“Why are ye fearful. O ye of little faith?”
Matthew 8:26
Those were dad’s favorite words from the Bible — words he used on his young son’s insecurities that crossed his daily path.
William Gerard Schaad had a soft baritone voice and often spoke that passage delicately through a smile — a smile that, if you misunderstood its message, would signal sarcasm. But in my father’s world, that lined faced showed his spirituality — a gentle understanding of human nature that made a lasting impression on this little boy.
Long before my arrival, those same dashes of gentleness, which often rounded out the rough edges of a sometimes frustrated carpenter, won my mother’s heart. They began dating as teenagers and married seven years later, after my dad was declared 4-F during World War II. (My mother often told the story that dad didn’t want to marry only to be drafted and sent overseas, finally asking for her hand when he was sure he would not be drafted.)
On a recent trip home, I came across a secret door to my dad’s soul: scraps of yellow paper trimmed in faded ink. Words that paint not only a deep love for the only woman in his life, but provide a glimpse into a man’s heart. After all, this was someone who worked with his hands, surrounded by the smells of sawdust, cigarettes, Old German Beer, and English Leather aftershave. Dad was a working-class man of his time.
But these newly discovered verses reveal a softer side that I rarely saw growing up. He constantly wrote brief stanzas to his Marie, never failing to profess his feelings of deep devotion to her. His Catholic roots seem to caress every line.
Heavenly Father up above,
Please protect the girl I love,
Help her to know, help her to see
That I love her and she loves me.
Help us now, help us forever
To be loyal and always together.
Grant me this and I’ll be content
For the girl that you sent.
These verses from a man in his early 20’s petition God to allow him to spend the rest of his life with mom. They reveal a sense of longing and reassurance that God was in control of their relationship.
I smiled when I read verses of want (the country was just coming out of the Great Depression), which also showed signs of dad’s self-deprecating humor and humility — qualities it seem are so rare in this age of self-absorption.
A guy who sees her all the time
And drinks her daddy’s beer and wine.
He wears the shoes that never shine
But still she loves him all the time.
He never takes her anywhere.
The times he splurges are so rare.
His pocket-book is always bare
But still she doesn’t seem to care.
Still he drives the same old car,
And stops occasionally at a bar.
He brings her candy in a box
And wears supporters for his “sox.”
He never wore a hat at all
‘Till someone gave him one too small.
He wore this for a while and said,
“This wasn’t made for my big head.”
So this is who she calls her beau.
And why she does, I still don’t know.
That was my father. I see now why he warned me as a little boy not to judge people solely on appearances, which brings me to a memory from one Sunday morning mass at St. Valentine’s during the early 1970’s.
The music of Jesus Christ Superstar was all the rage, and I recall seeing a man going to communion with long straight brown hair and a beard. He was dressed in a suit and tie with his hair neatly combed. I thought dad, then in his 50’s, would find humor in seeing a man I thought looked like Jesus. But he said, “How do you know it’s not our Lord?” He gave people the benefit of the doubt.
I only had 13 years with dad, but these newly-discovered letters of devotion to the woman he loved only reinforce my gratitude for that short time.
“Why are ye fearful O ye of little faith.”
Maybe dad quoted that passage so often to me, because it provided reassurance to him too. I believe his faith gave him strength to love and comfort my mother as expressed in this verse.
Forget thyself for awhile
Put out every light
The stars are watching overhead
Sleep sweetly then, goodnight.
Happy Father’s Day, dad, and please kiss mom for me.