, enjoy the privilege of being his son, and aspire to be half the man he is.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you.