[Ed. Note: Mark Beutler, Cashion High School Class of ’81, shares this personal account of how his mom navigated single parenthood by relying on the lessons of her own dad.]

It was Sunday, June 12, 1960, just before Father’s Day.

Cashion’s wheat harvest was in high gear and farmers were working around the clock to bring in that year’s crop.

My Granddad, Walter Hasley, was starting his day, delivering fuel to customers between Cashion and Kingfisher. Granddad owned the Hasley Oil Company, and harvest was his busiest time of the year.

“I’ll be back for lunch,” he told my mom.

“Okay, we’ll see you in a few hours,” Mom replied. “I made banana pudding for dessert.”

Mom was the oldest of his two daughters, and he was her best buddy.

A couple of hours had passed when she heard a knock at the door.

“Mary Lou, there’s been a bad wreck and your dad’s been hurt,” said Earl White, a young neighbor stopping to deliver the news.

A frantic rush to Kingfisher followed, but it was too late. Granddad was gone. He was 57.

Now 60 years have passed, but the pain and the memory are as vivid as it was then.

“It’s been 60 years, and I still miss him,” Mom said recently, fighting back tears.

Tucked away in a box in Mom’s closet is a yellowed newspaper clipping from the Kingfisher Times & Free Press.

The ragged photo shows Grandad’s overturned gasoline truck, and the 1958 Ford that hit him. A crew of North Dakota harvest hands, still intoxicated from the night before, hit the truck causing it to roll over. Granddad was thrown from the vehicle and his truck rolled over on him.

A few months ago, I opened a box to find some of Granddad’s things. A pair of dress slacks, a ruby tie clip, a 1950s era tie.

“Granddad was always a sharp dresser,” Mom said as we looked through the box together.

“He was small, wasn’t he?” I asked, noticing his slacks were size 29.

“Yes, he wasn’t very big, but he was mighty,” she replied.

His shaving kit revealed even more about the man I never knew. His glasses were there, the ones he was wearing at the time of the accident. Other than a small chip in the corner, they were perfect.

His watch was there too – stopped at 11:38. I put on the glasses, and noticed Mom staring at me with an odd look. I quietly took them off and put them away.

“You have always reminded me so much of your granddad,” she said. “When you were born, one of the first things your dad said was ‘He sure looks like Walter.’ And you’re a good man like he was.”

If I am, I had a good teacher. Just like Granddad was my mom’s best buddy, she has always been mine.

When I was 5 years old, Mom became a single mother. She couldn’t afford both the house and the car, so she traded her beautiful 1966 Oldsmobile for a 1953 Ford with no heater. A couple of quilts in the front seat kept her warm as she made the 45-minute trek into Oklahoma City for work every day.

Sometimes I noticed there would only be enough food on the table at night for my sibling and me, while she ate a bowl of cereal. Looking back now as an adult, I realize she only had enough money to feed her two boys.

Times may have been lean but she never gave up. That was a lesson I learned from her.

Growing up, I was set on a career in radio. Mom always said I could be anything I wanted to be, so I never gave up either.

After college, armed with two Bachelor of Arts degrees and a master’s degree, I set out to conquer the world. That career in radio came through just like she said it would, and I spent nearly 20 years on KXXY-FM as “Mark After Dark.”

Times change and dreams change, but a mothe r’s love remains.

Fate dealt my mother a cruel blow at the age of 65 when she suffered a massive stroke. Doctors told us to prepare for the worst, because she probably wouldn’t make it through the night.

But she did make it, defying doctors who gave up on her. She will be 88 this July.

A few years ago, I began buying a Father’s Day gift for my mom, because for as long as I can remember she has been both mother and father.

Single parents are a special breed, and every day they take on insurmountable odds to raise their kids alone.

So, for my mom, I love you and wish you a Happy Father’s Day. And to my Granddad Hasley—you were gone three years before I arrived, but I wish I had known you. I hear you were a good guy. I think we would have been great friends.

And for all the single parents, kudos on a job well done.