In this inaugural posting of my “Reluctant Rock Star” blog about leadership, influence and personal success, I honor one of my first role models, my dad, the late Allen Alonza Thomas, this Father’s Day weekend.
Those who knew my father would agree that he wasn’t much of a talker. He was the silent type, mostly observing and listening to those around him.
When you did get him talking, however, it was primarily about sports — and in particular about his beloved New York teams: the Knicks, the Yankees and the Giants. He rooted for the Mets, too, since baseball was his favorite pastime. He was a star third baseman on the high school and semi-professional levels. The Brooklyn Dodgers even drafted and assigned him to its minor league team in Marietta, Ga. I imagine now he would have had lots to say about the recent NBA Finals between the Mavs and the Heat.
He was the eldest boy of six children born to James and Sarah Thomas in rural Garysburg, N.C. After graduating from high school he helped to support his family by working on their farm. He eventually moved north, to Brooklyn, where he got reacquainted with a young woman from his hometown named Clara, who earlier had moved to the “big city” to pursue her dreams of being a nurse. In time, he and Clara would wed and have a daughter. (Dad picked my middle name, LaVerne).
Growing up, my father dispensed advice to me in bite-size nuggets, never long-drawn lectures or speeches. A humble and hardworking man, though not perfect, Dad spoke to me by his example. Even in their brevity, his words were packed with years of living and common sense.
Medical studies assert the most important person in a young girl’s life is her father. She takes cues from him – emotionally, physically and spiritually. The bond, or lack thereof, between a father and a daughter can shape her life profoundly.
I watched how my Dad treated people with courtesy. I watched his work ethic — owning a barbershop and making a decent living. I watched how he carried himself — with dignity and honor. I watched how he dressed and impressed. He loved his fedoras and, as a little girl, I played with his cuff links. I suppose that’s why I like wearing them today. I watched how he respected and revered my mother as well as his own.
In a Wall Street Journal article, “Daughters and Dad’s Approval,” published this week, author Peggy Wexler states: “No matter how successful their careers, how happy their marriages, or how fulfilling their lives, women told me that their happiness passed through a filter of their fathers’ reactions. Many told me that they tried to remove the filter and — much to their surprise — failed.”
Wexler, who researched the lives of independent, high-achieving women and the connection with their fathers, describes the relationship as “potent.” I agree. I never doubted my father’s love and support for me throughout my life. I am grateful that he was present and able to witness my progression.
Even though he may not have articulated his feelings a lot, Dad expressed them to me with his simple gestures: a smile, a nod, a laugh, a pat on the back, a word of encouragement. He was a man of few words, but his deeds spoke volumes — shining examples that continue to live on in me.
Those who knew my father would agree that he wasn’t much of a talker. He was the silent type, mostly observing and listening to those around him.
When you did get him talking, however, it was primarily about sports — and in particular about his beloved New York teams: the Knicks, the Yankees and the Giants. He rooted for the Mets, too, since baseball was his favorite pastime. He was a star third baseman on the high school and semi-professional levels. The Brooklyn Dodgers even drafted and assigned him to its minor league team in Marietta, Ga. I imagine now he would have had lots to say about the recent NBA Finals between the Mavs and the Heat.
He was the eldest boy of six children born to James and Sarah Thomas in rural Garysburg, N.C. After graduating from high school he helped to support his family by working on their farm. He eventually moved north, to Brooklyn, where he got reacquainted with a young woman from his hometown named Clara, who earlier had moved to the “big city” to pursue her dreams of being a nurse. In time, he and Clara would wed and have a daughter. (Dad picked my middle name, LaVerne).
Growing up, my father dispensed advice to me in bite-size nuggets, never long-drawn lectures or speeches. A humble and hardworking man, though not perfect, Dad spoke to me by his example. Even in their brevity, his words were packed with years of living and common sense.
Medical studies assert the most important person in a young girl’s life is her father. She takes cues from him – emotionally, physically and spiritually. The bond, or lack thereof, between a father and a daughter can shape her life profoundly.
I watched how my Dad treated people with courtesy. I watched his work ethic — owning a barbershop and making a decent living. I watched how he carried himself — with dignity and honor. I watched how he dressed and impressed. He loved his fedoras and, as a little girl, I played with his cuff links. I suppose that’s why I like wearing them today. I watched how he respected and revered my mother as well as his own.
In a Wall Street Journal article, “Daughters and Dad’s Approval,” published this week, author Peggy Wexler states: “No matter how successful their careers, how happy their marriages, or how fulfilling their lives, women told me that their happiness passed through a filter of their fathers’ reactions. Many told me that they tried to remove the filter and — much to their surprise — failed.”
Wexler, who researched the lives of independent, high-achieving women and the connection with their fathers, describes the relationship as “potent.” I agree. I never doubted my father’s love and support for me throughout my life. I am grateful that he was present and able to witness my progression.
Even though he may not have articulated his feelings a lot, Dad expressed them to me with his simple gestures: a smile, a nod, a laugh, a pat on the back, a word of encouragement. He was a man of few words, but his deeds spoke volumes — shining examples that continue to live on in me.