Heroes in Heaven
faithful to jesus, our sisters reflect
on the other special men in their lives
That she left me early, I was feeling mighty blue, just thinking how I’d miss her and the things she used to do.
But now, somehow, it’s different – with each rising of the sun, and my heart is ever singing: “I’m the daddy of a nun.”
Since to err is only human, there’s a whole lot on the slate that I’ll have to make account for when I reach the golden gate.
But then I’m not worrying about the deeds I’ve done. I’ll just whisper to St. Peter: “I’m the daddy of a nun.”
My Special Dad
An Original Poem by Sister Lorita Kristufek
My Dad, he’s always special, whether here on earth or not.
From birth to grown-up father, he’s always taught a lot!
To firstborn daughter Carol, he’s been a special light,
From home to Mt. Assisi, he’s been my “mister right!”
His love and deep compassion has touched the hearts of all.
In family, business or at church, he stood up brave and tall.
At my birth he was at World War II, as medic and as cook.
My Lord, you should have seen his menus, t’was enough to write a book!
From Dad we learned to fish and hunt, meat cutting was his trade.
He taught me how to grind the meat and use a saw and blade!
His steaks and roasts were cut with care for customers far and near.
And he had a great rapport with all, but he said he never drank a beer!
You knew my dad, a real “Kristufek,” he always brought a treat.
Ice cream and the frosty snow cones, yes, we welcomed in the hot summer heat!
He always came bearing gifts and donated meat and stuff,
He was like our Santa Claus, so gentle, never tough or rough!
My dad, he is in heaven, in the House of Bread as he shared,
Millions of loaves and cupcakes too, and donuts cause he cared!
Not to waste but deliver food, to the needy and the poor,
From Ambridge streets to Pittsburgh convents, his heart was real for sure!
Mom & Dad associates were, they prayed and took good care
Of all our Sisters, within reach, nothing mattered, but to share!
For banana split parties they came and went, no matter what the season,
They seemed to just be happy, and for no particular reason!
So now you know my dad a bit — a husband, grandpa, cook and father.
He loved his polkas and chocolate too, and lived without much bother.
He was a man, a soldier — a father for the many,
With a heart of gold and love for all, and sharing his last penny.
I thank my God, my Daddy God, for Stephen George Andrew – my Dad,
A precious guardian angel by my side, whose warmth and smile I had! (Have!)
Throughout my life and still, he is aside me day by day,
A man of God I truly know, guiding me always along the way!
Happy Father’s Day, Dad! Love Ya!
Baby Sister Lorita, baptized as Carol, with her parents Stephen and Anna Kristufek in the late 1940s.
Sister Lorita Kristufek (right) and her family in the Pennsylvania town of Ambridge the 1950s.
A young Steven Kristufek ran a grocery store.
Sister Lorita is visited by her parents during her days as a student at the University of Dayton in 1973.
Older, wiser Stephen Kristufek, still smiling as ever.
Sister Lorita
Sister Virginelle
John Makos, shown here as a soldier during World War II, is remembered for his gentle way.
HE WORE MANY HATS
“My father was a very special man. Dad was very quiet, filled with wisdom and had a lot of patience. I can still see him in his 80s tending to his tomato plants. He is the only person I know that was faithful to praying the Rosary and, at the same time, watching a Phillies game. I am sure Our Lady loved it.”
— Sister M. Virginelle Makos
Andrew and Anna Kralosky attend the 50th Jubilee Mass at St. Gabriel Parish on Pittsburgh’s North Side in 1962.
the VERY best man
“I loved my pop like he was the best man in the world. He was firm but kind and was a true family man. He went through a lot of heartaches during the Depression but did everything he possibly could to provide for his family. The older I get, the more I realize what he went through to keep the family happy. I loved him very much and pray for him in a special way every day.”
— Sister Norberta Kralosky
Sister Norberta
Sister Marie Therese (left, her dad and her sister, Annie, on her Reception Day in August 1962 in Bethlehem, Pa.
Sister Marie Therese
A pint-sized Sister Marie Therese with her beloved dad, Thomas, on a park outing.
cherished moments of joy and sorrow
A Reflection by Sister Marie Therese Sherwood
My dad was born in Jersey City, the oldest of six children. He was baptized Thomas Harold, but everyone called him Harold. Dad grew up in the same neighborhood as his future bride, my Mom Anne. They were married in Assumption BVM Church in 1938, and raised the three of us childre — my brother John, myself and my sister Annie.
Like Mom, Dad was very active in the parish as a member of the Holy Name Society and Knights of Columbus. Every morning he would take the train into New York, where he worked in sales. Dad had the perfect personality for his occupation — he was friendly and easy to be with. When we would see him walking home from the train station, we would run up to him and dig our hands into his pockets, where we always find a box of raisins or bag of peanuts that he had bought for us.
When I entered our community, not a week would go by without a letter from dad, written on any scrap of paper he could put his hands on as he rode the train, letting me know he was thinking of me. I treasure the last letter I received from dad from the 1970s.
Due to complications with diabetes and other issues, dad's health began to fail when he was in his late 50s. On March 2, 1976, I received a call from my family that dad was very ill and in the hospital in Lakewood, N.J. When I arrived at his bedside, his eyes were closed and I said, "Pop, it's me." He opened his eyes and looked into mine, and then, unexpectedly, had a cerebral hemorrhage in front of me, and died.
Losing dad when he was just 61 was devastating for all of us, and we missed him terribly. It wasn't until years later, as I reflected on those last moments with dad, that I realized what a blessed honor it was for me that my face was the last one dad saw on this earth before he gazed upon the Face of God.
Happy Father's Day in heaven, Dad. I love you.
still, the memories remain
As a student of yard work at such a young age, it’s no wonder than Sister Bonnie Marie Kleinschuster — shown here alongside her late father, Albert — grew up to pioneer the Monocacy Farm Project in Bethlehem, Pa.
Sister Bonnie Marie
Sister Patricia Ann
Sister Patricia Ann Mahoney shared this photo of her and her late father, Wilfred Mahoney, on the back porch of Mount Assisi Convent in Pittsburgh. The photo was taken sometime during Sister Pat’s first year after novitiate.
A VERY WISE MAN
Sister Elaine Hromulak (the little girl at left) can’t help but note that the arms of her late father, Albert Hromulak, are extended around his entire family in this beloved photo.. It’s how she remembers him metaphorically too. That and his words of wisdom: “It’s nice to be nice. Try it sometime.”
Sister Elaine
“The Lord is like a father
to his children, tender and compassionate ... who fills
your life with good things ...”
Raymond Celaschi
no cape needed
Since my father died when I was just 6 years old, I grew up knowing I had "two fathers" in heaven. The one — the Eternal Father, as they call him in Italy — could do everything, they said. The other one — my "dad" — I knew from personal experience, could do everything. For a 6-year-old, Dad is a superhero. He still is for me.
— Sister Nancy Celaschi
Sister Nancy
Sister Rosalia
his hands never idle
A Reflection 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, etc. In those days, the men sat on one side of the church and the women on the other side. But my twin, Sister Bernadette, and I always sat with my dad, one on each side.
My dad also made sure that we could play in the yard. He built a swing for the porch, made us a seesaw, a sliding board and even a big doll house. In the garden he made a shrine of the Blessed Mother. He had her encased in a wooden box with a glass front. Above and around her he had the grapevine. She was under the grapes. We had renters that rented the top floor. Each time they passed the shrine, they tipped their hats, and our family did a lot of praying there.
Like a shoemaker, my dad bought all the tools needed and repaired all our shoes. Electrical problems were no problem for him, nor plumbing. He figured out what was wrong and fixed it. One day I was up on roof with him when he was tarring it. A neighbor, Mrs. Skratek, came over to our house and told my dad that the a sister called from Mount Assisi to report that Sister Anthony had died and they needed him to dig her grave. That was another job that he did — he dug the Sisters’ graves at Mount Assisi. I will never forget that day. You see, we had no phone, Sister called Mrs. Skratek to tell my dad. That was the last grave he dug. It was August 1950.
But he also worked at our Motherhouse. He worked on the farm there, took care of the pigs, and when it was time for the Spring Festival, he built all the booths. There were also many other things that he did — too many to mention.
I remember how he loved my little brother. When he was little he would he would take his little hand and walk down on the front sidewalk with him. It was his pride and joy to be able to show him off.
John and Julia Giba were loyal friends and hands-on supporters of Mount Assisi Convent in Pittsburgh, Pa., where four of their daughters — Mary, Barbara, Rosalia and Bernadette — became members of the School Sisters of St. Francis.
faithful co-pilot
Although my dad, Zoltan, was not Catholic, he, along with my mother Caroline, raised my sister Pat and me in the Catholic faith. He attended Mass every Sunday with us. Whenever I would visit home, as I was leaving, he would tap on the hood of the car and say, "Go with God." Each time I'm in the car, I especially think of him since he is also the one who taught me to drive!
— Sister Carol Ann Papp
Sister Carol Ann
Sister Carol Ann Papp (right) with her late father, Zoltan Papp, and her sister, Patricia.
a father’s prerogative
In this photo from the late 1970s, Sister Frances Marie — then a teacher at St. Francis Academy in Bethlehem, Pa., — awaits the moment when her dad, Joe Duncan, would subject her to the “annual embarrassment” of gathering all the dads into a circle to sing Daddy’s Little Girl.
Sister Frances Marie
“My heart will always have a special place for my dear Dad. He was so loving and tender to me, and I remember the feeling of being my Daddy’s girl!”
Sister Georgette Dublino (left) with her beloved father, George Olin Dublino, and her sister Donna.
Sister Georgette
RISING TO THE CHALLENGE
A Reflection by Sister Georgette Dublino
I admire my Father, George Olin Dublino, on this Father's Day for being a man who was faithful to the challenges of fatherhood. He worked hard to provide for my sister and me despite the death of my mother at just 24. He did everything a father should do, and a mother as well. Dad would take us shopping for new clothes and shoes that had to be fitted just right by an "expert" salesman. And what a great cook he was!
Whatever Dad was doing, I always wanted to be with him. He loved to surprise my sister and I by taking us fun places during our vacation time. Many times we would go to Mill Creek Park and have a picnic supper. I still remember the time Dad planned an all-day trip on a ship on Lake Erie and really surprised us!
What I admire most about my dad is that he gave the very best of himself for us. When my sister and I grew up, Dad supported our "calling" — my sister and her husband raising a family of five boys, and me becoming a School Sister of St. Francis. When Dad died he could proudly go to God and say, "God, I did my best, and I'm also the Daddy of a Nun!”
Dad told us to always be kind to people and to respect them. I saw that was the way my Dad was. Sunday was the Lord’s Day, the day we went to church. When I asked Dad’s permission to join the convent, it took awhile before he consented. When he finally did, he said to me, “If you are going to be a Sister, then be a good one!”
Sister Karen
DADDY’s little helper
My Dad was a gentle, kind, big-hearted man who patiently let me be at his side when he had things to fix. I was right there handing him the tools and, at times, even getting in his way. But he never yelled at me or chased me away. I spent a lot of time with him when he wasn’t at work. He took me on his fishing trips with his buddies and took me to the playground and the park. Even though he died in 1988, he was — and still is — the best Dad a girl could ever have. I love you, Dad. Happy Father’s Day!
— Sister Karen Buco
Sister Karen and her parents, Andrew and Angela, celebrate her 25th Jubilee in 1984.
The late Joseph and Anna Kuzma
HANDING DOWN HIS FAITH
My dad was the holiest person I have ever met. After living in Sagamore with only one church, he was so happy to move to Erie where he had the opportunity to attend many Masses each day. He was well known because he even went to as many funerals as he could in order to attend another mass. He always prayed for vocations, and I am sure now he looks down from heaven at his grandson, Father John Paul Kuzma, OFM Cap with great delight. I thank God daily that he taught us to love the Mass, to pray, to be a farmer, to fix anything and to enjoy a no-work day every Sunday. I really try to do that in my life today.
— Sister Roselyn Kuzma
Sister Roselyn
“Dad, we could not be without the help of Mom, too. Today there are 142 descendants because of the love that the two of you shared. We love you and thank you very much.”