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livestock and equipment to repay our bank operating loan. That was a hard day for Dad, and I know he felt like he had failed our family. 
• Dad's options were limited, as he searched for another job. Dad was born profoundly deaf, so he could neither hear nor speak, and most jobs required hearing or speaking. In the end, Dad found a job as a janitor, working at night. Later he moved to a day shift, and my mother, herself severely deaf, joined him, working also as a janitor. Their salaries, together, were enough to make the mortgage payment, and Dad rented our quarter section to a neighbor. 
• Dad died ten years ago, in the farmhouse where he was born, just after turning 90 years old. By material and other measures, Dad was not a successful man. He

was neither wealthy, nor famous, nor powerful. He died with very little. But in my eyes, he was successful beyond measure. He lived his life honestly, and bore many trials without complaint. He loved my mother and was attentive to her needs. He gave me and my sisters love, set limits and taught us that all work has dignity. He never used his disability as an excuse, and he did not let it define him.  He was the best father one could ever want.
• On this Father's Day, I remember my father, and thank God for the generous gift of his life. He may not have been able to hear or speak, but the way he lived his life spoke volumes to me.