My Daddy, Isaac Arthur Bass, was born into a family of seven brothers and sisters in 1923. His father was a hardworking older man; his mother a young woman who was overwhelmed with the responsibilities of motherhood.

It is sad to say, without notice, Dad’s mother left her family, taking only six of the eight children with her, and leaving two boys, my Dad (two-and-a-half years old at the time) and an older brother with their father.

Unable to afford childcare, my grandfather had no choice but to leave my Dad in their boarding room, alone while he worked. Before long, a family offered to have my Dad live with them. They promised a “loving home”, schooling, and other things not afforded by his own father. Daddy said he remembered when he last saw his father… “He handed me his pocket watch to keep me from crying.”

The loving family situation that was promised turned out to be a form of slavery. My Dad was beaten. His nutritional needs were withheld as punishment. He was removed from school in second grade to work on the farm, and the list goes on. In the meantime, the couple’s biological son was well taken care of, as all children should be. Years later, my Dad was loved by and worked for local families in the community; a “handy boy” as he called it.

During one Christmas, a family that he had worked for gave him the only present he would receive from anyone - a bag of little gold-foiled chocolate candy coins we still find in the stores today. However, Dad’s surrogate parents took the coins from him and gave them to their birth son. The pain of that moment remained with my dad for many, many years.

Forty-five years later, Daddy had become a very accomplished man. He retired from the military, owned a successful jewelry business, and was a loving father, grandfather and husband. Each year he provided shoes, presents and Christmas stockings for every child at a local children’s home, and Christmas gifts for families that were “down on their luck” as he called it. He never once asked for recognition.

When I became a young adult, I added a bag of the little gold-foiled, chocolate candy coins to the packaging of the Christmas present I gave to my Dad each year. He would savor those candies, sometimes just sitting and holding the bag in his hands, with a far off look in his eyes and contentment on his face as if to say, “I am loved and someone finally understands”.

We lost my Daddy suddenly on New Year’s Eve 1989. We spent our last Christmas Eve together, gathered at Mom and Daddy’s house. I gave Daddy a cardigan sweater that year. As he unwrapped the present, he looked it over carefully… he was looking for his candy. It was not there, and the look on his face showed much sadness.

As he tried on the sweater, he smiled; however, it was only a half smile. I said, “Daddy I know how much you love deep pockets, and it took forever to find a sweater with pockets that deep, try them out!” As long as I have breath in my body, I will never forget the delight that shone in his eyes when he put his hand deep into those pockets and felt a little bag of gold-foiled, chocolate candy coins.

I remember the laugh he made when his hand touched it. However, it was the tears on his cheeks that told me how much he appreciated the thought. The little gold-foiled, chocolate candy coins are now a family tradition, and will remain so for many generations to come.

After the festivities, the presents opened, much food eaten, and the babies kissed, we all departed to our own homes. Around 11:30 pm, we received a call from Mom; Daddy had hemorrhaged and needed to go to the hospital immediately. The doctors operated on Daddy that night. To our great sadness, Daddy passed away, one week later, just a few minutes before the New Year rang in.

Daddy was a man of honor, he served his country, his family, and those who were “down on their luck”, despite his childhood. I dedicate this Poker Run to him. In hopes, the caring ways of others will make a positive difference in a child’s life… the way a simple bag of candy made a difference to the tormented little boy that lived inside my Daddy.

Together, we can ensure the 726,000 children in foster care today can go to sleep in a safe, caring foster care home, wake each morning to a loving family, and to know the joys of being reunited with their own families when possible, or experience the genuine love of their new Mom and Dad through adoption. When a community works together to raise a child everything is possible. Ride safe and remember to keep the wind in your smile!