Father's Day

My Sisters and Brothers from Other Mothers,

A Glorious Good Morning and Happy Fathers Day to ALL Fathers –still with us or gone on to their just rewards - be that you, your father, the person who you call father, our Heavenly Father and – if you will so kindly indulge the Rev, my father, Robert Meyn, Sr.

Let’s be clear – my father is my hero. But he is not a man who has done things most people would call heroic. He is a simple man who has worked hard all his life: he held down 2 jobs in high school because his parents were poor and raising 5 children. He had to go to summer school after his senior year just to graduate – seems he fell asleep in class because he was so tired from working those two jobs. He could not afford college but reads voraciously about history and is more knowledgeable than most people with degrees. He taught me the value of education by taking me into 120-degree attics in summers to make sure I would stay in school. His strategy worked.

He toiled in attics fixing air conditioners and repaired coolers for many of New Orleans’ most famous eateries –he ate steaks in the kitchen with Ruth at the original Chris’ Steak house and countless meals with the chefs in the kitchens of Galatoire’s and Arnoud’s. At age 69, he continues to work half a day repairing what is broken at the church and school his father helped build, he attended and The Rev attended as well. He was never paid what he deserved for how hard he worked – but he never complained. He worked countless time for free to help out friends and neighbors in need who couldn’t afford to pay. He has never made more than $40,000/year but his house is paid for and he has no debt. He does not complain about life even though he has faced struggle and setback his whole life.

He enlisted in the Navy at a time there was a draft. He served his time and is still proud of his service on the USS Saratoga as a catapult operator. It is the only time he’s ever left New Orleans. He’s never left since – even during Katrina much to my chagrin and dismay. It was the only time we fought.

He showed me the value of home and family by his actions. He has lived on the same street for 68 of his 69 years – he lived around the block for one year in 1968 and disliked it so much he scraped together every penny he had to purchase the first house he could afford on the street of his birth – in Hog Alley in Old Metairie on the wrong side of the tracks. He and my mother live in that house to this day.

My father and I bonded over simple things: John Wayne and Clint Eastwood spaghetti Western movies, Looney Tunes, the Air Show at Belle Chasse NAS, throwing a baseball for hours in the side yard, listening to Stax Records on 45s he received as payment for work. He was my Scout Leader. We went to Saints games in Tulane Stadium and New Orleans Buccaneers in the ABA days when customers would give him tickets that otherwise we couldn’t afford. He volunteered at our church countless hours for which he received the Archdiocese of New Orleans highest civilian award – The Medal of St. Louis. He still ushers the 7:30 am Mass every Sunday.

He is accepting and only wants others to be happy. He has only given me one piece of advice his whole life: the secret to a happy marriage is having a workshop with a beer fridge in the back yard. He only drinks Milwaukee’s Best because the can says it’s “the best”. That and Carlo Rossi jug wine. He admits he drinks too much and smokes too much but he never does either away from his backyard.

He taught me though word and example that no one is perfect. But that love is unconditional.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you.

Feel free to speak of the person you call father as a tribute to them on this day.