Remembering a Great Daddy
By Sister Rosalia Giba
My dad, John Giba, was a great daddy. Like my mother, he was always in church — for Mass, Benediction, novenas to the Little Flower and St. Anthony, and so on. In those days, the men sat on one side of the church and the women on the other. But my twin, Sister Bernadette, and I always sat with my dad, one on each side.
I remember once when we were about 4 years old, I was on his right side, and she was on his left. I looked over to see her and, there she was, sound asleep on the bench. I tried to get behind my dad to wake her up, but he pulled me away from her and said, “She’s sleeping, and I’m not.” That was the end of that.
My dad made sure we had plenty to do in the yard. He built a swing for the porch and made us a seesaw, a sliding board, and even a big doll house. In the garden, he created a shrine of the Blessed Mother, encasing her in a wooden box with a glass front. Above and around her, he strung grapevines. The people who rented our top floor — two brothers and an uncle — tipped their hats each time they passed the shrine. And as a family, we did a lot of praying there.
As if he was shoemaker himself, he bought all the tools he needed to repair our shoes. Electrical problems were no issue either, nor was plumbing. He simply figured out what was wrong and fixed it. Even in his work, he always had time for others.
One day in August 1950, I was up on the roof with him as he was tarring it. Our neighbor, Mrs. Skratek, came over to relay a message to my dad from the Sisters at Mount Assisi — Sister Anthony had died and they needed him to dig her grave. That was another job he did — digging the graves for the Sisters. I will never forget that day, August 10, 1950. You see, Mrs. Skratek had taken the call because we had no phone.
He was so dedicated to the Sisters — working on the motherhouse farm, tending the pigs and, when it was time for the Sisters’ week-long festival, building all the booths. He also worked with the Franciscan Friars in nearby Avalon. He loved every minute of it.
I also remember how very much he loved my little brother. He would take Tony’s little hand and walk down on the front sidewalk with him. It was truly his pride and joy to be able to show off his youngest son.
My dear daddy died in January 1963. But he lives on today in my memories and in my heart. May he and all the other great dads who dedicated their lives to their families and the Lord have a blessed Father’s Day in heaven.
John Giba is shown with his wife, Julia, in this undated photo. Four of their daughters — Mary, Barbara, Rosalia and Bernadette — became members of the School Sisters of St. Francis.
Sister Rosalia Giba