John Taylor. Sounds like an actor’s name, right? Well you may have never heard of this Selma-born father of six, but he’s very much a person to be honored in my life — he’s my dad.

The youngest of five — Peggy, Bertha (Jew), Ethel (Nunny) and Junious —“Sport” as they call him, was the apple of his family’s eye — the star athlete, class president, ladies’ man and mama’s boy.

After joining the Navy fresh out of high school, my father’s unit eventually was stationed in Spain. That’s where he met my mother, Gwendolyn, a Western Kentucky tomboy who would later steal his heart and become his supervisor.

After getting married and eventually having me, within the next nine years they had six girls — not so much a big deal for my mother but with first dates, menstruation, teenage rebellion and training bras, my dad’s nice full head of dark hair turned grey.

During my early teen years, I could only remember my dad being the militant father who I thought never wanted me to have fun. But now, as an adult who has lived more than a quarter of a century, I feel blessed to have had such admonishment, sheltering and direction from a man who only wanted me to have the best in life.

My father never failed to take us to church or teach us about God and learn Bible scriptures.

He never failed to talk about God’s goodness wherever he went — in the gas station, grocery store or backyard — I could still remember his “Well, praise the Lord!” greeting to fellow church members or strangers.

Many of my dad’s teachings (and whippings) stayed with me and have helped me to be a better person. My dad always remained humble and taught us, through his actions, the importance of giving — not just money or tangible things, but of your time and yourself. The big dreamer that he was, my dad always believed the impossible could be possible, and he passed that on to his children.

We always did things together as a family unit — going out to eat, going to a fair or theme park or travelling, which will forever be etched in my memories. In the words of my father, “We may not have always had much, but we have love.”

I thank God for my father, and even though he may not be as young and spry as he once was, he still has his faith.

Dad, thanks for always being there and for always believing in me. Most importantly, thanks for being my dad. Love, poonka face.