Glenn Huff (1922-2011)

My father was born a century ago on March 10, 1922. I knelt at his grave on this bright and sunny Thursday afternoon, and I cried from deep down in my gut. It was not a sad cry, but one of joy and gratitude. Nothing brings tears to my eyes as easily as being on the receiving end of kindness, or observing someone’s act of kindness toward another. I observed my dad’s kindness for many years. He gave away all he had in his giant love cup, and it came back to him in infinite refills.   

Glenn was a model for what a man could be: selfless, authentic, generous, responsible, confident, and playful. He was intrigued by the minds of children. When they entered his orbit, they saw a grownup who could talk their language, and they could make him laugh. He knew that joy and suffering co-exist. He comforted hundreds of people grieving their losses and gave food to people who had no way to pay for it. He took care of my mother through her pain, depression, and dementia. Being her caregiver was nothing more than what a committed partner does, in sickness and in health. That was his way.  

My father was incapable of hate. He was more easily hurt than angered. I was a budding teenager bagging groceries one day at our neighborhood market when a customer entered and walked straight to the check-out counter, assaulting my dad with harsh words. This blustering bully had inherited his wealth, while my dad had grown up in a farm family that ate the food they grew. The man feasted on my father while I struggled to relax my fists, and then my dad wished him a good day. I knew he meant it. He wanted no one to suffer, including those who caused suffering.  

Like Vincent Van Gough, my father never thought of himself as special. Van Gogh once wrote in a letter to his brother that his mission in life was to show the world what the world looks like through the eyes of an ordinary person. My dad’s habitual response to being praised was humble. “All glory to God,” he would say. He didn’t wish to be glorified, like I’m doing now. He taught his two sons a simple lesson about comportment. We were to live a life of value to family and community and make no big deal about it. I continued to hear stories of his generosity long after he died, stories he never told me.  

Dan Hicks wrote a song called, “How Can I Miss You When You Won’t Go Away?” I don’t miss my father because he won’t go away; he’s always with me. He saw my missteps and never abandoned me. Whenever I pass his compassion forward, I want to say, “Glory to Glenn.” Dad was a high school drop-out who co-founded two social service organizations and helped a segregated Black community convert a neighborhood school building into a community center. What is so remarkable to me about those actions was that they were no big deal to him. He simply wanted to do those things and wanted them to be a big deal only to people who benefited from the services. I know because I lived with him. His orientation to life was my inspiration to become a social worker. 

To you, my gentle father, may you forever rest in the peace you’ve given me and many others. May all who knew your kindness and compassion keep passing it along. And to all who missed out on having a nurturing father, may you find the love and respect you deserve. We are one big family, and everyone belongs.   

15 Responses to Glenn Huff (1922-2011)

  • Terry – Thank you so much for giving us a glimpse of your wonderful father. Dads are so important! I see that yours passed along his traits of compassion, patience and kindness to you.

    • Thanks Michael. I often thought he expected me to fill his big shoes, and I tried to do that for years before realizing he only wanted me to walk in my own.

  • Terry,
    What an honorable tribute to your dad. Your post is written with heartfelt sentiment. A man who truly made a difference to his family and this planet. Brings back faith in humanity.
    Ann

    • Thank you Ann. He wasn’t perfect, but close enough that I can’t imagine having a better man for a father.

  • Terry, beautiful. You have passed on his spirit with your ADHD group, and your service thru writing and therapy. Hamp
    .

    • Thanks Hamp for your kind comment. It means a lot coming from a compassionate professional with a big heart.

  • Thanks Ed. Dad would explain that he was just one of a team that started those projects. He certainly was a giant in my eyes. It pleases me to share stories about him. As for writing about him, I’ve thought about it many times, and it’s complicated…where to start, and how to answer for myself if I’m idealizing, and if readers would be interested. I enjoy hearing stories others tell me about him. He was an inspiration to many. Grateful for your comments.

  • How thrilled I am to stumble across this beautiful tribute to your special dad, Terry. Memories of him and your mom are very much a part of the fond memories of my growing up in Brentwood. We were both very fortunate to have parents who, no matter what, made sure we knew we were loved beyond imagination. Thank you for sharing this with with us
    Best to you…Ann

  • What a beautifully written tribute to your dad. Thank you for sharing. You listened, absorbed and share his gentle kindness. Jean

    • Thanks Jean. You’re very kind.

      • None of this surprises me. Over these decades of knowing you, Terry Huff, you have walked the path of compassion, generosity, and wisdom. All of it was wrapped up in humor and joy. Thanks for sharing Glenn, and thanks for being you.

  • Thank you Terry! My father was my hero also. He died by his own hand in 1986 and there is not a day that I do not think about him. He was a wonderful man and I will miss him as long as I live. Thanks for reminding me how special he was.

    • I’m glad to know you had a hero for a father too…and sad to know his life was short. I look forward to hearing more about him.

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