WHO KNEW… that in 2026 there are still knights in shining armor? In my case, he drives a blue GMC pickup truck.
Growing up on a farm with three brothers, there was no such thing as being “Daddy’s little girl.” We all cut wood, loaded pigs and cattle, baled hay, and worked side by side. Dad treated us all the same, and I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
I watched that man almost under a microscope. The way he talked, the way he laughed, the way he figured things out. I honestly believed there wasn’t anything he couldn’t fix with a little baling wire and a pair of pliers. That country-boy ingenuity served him well, and it shaped the rest of us too.
Thirty-four years ago, I bought this farm from my beloved Burton, and I’ve spent every day since trying to farm the way he did. Farming can be physically, mentally, and financially exhausting—but it’s a life I love.
Today I picked up a couple of tons of fertilizer for my field corn. The heat has been relentless, and after working in the fields all week, I now fought with the spreader for 30 minutes in the hot sun trying to get the auger to engage. By noon, hot, frustrated, and out of energy, I called Dad.
When he answered, I almost cried with relief.
I explained what was happening and asked if he remembered what he’d done with one of these spreaders this spring, at his farm.
He thought for a moment, then simply said, “Sharon and I were just walking out the door headed to Three Rivers. You’re on the way. I’ll swing by your place.”
And just like that…here came my knight in shining armor.
He climbed out of that blue GMC, walked over, studied the spreader for a minute, and said, “I think you’re right. This handle has to come up.”
He pulled from the top while I got down on my knees and pushed from below. Together we finally broke it loose and locked it into place.
I thanked him over and over, and
Like only my dad could, he smiled and said, “Glad to help. Glad you called. Give it a try, and if it works, just keep going. Don’t worry about us.”
Those simple words meant more than he’ll ever know.
For 64 years, I have admired this man. I stayed out of trouble growing up—not because I was afraid of getting caught, but because I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to him while I was off making foolish choices.
I’ve spent my entire life loving him, respecting him, and quietly worrying about the day I might have to live without him.
Every single day, I thank God that He gave us four children a father like this. A man of integrity. A man of humility. A man who has always shown us that strength isn’t measured by words, but by showing up when someone needs you.
How wonderfully precious it is that, even today, I can still pick up the phone, call my dad, and before long, here he comes—with decades of wisdom, weathered hands, a humble heart, and enough know-how to solve another problem.
Some people call them heroes.
I simply call him Dad.
And every single day, I NEVER stop being grateful for James Arthur Haas being my dad.