My Father was a Nobody. But…

In my previous post titled “Don’t Waste Your Lonely Christmas,” I reflected on four simple yet meaningful things I did to turn what could have been a difficult, lonely Christmas into a deeply memorable and fulfilling experience. The feedback I received warmed my heart, and many of you shared your own stories, reminding me that our small decisions during tough seasons often carry great significance. Today, however, I want to take a slightly different turn. I feel led to open up and share a few cherished memories about my beloved father—who is sadly no longer with me on this side of eternity. You might be wondering, “What’s so special about your father?” It’s a fair question. My father was not a public figure. He wasn’t rich, powerful, or famous by the world’s standards. In fact, in many ways, he was what society might consider a “nobody.” However, to me—and to everyone who truly knew him—he was a man of great worth. He lived by a deeply rooted biblical code of conduct and upheld Christian values not just in words, but through daily actions. He modeled humility, integrity, and quiet strength. He didn’t preach sermons, but his life was a sermon—one of faithfulness, love, and discipline. I still carry his example in my heart today, and the lessons he taught me—intentionally and unintentionally—have shaped who I am. The memories I share below are not merely nostalgic; they are glimpses into the legacy of a man of honour, offered here to inspire you, as they continue to inspire me. [Pic: My sister and me with our father, taken back in 1984.]

My father loved my Mother

My sister was the last person to speak with my father. His final words were soft and full of love: “Where is mommy?” A few hours later, he passed away peacefully in his sleep, just five days after being admitted to the hospital. I often wonder—did he somehow know the end was near? That remains a mystery I will never solve, but one thing I know for certain is that he loved my mother deeply and faithfully for thirty-nine long years, right up to his very last breath. Thirty-nine years is no short span in the context of marriage. Throughout that time, my father never once raised his hand against her. He honoured her with the same commitment on the last day as he did on the first. His faithfulness wasn’t just about what he did—it extended to what he thought. He stayed emotionally loyal and never let his eyes or mind stray. Through times of good health and periods of illness, he was by her side, never faltering. Even as diabetes and age wore down her youth and outward beauty, he never once wavered in his affection or respect. He was never ashamed to introduce her proudly as his wife. In fact, whether for business or pleasure, he refused to travel out of town—let alone out of the country—without her. She accompanied him to nine different countries over the years. My father was not a wealthy man, nor was he famous, but he loved my mother wholeheartedly and remained true until death parted them. That’s why I call him a man of honour.

My father loved his Children

He was not only my father but also the father of my sister and my younger brother. I was his firstborn, and my brother was the youngest in the family. After his passing, my mother shared a memory that I had never heard before—one that revealed a side of him few knew. She said, “When your sister was less than three months old, she would cry for hours on end, night after night, refusing to sleep unless either your father or I carried her. That continued for quite some time, until the Parish Priest came and blessed her with holy water, but until that day, your father would hold her in his arms and walk around the bedroom, back and forth, until the sun came up—just to help her sleep. He loved you all dearly. For him, family always came first.” He worked tirelessly to make sure we never lacked what we needed—whether it was food, clothing, medicine, or a roof over our heads. He placed great value on our education because he wanted us to achieve the dreams he never could. He shaped our character with discipline when needed, and he nurtured our faith by praying with us and teaching us the ways of God. Even when we disappointed him or fell short of his expectations, he never gave up on us. Instead, he motivated us to improve and reminded us of our worth. He stood by us in times of fear and danger, defending and protecting us. He expressed his love in countless ways, but the things I just shared leave no doubt. My father was a nobody in the world’s eyes, but to us, he was everything. That is why I remember him as a man of honour.

My father was a loving Son

My father was the fifth of seven children, born into a family that struggled under the weight of severe financial hardship. When he was still in his teenage years, his father—my grandfather—passed away unexpectedly. The loss was not just emotional; it left a vacuum that placed the entire burden of caring for the family on the shoulders of his mother, my grandmother. In the years that followed, she would rise as early as two in the morning to bake goods that she sold to a nearby bakery just to keep the family afloat. My father often spoke about those early mornings and her tireless labour with profound gratitude. He never forgot the sacrifices she made and always considered himself forever indebted to her. When she reached her late fifties and could no longer manage on her own, he brought her into our home to live with us. He took care of her with a quiet sense of duty and compassion. It wasn’t just physical support—he also ministered to her spiritual needs. He gently shared his faith in Christ with her over the years, and in time, she chose to receive water baptism and accept Jesus as her personal saviour. She lived a long life and passed away peacefully at over 95 years of age. Her death left a deep wound in my father’s heart. Although he didn’t speak of it often, we could see the sorrow etched into his silence. My father never sought recognition for his devotion. In the eyes of the world, he may have been a nobody, but in his steadfast love for his mother and the life of honour he lived, he showed us what it means to be a man of true character. That’s why I remember him as a man of honour.

My father was Compassionate

I was around seven years old when a small but powerful gesture from my father etched itself into my memory forever. He had just bought me an ice cream from a van, and we were about to walk away when he noticed two children standing at a distance, watching us silently. Their clothes were worn, and their eyes were fixed on my ice cream with longing. Without a word, my father turned around, walked back to the ice cream van, and bought another. He handed it to them with a gentle smile. That moment happened thirty-three years ago, yet I remember their expressions of joy as vividly as if it happened yesterday. My father didn’t do it for praise—he did it because compassion was his instinct. That same compassion defined how he treated everyone. He was merciful and gracious, even toward those who had wronged him or tried to hurt him. He never harbored resentment, and forgiveness came naturally to him. As an employer, he genuinely cared for the welfare of his workers. He paid their wages on time, treated them with dignity, and stood by them during difficult times. He was also a dependable brother and a true friend. He often went out of his way to support those in need, regardless of whether they could return the favor. His generosity was quiet, his kindness sincere, and his motives pure. My father was not a man of status or wealth, but he lived his life moved by compassion. That is why, to me, he will always be a man of honour.

My father was a man of Integrity

In my hometown, a long-standing custom exists within the business community: every Christmas, local business owners offer a token of appreciation to law enforcement officers. These seasonal “gifts” typically consist of alcohol and cartons of cigarettes—gestures meant more to curry favour than to show genuine gratitude. My father, ever the man of conviction, on the other hand, chose a very different path. Instead of conforming to these cultural norms, he gifted the officers copies of the New Testament and took the opportunity to share the love of Christ. While some might have scoffed at such a gesture, many were touched by his sincerity. They knew he wasn’t trying to win favours—he was living out his faith, one small act at a time. Owing to his consistent example, the officers respected him—not just as a businessman but as a man of integrity. He didn’t need to preach lengthy sermons; his actions spoke volumes. My father believed in law and order, and he ran his business accordingly. He refused to engage in bribery and never sought shortcuts for quick gain. Ill-gotten profits held no appeal to him. He paid his workers on time, every time, never holding back a single rupee. His books were clean, and he paid his taxes honestly and punctually, year after year. To the world, he may have seemed like just another small-town businessman—unremarkable and ordinary, but I saw the quiet strength behind his decisions and the moral compass that guided his life. He lived by principle, not convenience. My father was a nobody, but he was a man who practised what he preached. That is why I will always call him a man of honour.

My father was a hero from Zero

I still remember watching my father pedal off to work on his old foot cycle. I was just a toddler then, barely able to understand the world around me, but the image of his simple determination is etched deep in my memory. As time went on and things slowly improved, he upgraded to a Honda “Chaly” mini bike—an iconic, compact motorcycle that served him faithfully for many years. Eventually, after the Chaly’s engine had worn out from years of hard work, he moved on to a secondhand “Benly Super – CD 90.” It wasn’t flashy, but it got the job done, just like him. His first car was so old and worn out that even as a child, I felt embarrassed by it. His second car was slightly better—also a used vehicle, still far from stylish but he never complained. He drove them with quiet dignity. Eventually, after years of honest work, he bought his first brand-new car: a Maruti Suzuki 800 AC. It was a modest car, but for him—and us—it was a milestone. Later, recognizing the need for more space, especially as he often gave people rides home after Sunday mass, he invested in a Suzuki Wagon R. That was the vehicle he seemed most proud of. For many years, he couldn’t afford a brand-new vehicle because he never took shortcuts or engaged in dishonest dealings. My father didn’t come from privilege or wealth. He started with nothing, but through perseverance and integrity, he built a life. My father was a nobody, but he was a hero from zero. That’s why I call him a man of honour.

Wrap Up

My father was born on January 1st, 1951—just three years after Sri Lanka gained independence. It’s a date I always thought was symbolic, as if his life were somehow tied to the rebirth of our nation. He passed away on September 19th, 2020, at the age of 69. That year, the world was still reeling from the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic, and like so many other families, we were forced to make difficult decisions about how to say goodbye. Due to strict health regulations, we had to rush the burial, leaving little time to inform everyone. As a result, many people—relatives, friends, old neighbours, former employees, and even long-time business partners—were unable to attend his final farewell. Still, those who did make it came with heavy hearts and deep respect. I remember standing there and listening to the words spoken about him. At first, I expected the usual formalities—polite things people often say about the dead, but it became quickly evident that every word shared was genuine, heartfelt, and sincere. No one was trying to sugarcoat the truth or paint a false picture. What they described was exactly the man I knew—quiet yet dependable, humble yet strong, disciplined yet compassionate. My father wasn’t perfect, but he lived with dignity and left behind a name that carried honour. That day, I saw how deeply he had impacted others, and I felt proud to be his son.

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