The other day I met the new missionary in the ward. To help him place me in the ward family tree, I told him that I was the daughter of Brother Inman, the man who had picked him up from the mission home. “”Brother Inman?" He said. "You mean my favorite guy in the whole world!”
That’s my Dad. If you have met him, he is probably one of your favorite guys as well. He is kind, and sweet, and funny, and generous, and hard-working, and one of the coolest guys around.
Many years later, I realize that is one of the reasons he is so cool. He doesn’t take himself too seriously, and he didn’t want me to either. He taught me that what other people think of you doesn’t matter, what you think of yourself does.
He is the most selfless and generous person I know. During my several hospitals stays over the past few years he made it his personal mission to take care of me. He would arrive early in the morning, and stay until Spencer arrived after work. When I got up to use the bathroom, or take a walk in the hall, I would return to find my bed remade. All this he did despite his own personal aches and pains.
He is a great missionary too. One time as I was driving to the East Coast, he drove with me as far as Arkansas and then took a bus home (see what I mean about being selfless). On the bus he met a gang member who had just been released from prison. He then proceeded to teach this man about the atonement, and when the man said that he could never be forgiven for the terrible things he had done, my Dad said “You’re wrong. Don’t you dare say that. Jesus’s atonement is for everyone.” I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I would have the nerve to tell a hardened ex-con he was wrong about anything.
I could go on for hours about my Dad and how wonderful he is, but for now, I will just honk my imaginary horn and shout at the top of my lungs, “That’s my Dad! I love my Dad!”