My Dad corrected me.  On April 27, he turned 89, not 90.  I am extremely grateful that Dad is still mentally sharp, still preaching at his church the second Sunday of every month.  As I have grown older, I have come to realize Dad's qualities I took for granted.

I am a political activist black conservative.  I tour the country with the Conservative Campaign Committee working to elect conservatives in special elections.  Dad, on the other hand, is a lifelong Democrat.  However, I did convince him to vote for Trump.

It has taken years to convince Dad that the Democrats are not the party of the little guy he taught me about years ago.  They are far-left radicals who, for the most part, are anti-God and anti-America.

Ironically, my foundation of conservative values came by example from my Democrat dad.  Dad was raised by Aunt Nee, who was a preacher.  He began working around nine or ten years old, shining shoes at the Greyhound bus station in Baltimore, Md.  Dad was a sharp businessman, or should I say bussinessboy.  He put on a show to increase his tips, spinning his brushes into the air and catching them, making rhythmic sounds with his shoe shine rag.  His base pay for a weekend was $1.25.  Over a good weekend, Dad made $4 in tips.  After paying Aunt Nee 25 cents for room and board, Dad purchased a t-shirt.  Dad proudly bragged to his buddies, "I'm a man, buying my own clothes!"

Folks, do you see the wonderful fruits of conservative principles in Dad's life – self-reliance, not believing anyone owed him anything while experiencing the joy, pride, and confidence of earning his own way?  These conservative principles are despised by Democrats.  Dad said one of his buddies chose crime over earning money.

We live in such a snowflake, safe-space, and metrosexual generation.  Dad's generation did what they had to do.  My mom and dad had five kids.  And yet Dad tried to be a part-time dad to my five cousins who lived in a fatherless household in the projects.  My wife Mary said she hates washing dishes because she hated her turn washing dishes for their extended family – needy relatives taken in by her parents.  In those days, more parents behaved like adults, doing whatever needed to be done.

Growing up away from his dad, Dad praises Aunt Nee for keeping him on the straight and narrow.  I love Dad's zeal for life and desire to be all he could be.  Throughout his life, when a door opened, Dad walked through it.

Dad was one of two black Merchant Marines who were the first black sailors to land on a Navy base in St Augustine, Florida.  Local whites tried to lynch him.  Dad's fellow Marines saved his life.

In the early 1950s, Dad was among a few blacks who broke the color barrier to become Baltimore city firefighters.  Despite horrific, humiliating, racist working conditions, Dad won Firefighter of the Year two times.

Dad was Baltimore's first black paramedic.  He was the Baltimore City Fire Department's first black chaplain.

An exclusive white country club offered free admission to Baltimore City firefighters.  Upon seeing the notice, Dad took my younger brothers, Jerry and David.  The country club was shocked but had to honor its offer.  When Dad and my brothers got into the swimming pool, all the white members left.  Dad kept coming back.  Eventually, the white members got over it and returned.

Mr. Charley was our neighbor in Pumphrey, a black suburban community.  He was known as the meanest man in town.  Mr. Charley respected my dad.  When Dad wanted to attend Baltimore Bible College, Mr. Charley provided funding with a jar of dimes – $110.  From his humble beginnings preaching in storefront churches, Dad earned his doctorate in theology.  Dad has been the pastor of numerous large congregations.

When a fire broke out a few houses down, Dad ran to the burning house.  Jerry, David, and I ran behind him.  Dad kicked in the front door and ran inside, looking for people.  We thought, wow, our dad is Superman!

Dad used his kids in a sermon.  Each year, our church sponsored a bus trip to Hershey Park, Pennsylvania.  Dad said, "When the bus arrives, my kids get on the bus.  They know their father has taken care of the details.  In the same way, we must trust God to take care of the details."

At 89, Dad is still engaged, going strong.  One evening a week, he leads a band of black neighbors.  They march the crime- and drug-infested mean Baltimore streets around his church.  They carry signs that read, "Stop the Killing!"

Happy Father's Day, Dad!  You're the greatest man I have ever known.

Love, Peanut (that's another story)

Lloyd Marcus, The Unhyphenated American
Author: Confessions of a Black Conservative: How the Left has shattered the dreams of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Black America
Singer/Songwriter and Conservative Activist
http://LloydMarcus.com