Lessons Schaumburg man learned as a child after his dad died

In October 1952, my proud, happy parents created a family.

I have few memories of my early years. Old photographs tell the story. They took me places, dressed me up, and doted over me every minute. They moved from a two-flat on the Near West Side into a newly constructed home in a brand-new neighborhood near Midway Airport. I had a new life with a new home and a yard to play in.

Other families were moving in and life had new promise. It was full of wonderful new experiences. Birthdays were a house full of family and friends gathered for a home-cooked meal and birthday cake. Christmas was all that plus a treasure trove of presents from Santa Claus. Life was great; then the unthinkable happened.

On a cold January night, my father left for work as usual, but he thought he had bad indigestion. He was night supervisor for the Yellow Cab Co. It was a good job, and he was a good provider for his family. In the bathroom at work, he suffered a heart attack and died at age 64. In an instant, Dad's life ended and ours changed forever.

As we slept, Mom and I couldn't have imagined that when Dad left for work that night, it would be his last goodbye. As a 5-year-old, I didn't truly understand the emotional, social and financial impact of that night. For Mom, the effect was immediate. She awoke to the horrible news, and now had to find a way to keep our lives as normal as possible.

Yet, our lives were going to be very different. Mom went to work full-time, but still couldn't earn enough to keep up with the mortgage. We sold our home and moved into an apartment near Midway Airport, the first of many moves to come.

She had to work, leaving me alone more than she should have at my age. We moved to the West Side, where rents were cheaper. We lived close to my school, and I walked home for a lunch that Mom prepared before leaving for work. I would walk home, eat and return to school.

One day, after being bullied at school, I went home and stayed there. Another time when I came home after school, I went out to play and one of the neighborhood children decided to take away my penny. I must have been in second or third grade. I called the police and reported a robbery. This is what life without Dad had led to.

Too much time on my own at too early an age with a single parent trying to make a life and keep a roof over our heads had become unmanageable. Mom needed help, so she turned to her church.

Catholic Charities came to our aid and found a place in the suburbs where I could be cared for and educated without mom needing to worry about balancing work with caring for me. I went to Maryville Academy in Des Plaines, which was owned by the Chicago Archdiocese. Priests and nuns ran the facility along with a few lay personnel and were responsible for every child living there.

There, I began the next three and a half years of my life. During this time, a priest there became my inspiration and became the father figure I yearned for. Father John Smyth and I became friends, and he watched over me.

He played catch with me and taught me how to fish. He taught me to stand up for myself and cope with living among many young people with behavioral and delinquency issues.

Father Smyth died in April at the age of 84 amid claims by two men that he had sexually assaulted them 16 years ago. I don't know anything about the validity of those claims, but for me in the early 1960s, Father Smyth was nothing but a blessing.

My years at Maryville prepared me for my life to come. I left street smart, yet balanced, with a level of compassion and direction I obtained from his mentoring. He remained an active part of my life for many years and would go on to marry my wife and me and baptize our children.

When I left Maryville, I moved back home to our small, inexpensive West Side apartment. I attended St. Mel Holy Ghost grade school down the street from St. Mel High School in the rough part of town.

It was convenient for my mother, then working as a crossing guard at the corner of Madison and Kildare. She would drive us to her corner and I would walk to my school. After school, I walked back and waited until she was done crossing the schoolchildren.

Our apartment was nearby, but we didn't stay there much longer. Once, I was stabbed in the foot by a classmate. Another time I was chased by neighborhood gangs. We had written threats delivered to our front door. Mom had enough. We moved to a quieter, more peaceful neighborhood and schools on the Northwest Side.

I often wished Mom would find a nice man to marry her and take care of us, a new father for me to look up to. She dated a bit and one man stood out. He was a Chicago police sergeant and world traveler.

I anxiously looked forward to his visits. He treated me as a real father would. He brought me presents and told stories about his life and travels. He taught me how to be a good person. I always thought he would make a great dad.

He and Mom were perfect for one another (and me), but both were used to being on their own. A marriage was not to be, but he always remained close. In my adult years, after I had built a family of my own in Schaumburg, he would visit and bring gifts for my children. Upon his death in the mid-1980s, he left me his car and most of his possessions.

I remember the day I met our firstborn and became a father myself. It was a great feeling, and would be repeated two more times. As our children grew, I promised myself I would be active in their lives and be the best father I could.

In the back of my mind during those early years was the desire to live longer into their lives than my father lasted into mine. Watching them grow into adulthood was very rewarding, but soon outdone by the next generation.

Now, being “Grandpa” has been my most rewarding life experience. It is the culmination of a lifetime working to fill the empty parts of my fatherless childhood and then providing the life experience for my children and grandchildren that I missed growing up.

Certain things in life touch our emotions in ways that words can't fully capture and explain. A child's voice calling me “Daddy” always melted my heart, and now so does the word “Grandpa.” I never had anyone to call grandpa or grandma, and lost my father at too early an age to remember calling him daddy.

My greatest wish is to live long enough to see my grandchildren grow into adults. I've come to realize what will be my most important legacy. Beyond being a good father and grandfather, and having worn these titles proudly, despite any other achievements in my life, I hope to have passed along the most important lessons in life and the value of family.

• Jim Moynihan of Schaumburg is a financial adviser associated with Wayne Messmer & Associates. He and his wife Joan are 31-year residents of Schaumburg. They have three grown children and six grandchildren.