A Father's Day Remembrance: Lessons My Father Taught Me

To some, he was Brother, to some “Uncle Brother. To some, he was Deacon Gaston; others called him “Professor.”  A very few called him Bill.   My mother called him “Babe.” 

I simply called him "Daddy."

My father, William Elder Gaston, stood all of five feet eight inches tall. He was an unassuming man with a gentle and quiet spirit.  Some might say he was reserved, but I remember a man full of jokes—the King of Corny.  And when he got tickled, usually by his own corny jokes, his whole body vibrated with laughter.

I remember him as a man of prayer, a man who cherished family.  He was a giving man, a man of wisdom, a man who loved deeply.

Yes, I was a Daddy’s girl. He could hardly leave the house without me tagging along. It didn’t matter where he was going—the hardware store, the post office, the gas station—I was right by his side.  To this day, the smell of a hardware store stirs memories of walking the aisles with Daddy, searching for hammers, nails, paint, and every imaginable DIY item.

It was during those ordinary excursions that I learned some of life’s most valuable lessons.  Not by what he said to me, but through what I observed as he interacted with the people he encountered.

Knowledge Should Add Value to Others

Daddy was a highly intelligent man—I might even say brilliant. (of course, I might be partial). He was an avid reader, a lover of learning, a lifelong student. When I was in the third grade, he taught me a bit of Latin: Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres and Veni, Vidi, Vici. 

He was a true bible scholar with extensive knowledge of ancient history, biblical culture, and Middle Eastern geography. He had a way of bringing every Bible account to life by adding nuggets about the culture and customs of the time.  

He was well-educated, but never arrogant.  If someone didn’t know, he’d educate them without being condescending.  If someone assumed he didn’t know, he’d demonstrate his knowledge without being pretentious. 

He taught me to value education and to be a lifelong learner. But more importantly, he taught me never to flaunt my knowledge, but to use it in ways that add value to others' lives.

People Need Someone to Believe in Them

Daddy was a teacher extraordinaire who genuinely cared about his students. I remember two boys he taught who didn’t have fathers at home.  Daddy brought them home with him several times; he wanted them to experience something beyond their own reality.

He’d pick them up, bring them to our house, give them little jobs to do, pay them for their work, and feed them. He talked to them about life, the importance of respecting themselves and others, the value of hard work, and, of course, about the importance of a good education.  

And, of course, he talked to them about God. Daddy wanted them to aspire to something greater, to dream big.  Most importantly, he wanted them to know God and see their own worth in Him.  He understood that sometimes one caring adult can help a young person imagine a future that may have seemed impossible.

Everyone Matters to God

There was a furniture store in Madisonville that Daddy frequented.  He never bought any furniture. Still, we went to the furniture store almost every week.   Dad walked around, looked at sofas, dining room sets, easy chairs, washing machines, dryers, and refrigerators.  He talked to the store owner, inquired about his family, his health, his business. 

They’d joke, laugh, and discuss world events. Eventually, Daddy would find an open door to discuss the store owner’s relationship—or lack thereof—with God.  Not in a “hellfire-and-brimstone” kind of way. He’d simply ask thought-provoking questions—the kind that stay with you long after the conversation ended.

An hour or so could pass in the furniture store where Daddy never bought anything… just talked, listened, showed concern, and planted seeds

From those conversations and countless others, I witnessed my father’s deep love for people—all people, all walks of life.  They mattered to God, so they mattered to him.  He would engage anyone, regardless of age, education, race, background, or social standing.  He treated children and the elderly with dignity.  Their opinions matter to him; their ideas were valued.  He showed everyone respect, and they, in turn, respected him.

Don’t Judge

There was a handyman in our neighborhood, Mr. Saturday. He’d grown up in the deep South during the Jim Crow era. I’d guess he had no more than a fourth or fifth-grade education.

Once, I criticized his poor command of English.  If I had used a singular verb with a plural noun, my parents would have corrected me with a quickness.  

Daddy stopped me and challenged me to consider Mr. Saturday’s life from his point of view. What opportunities had been available to a poor Black child growing up in Mississippi under Jim Crow? What circumstances had shaped his life? What obstacles had stood between him and the education I had been privileged to receive?

Daddy taught me not to judge others without considering where they had been and what they had endured.

But there was another lesson.

Daddy hired Mr. Saturday to do work around our home. He added a half-bath in our basement, poured cement in the driveway, and built a retaining wall.  Daddy would watch Mr. Saturday as he worked and ask questions. There were things Mr. Saturday knew and could do that my father, with all his degrees, didn’t know or couldn’t do.  Daddy made sure Mr. Saturday knew that his skills mattered and treated him as someone he could learn from. Daddy gleaned wisdom and knowledge from this man, who had only a fourth- or fifth-grade education.

My father was like that with everyone he encountered. He recognized that, regardless of where people landed in life because of circumstances, they are all created in the image of God.  He knew that deep inside all of us, the best and the worst of us, the young and the old of us, the Black and the White of us, the rich and the poor of us, was a treasure, and that perhaps a little concern, a little interest, a little conversation would draw that treasure out.  Perhaps one life could be changed by just spending a little time and extending a little grace.

Know What You Believe; Speak the Truth in Love

Daddy taught me the importance of knowing what I believe and being able to explain why I believe it.  

On Saturday mornings, when the Jehovah’s Witnesses walked through our neighborhood, our neighbors drew the curtains, closed the blinds, and held their breath until the knocking ceased. Daddy, on the other hand, would welcome them heartily, invite them in, and offer them a seat and a beverage. 

In his Socratic way, Daddy asked questions and listened. He’d quote scripture, never debating the Word, only pointing out what the Bible said and what he believed it meant. He’d point out illogical reasoning and inconsistencies in their teaching.

  And whenever one would mention the 144,000, my father smiled and said, “Well, by now I’m sure there are already 144,000 in heaven.  So, where does that leave you?” to which they had no reply.

Flustered, they’d offer a copy of The Watch Tower.  

“No, thank you,” Daddy would say. “You haven’t quite persuaded me. But come back.  I’ve enjoyed talking with you.” 

The same two never came back.         

Daddy showed me that conviction does not require debate or hostility. We can know what we believe, stand firmly upon it, and still treat those who disagree with us with dignity.

Fear Should Not Rule Your Life

There are so many memories and lessons I could share—sitting in Daddy’s lap as he told stories, sang to me, played silly games, and read the Bible to me.  Barbecuing for my friends (everything was just a bit blackened).

When I was eight years old, he took me to the Madison Building and Loan to open my first savings account.  He taught me to plan for my future and to steward well what God placed in my hands.

He taught me to ride my first two-wheel bike and later to drive our Buick.  After my first accident, he insisted that I get behind the wheel again. “You can't be ruled by fear," he'd said. That lesson stayed with me far beyond driving. Fear may speak, but I’ve learned to silence its voice by stepping out in faith.

Excellence as an Act of Stewardship

Daddy taught me the power of words and encouraged me in my writing. He taught me to respect myself and showed me how a real man should treat a woman.

He grilled every boy who came to take his baby girl on a date.

Daddy taught me to strive for excellence in everything I did—not for applause, but because gifts, opportunities, and abilities should be stewarded well.  

He beamed with joy when I received my Bachelor of Science and then again when I earned my Master of Education. 

  I still recall how proud he was when I signed my first teaching contract (for all of $9,000), bought my first car, bought a house.

And each time I sang one of his favorite hymns, "It Took a Miracle," his eyes filled with tears.

Trust God!

He taught me to pray, to love and trust God, to love His word, and to regard it as my “necessary food.”

Daddy was not perfect by any means, but he was perfectly chosen by God for me—to be my protector, my teacher, my earthly provider, my wise counsel, my buddy, my daddy. 

I am ever grateful to God for William Elder Gaston and all he taught me through his life. 

I can only pray I honor him by living the lessons well.