John A. Polifko

“Some people spend an entire lifetime wondering if they made a difference. The Marines don’t have that problem.” – Ronald Reagan

When I hear those words, I can’t help but think of how aptly they apply to my father. He was a Marine. There is no doubt about it. However, some 60 years ago, he didn’t just don a uniform; he donned an attitude, a determination, and a sense of pride. And that pride, that esprit de corps, became his nature, evident in every aspect of his life.

There is a saying that “Reputation is what the world thinks a man is. Character is what he really is.”

But how do you raise a child of character? It’s not a lesson you learn from a book. Words on a page won’t work. You have to lead by example. You have to be a man of character. And that he was, in spades.

It was evident in his visible actions. Like how he would always hold open a door. Or if we were walking down the street, how he would always take the curb side.

It was evident in that he wouldn’t ask anything of you that he wouldn’t do himself, by your side. Or how he would lend a hand and help others without seeking accolades for his actions.

It was evident in his concern for my safety. Like when he insisted that my seatbelt be fastened before the car could start. Or how I had to inform him of who, where, what, and when, whenever I went out with my friends. Friends that he insisted on meeting.

He had a firm handshake and well shined shoes.

He held the bar high, but he held his even higher. And he strove for it every day.

Those of you who really knew my Dad would surely agree. My Dad was definitely a man of character.

Of all the things I remember, it is his character that stands out the most.

Of course, there are many other things. And it would be impossible to recount them all now. But there a few are things that really defined my Dad.

There is the running. You can’t talk about Dad and not talk about the running.
As a little girl, I remember him coming home from work and running the streets of the neighborhood. He would be out there sun, rain, sleet, snow, you name it, and he ran in it. He was kind of crazy that way. Whether he was training for a local race or a marathon, it was on the back streets and it always began @ our house, took whatever route he plotted, and then passed back by our house, down to the corner. There he would stretch and walk the block home as his cool down.

I would wait until I saw him pass by, then race down to the corner so I could walk that block back home with him. It was like our time. Sometimes it was a bunch of us neighborhood kids. But sometimes it was just me. And those times were great.

I learned a lot from those walks; things that have come in handy, not only in running, but in life. Like it is very good to have a cool down period. Or no matter how worn you may be, how spent you may feel, there is always a little more left in you. You just have to dig deep, pull up those reserves and keep going.

Of course, there are the other things I learned; traits that you wouldn’t want your daughter to master but somehow seemed apropos as his daughter. Like how to blow your nose without a tissue. Thanks, Dad.

One of the most vivid memories I have of my Dad is his love of family.
He used to say he would lay down his life for us. I believe he would. We had our battles, and we butt heads at times, as families often do, but at the end of the day, he loved us all.

He used to say how proud he was of what Mark & I had accomplished. What I’m not sure he realized was what I have today is, to a very real degree, because of the lessons he taught me all those years ago.

That nothing comes easy. That it is important to know your weaknesses. And even more important to turn to some for help when you need it. That it is more prudent to save for a few quality things, than to spend and have a lot of worthless junk. That hard work and determination will reap its own reward.
I have tried to follow his example. His work ethic was exemplary. His love of family, even more so. He set the bar very high. I strive to hit it every day. I only hope I can.

He was a great bowler, there was no doubt. He would bowl on leagues, back when they wore bowling shirts to bowl, not just as a fashion statement.

I used to wear those old shirts to use as paint shirts for school. I was really small and they were too big and fit me like a dress but there was something really cool about wearing Dad’s shirt with his name embroidered on it.

He & Mom used to bowl every other weekend. And for the longest time, I was too young to go. Too young to even understand the game. But when I was finally old enough to learn, Dad was going to teach me. And he did. And I was pretty darn good at it. Enough to eventually spend a few seasons on a league with them. We were called the Numb Nuts. Those that know us, know how apropos that moniker was.

The lessons he taught me, and the methods he used have still stuck with me. To this day, I can’t hold a suitcase without thinking of Dad bowling…

Naturally, when you think of my Dad, you think of Marine.

I remember helping him get ready for drill weekend or AT.

The pulling out of the locker box, like some long hidden treasure chest. Inside were the wondrous things of another world; things that transformed my Dad from mere father status to that of Marine.

I didn’t understand then how mere items like poncho liners and covers, hash marks and chevrons could take an everyday father of two and turn him into this larger than life impenetrable force to be reckoned with. But that is exactly what happened in my little girl eyes.

Getting ready for Marines was always an event. John Scott and I would hover around, as children often do, trying to help. He would let us, but I now realize we were no help at all. Still, he gave us each a job.

I used to help roll up the poncho liner into this teeny little roll. My job was to keep all the air out so it could be super tight. Now, I don’t know if he had to reroll it after we went to sleep but it sure made me feel special. Even now, those memories make me feel special. I suppose that is why he let us help…

Not everything was sentimental though. Like shoe shine day. Every time the boots got a polish, every shoe in the house would get pulled out and got the once over. And, of course, being a Dad’s girl, that meant I learned how to spit n’ polish like the best of them. At first, it was his polish and my little girl spit ‘right here’ but over time, I learned to master the art, and to value a good shine. So today when I polish my shoes, which I never let scuff, I still do it, just like Dad taught me; not very lady-like, I suppose, but definitely very Dad-like.
But probably, the most vivid memory I have of my Dad and his Marine career is the waiting.

After all the gear was ready and everything was squared away. After he transformed into this hard, scowling, formidable presence, and entered, what we would call ‘Marine Mode’ he would wait for his ride to pick him up.

I would usually play out in the front yard and I would wait for the two of them, dressed in camouflage, to walk out to the car and then drive away to this other world called Marines. A little piece of my heart would go with him. And then my little girl heart that loved her Dad would wait for him to come back home. To lose the scowl, and soften the language, and make my world whole again.

And now that he is gone, I find myself transforming from a grown woman, with a family of her own, back to that little girl on the front lawn watching him drive out of sight, a piece of my heart going with him. Knowing the wait will be long, and wondering if my world will ever be whole again.

Amidst my sorrow, I have very fond memories, as I’m sure most of you do. Those moments that you can point to and say ‘he really made a difference’
Looking back on my childhood, I can truly say our relationship wasn’t made of fairy tales and tea parties. He wasn’t a Daddy. He didn’t indulge in frills and lace or girly wonder. He didn’t braid my hair or play Barbies. Nope. I definitely had a Dad. And as I grew up and went out in to the world, as I started a family of my own, I realized that having a Dad definitely prepared me well.

To this day, my shoes are shined, my handshake is firm, I hold open doors, walk on the curbside with my children, wait until everyone’s seatbelt is on before the car begins to move, text when I get to my destination, offer help when it is needed, and when the boys begin to date, they will ring the doorbell, meet her family, and when the evening is over, walk her to the door. All because I knew my Dad.

Those of you who knew my father well would surely describe him as a Marine through and through. But you can’t define him solely by the uniform he wore, or the title he bore for he was more than that; so much more.

“Some people spend an entire lifetime wondering if they made a difference. The Marines don’t have that problem.” – Ronald Reagan

When I hear those words, I can’t help but think of how aptly they apply to my father. He was a Marine. There is no doubt about it. However, some 60 years ago, he didn’t just don a uniform; he donned an attitude, a determination, and a sense of pride. And that pride, that esprit de corps, became his nature, evident in every aspect of his life.

There is a saying that “Reputation is what the world thinks a man is. Character is what he really is.”

But how do you raise a child of character? It’s not a lesson you learn from a book. Words on a page won’t work. You have to lead by example. You have to be a man of character. And that he was, in... READ MORE →

Semper Fidelis, the official motto of the United States Marine Corps.

Latin for “Always Faithful” Semper Fi is seen and heard in every aspect of a Marines career, but to Dad, it was more than a motto, more than a bumper sticker, more than a salutation. It was a way of life. It was the perfect way to describe his character.
Faithful to his family, children and grandchildren, his friends, his country, and his beloved Corps.
Faithful to the way he carried himself at all times.
Always willing to help anyone, give anything.
He commanded respect and demanded nothing less from those around him.

Everyone knew him as the Sergeant Major, but I was lucky enough to be one of
the very select few that knew him as Dad.
I will never forget the first time I met him. I was a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier – and I never felt so small. In no time we became friends.
Soon I would have to ask the SgtMaj for permission to marry his daughter – frightening.

He motivated me to re-enlist, this time with his beloved 3rd Battalion 25th Marines. I consider myself twice adopted; first, through my wife Jodi, the SgtMaj and Mom. We have built a close knit family, as close as it can get. Second as a Navy Corpsman attached to Marine Corps Infantry. For the last 15 years, the Marines have accepted me into their family as one of their own as well. I consider myself truly blessed.
It is a great source of pride that I can honor Dad in the manor of a fellow warrior.

Thank you Dad for teaching me the true meaning of Honor, Courage, Commitment.
Thank you for motivating me to join our beloved 3/25.
Thank you for entrusting me with your precious family.

Stand down Sergeant Major, I have the watch, Rest in peace.

Semper Fi, Dad. You will be truly missed.

Semper Fidelis, the official motto of the United States Marine Corps.

Latin for “Always Faithful” Semper Fi is seen and heard in every aspect of a Marines career, but to Dad, it was more than a motto, more than a bumper sticker, more than a salutation. It was a way of life. It was the perfect way to describe his character.
Faithful to his family, children and grandchildren, his friends, his country, and his beloved Corps.
Faithful to the way he carried himself at all times.
Always willing to help anyone, give anything.
He commanded respect and demanded nothing less from those around him.

Everyone knew him as the Sergeant Major, but I was lucky enough to be one of
the very select few that knew him as Dad.
I will never forget the first time I met him. I was a foot taller and a hundred... READ MORE →