Tag Archives: son

Fifty-Dollar Dad

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“Live as if tomorrow is your last and you will never regret the yesterdays passed.”

—Brian “Trigs” Hague

Today’s story is about Phil, the fifty-dollar dad.

Jack is an enterprising young lad. The youngest of four boys. Definitely driven.

fifty-dollar dad

He’s been working extra chores for two weeks. Saving up. Just a few bucks more. Rationing his snack money. Selling old baseball cards. Whatever he can.

50 dollars. A dream to most 8 year olds, but not to this little man. Jack saves while his brothers spend. He works while they watch TV. $4. $9. $17. $29. $44. $49. And then, he is there. Fifty bucks in his hand. Jack has a plan. READ MORE 

Small Potatoes

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“What you do speaks so loud that I cannot hear you speak.”

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Today’s story is from Art Ernst.

During the Great Depression of the middle 1930s, my dad and his brother, Roy, decided to trade a bushel of my Uncle Roy’s potatoes for a bushel of Dad’s apples when they ripened.

Bushel of potatoes

Small potatoes

After visiting Uncle Roy and Aunt Edith one Sunday, as we started to leave for home, Uncle Roy said “Oh, by the way, I have your bushel of potatoes ready.”

Our car had no trunk so Uncle Roy placed them next to me on the back seat. I observed how clean and large were those potatoes. But, upon removing them from that bushel basket, we found smaller ones in the middle. When we got to the bottom, there was several inches of dirty, dinky little misshapen potatoes. READ MORE 

Guns N’ Roses N’ Dad

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“I mean we all need a second chance sometimes.”

—Joel Osteen

Story contributed by Andrew Loos.

Every kid should have the good fortune of throwing an awesome high school party his friends will talk about for years. In Kansas, where I grew up among a group of fervent teenage metalheads, it was a God-given right.

highschool years

Andrew and his dad Doug circa 1992

So naturally when Guns N’ Roses and Metallica announced they would be making a stop in my hometown on their world tour, I seized the opportunity to plan such a shindig before we all departed for the concert. Like so many tragically missed opportunities in our young lives, this concert-of-a-lifetime happened to be taking place on a school day. But we weren’t going to let that stop us.

Mom was out of town with my brother at tennis camp and Dad, out of town on business. In hindsight, it almost seemed too perfect. So at 9:30 a.m. that day, we gathered at my empty house to get the festivities started. READ MORE 

Burnt Biscuit

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“A healthy attitude is contagious but don’t wait to catch it from others. Be a carrier.”

—Tom Stoppard

Today’s story is from Art Ernst.

Burnt biscuit

Art Ernst

Most Savvy Dad stories are special. Some are what we call 10+. That means as good as they get. On that scale, this is an 11.

We found this story floating around the Internet in different forms, “author unknown”. A bit of detective work by our own Chris Neck turned up the original author, original story and some very cool background.

Heat up your coffee. Pour some more tea. Savor this moment. You’re in for a treat.

We’ll start with the email Chris received from the now 85-year old author. Then, in its original form, enjoy one of most touching dad stories (and best life lessons) you’ll ever read. READ MORE 

Man of Few Words

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“Love is shown in your deeds, not in your words.”

—Fr. Jerome Cummings

Today’s story is from Mark Victor Hansen.

As co-author of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series, I’ve had ample opportunity to write about my father. Oddly enough, though, I never have. I guess that makes me a man of few words, at least in this respect.

My name is Mark Victor Hansen. This is my story untold — a look back at my dad, and how I came to know him 20 years after he passed.

“Men of few words are the best men.” —Shakespeare
Man of few words

Mark and his dad, ready to ride.

He was a Danish immigrant. No academics. Broken English.

A man of few words. That was my dad. He worked as a baker through the Depression, earning pennies a day. He survived on leftover bread. Tireless work ethic. Simple principles. Just survive each day.

I was born in ’48. My three younger brothers soon followed. “The four boys,” he often said.

Throughout my childhood, Dad was consistent, stoic, as well. He never waivered, and seemed immune to self-doubt. While deeply caring as a man and a dad, he seemed unable to communicate how he felt. He would order the “what” without explaining the “why”. READ MORE 

Father Time

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“Are you fighting with your father, or losing time with your dad? Father time.”

—Brian “Trigs” Hague

by Brian “Trigs” Hague

I never really knew my grandfather, Chubby. I was too young to remember what he was like. I wish I could remember the day I met him for the first time. From what I’ve been told, it changed my dad’s life.

father time

Brian, Chubby, and Jason, taken on the day dad and Chubby reunited. Chubby still looking a little “shook up.”

Dad returned to Cincinnati after law school to work for Chubby’s real estate firm. They quarreled occasionally, as fathers and sons do, especially in a family business. Dad told me later he realized it was mostly his fault. He was school educated, so he presumed he was also business smart.

My dad and my granddad disagreed on how to run the business, a lot. One fight went too far. Horrible things were said. A standoff ensued. My dad worked in a second floor office. Chubby’s office was downstairs. They didn’t speak for six months.

My mom was pregnant with me at the time. I was born May 24, 1978. Almost twelve pounds. Mom had a cesarean section, and needed a few days in the hospital to recover. Dad was overjoyed. His first-born son. READ MORE 

Shifting for Life

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“Planning is bringing the future into the present so that you can do something about it now.”

— Alan Lakein

Today’s story is from Stan Snyder.

My father taught me to drive a stick shift

Stan driving an ambulance

A typical day in the life of a teenage me. Dad and I doing battle. His goal? Make me miserable.

“You will learn to drive a stick,” Dad emphatically said. “You’ll learn, or you won’t drive at all.”

“What’s the point?” I protested. “I’m buying an automatic.”

(I’d saved up for years. A few blocks away sat a perfectly decent automatic sedan. My aunt had promised it to me once I’d saved up the money. Dad knew that.)

But my father wouldn’t let up… READ MORE