What occurs to me is that he’s also a very good speller. Far better than me. Why I didn’t inherit his skills, God only knows. (For that and other reasons, God’s gonna have a lot of ’splanen to do when I get to heaven!)

Take the recent National Spelling Bee. If there were a bee for newspaper editors, it might go something like this:

"Mr. Myers, the word is ‘CAT.’"

"Hmmmm. Definition please."

"A four-legged mammal. A member of the feline family."

"Can you use it in a sentence?"

"See kitty cat run. See kitty cat climb a tree."

"C…A… uummm …T —"

"That is corr —"

"T."

Dad was born with a green thumb. My thumb wears a black hood and carries a scythe. When Dad’s lawn is green — which is always except during drought — it’s due to hard work. When my lawn is green, it’s due to the grace of God. For while Dad works hard – aerating, spreading weed killer, and watering to keep his lawn healthy, happy and wise – I … well, I depend on the grace of God.

I live under the misconception that if God meant for me to have a green lawn, he’d send down water. If he wants it to be free of weeds, he’d send down Weed-Be-Gone. And if he wants it mowed, he’d call upon a legion of goats to graze upon my lawn until it’s evenly trimmed. If faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains, how much does it take to get a lawn mowed? (Just kidding, Lord.)

I don’t have a vegetable garden this year, because after months of toil last year, the only creatures I fed were the bugs. I even let them set up tiny cafe tables. Fridays were "Ladybugs’ Night."

Dad taught me to have a great love for animals. I learned from him that the way you treat your pet carries over into the way you treat people (although you don’t follow your friends around with a plastic bag and a little shovel). But as with people, sometimes actions can backfire.

While at home in Denver over Memorial Day weekend, I noticed that my dog had a tick. Of course we removed the darned thing, and afterwards I wondered why my dog was so mad at me. Well, it turns out the tick’s name was Bruce, and they were pals. Said the tick had saved her life once.

Dad taught me to support the candidate who displayed the greatest respect for life, who embraced the idea that we are all – all of us on this planet — truly created equally, and all deserving of peace and justice.

And that’s why whenever Donald Rumsfeld appears on TV, we both reach for the Extra Strength Tums.

Dad can fix nearly anything. He has skill; he has patience. If I manage to fix something -- anything -- it’s luck. Why didn’t I inherit his skill with a monkey wrench? Why did I send a river of water gushing over the side of Mom’s bathroom sink last week when I insisted on using a plunger to clear a clog (as my dad patiently waited to use his much smarter approach)? Another question for God.

Mom and Dad sent me to CCD; they involved me in youth groups, and later I happily went off to a number of religious youth retreats. But the greatest of all faith lessons came through the actions of both my parents. They taught me to be the best emulator of Christ I could be, because through them, I saw Christ presented each and every day.