Upon further review … With Father’s Day approaching this month (June 18), I thought I would share with you what a great father I had. He was the best ever. I am not comparing him to yours. That wouldn’t be fair, since I don’t know your father. Not so incidentally, I am saddened when I learn about a professional athlete who grew up without a father. We hear today of many kids who, being grateful for a mother or grandmother or aunt, have done a wonderful task of parenting, without a father.

I will “count my blessings” for having such an outstanding father. I was fortunate. I didn’t get to choose him, none of us do, but growing up under his leadership and concern for me and his family, I sincerely am grateful. By the way, that count your blessing expression is his as he would always remind me how fortunate I was with an opportunity to grow up in the environment he and my mother provided.

I was born in Hollywood at the start of the Great Depression (1929) and as a youth through WWII (my school years), I wondered how my childhood turned out so well. Well, it was my parents, especially my dad who was my hero, my idol and my mentor, providing his guiding hand. You see, he never knew much about his father since alcoholism took him down and out of his family. My dad grew up in Los Angeles selling daily newspapers in the downtown area (9th and Valencia) at age 6 and took his earnings home to his mother (Rose) who had a sewing job at a downtown clothing store with scarce income.

When I was 12, I got a summer job as a gardener at one of our local parks. My dad was the playground director for that city and while I thought it was my own entrepreneurship, I soon realized my dad surely had a hand in it. There were two issues about that job that were troublesome for me: one was that I had to get up at about 5 a.m. and ride my bike some 5 miles to the park; the other was that Dad insisted that I give him my paycheck (“I’ll invest it for you so it’ll be there for you later on”) he would say. When I think back to what he had to do, bringing home his earnings to his mother, I understand that process.

My dad had three jobs during most of my early years. First and foremost, he was a teacher and a coach (his high school football team won the L.A. City championship). Further, he was a football and basketball referee for high schools and colleges. And thirdly he was a playground director for the city of Alhambra. His earnings went for our family’s living conditions. He advanced in all three jobs for better pay. Dad and I never sat down and had father-to-son lessons-in-life talks but watching him closely, it was easy to see his pattern of success. As I said, he was my role model and mentor.

Not so incidentally since I played all sports in my youth, I thought I was the best athlete in our family. I learned later that my dad was captain of his football, basketball and baseball teams in high school as well as at Loyola University (now Loyola-Marymount) and played pro baseball for one year. Someday I’ll tell you about my younger brother (Peter) who outshone us both. I ended up ranking third in our family!

Since Dad was a playground director, I always had a ball, bat, or glove to use on my playground activities after school and vacations. When we chose teams on the playground, I always got to play. When the choosing occurred, it was something like “OK I’ll take Tunney — it’s his ball.” I thought it best to play with guys 2-3 years older thinking that I could learn more from them. There was one occasion that taught me a lesson that became helpful for the rest of my life.

Our family consisted of Mom, Dad and younger two sisters and one brother. I guess I should pause here to say I was the oldest and while it was never said to me “You got to do the right thing to set an example for your siblings,” I knew it was a role I had to play, and I did.

During my afterschool activities on the playground, I knew that I had to be home for dinner at 6 p.m., hair combed, hands washed — no exceptions or excuses — and at the table. One day, I arrived home on time but without my basketball. Dad was home and asked where my basketball was. I said I was playing with a bunch of guys who took my ball and wouldn’t give it back. There were several in that group and were playing “keep away from Tunney” with my ball. Knowing that my time was running out and I had to be home on time, I left my ball with those guys and ran home — a 1/2 block away. Dad asked where those guys were now. I said four or five houses down our street. Dad said, “Let’s go.” Dad was about 6 feet tall and 200 pounds and I was about 5-9 and 140 pounds. We approached this group of about five guys my size and age, I didn’t know what was going to happen. You see, I was about 9, tall, skinny, somewhat shy, and not very aggressive. As we marched down our neighborhood, I was trying to figure out what was going to take place.

When we got to the group, Dad said, “Which one do you want to fight?”

Fight? I didn’t want to fight anyone. I just wanted my basketball back! There was a slight pause (very slight), so I said, “him” and pointed to Jack Bates, who was holding my ball. Now I’ve got to fight him. So, I threw a couple of punches and Bates hit me back. Dad said, “That’s enough!” I took my ball, and we went home for dinner.

While I am not recommending this practice, it was a valuable lesson of COURAGE for me. Never back down to bullies. Of course, I was pretty confident with my dad as my “handler.” This lesson of courage stuck with me. Later I realized that’s the way Dad had to live selling newspapers in downtown L.A. and then taking his earnings home to his mother.

As I continued my basketball career, and while I didn’t have to “fight” anyone, I did have to step-up, up when courage was needed. When I was vice principal and/or principal at inner-city schools, that trait stuck with me, I again found courage to be my companion. As if my dad were there by my side.

Being a football referee for 40 years (31 in the NFL) and a high school and college basketball referee for about the same number of years, courage had to be present from the moment I walked on the field or court until I left. This is in no way to sound officious, but a need for a silent inward characteristic. Thanks, Dad. For those who may not have the privilege of a father, I encourage you to seek out a relative or friend to be “at your side” when you need one.

The columns of Jim Tunney, the legendary NFL referee, appear once a month in The Herald. He can be reached at jim@jimtunney.com.