Remembering Bobby Crisol, My Father of Love and Presence Unsurpassed

JONATHAN “JON-D CRISOL

When I was 11 years old, I once had to borrow my dad’s sneakers to play in a basketball game because I had forgotten mine at home. I only realized this as we entered the parking lot and naturally went into panic mode.

Without hesitation, my father sprung into action and made me wear his heavily worn white new balance shoes as he grabbed my sandals and squeezed into them. His shoes were several sizes too big and required tight knots around my ankle to make sure it stayed on, but it served its purpose – I could play.

While I don’t recall much from that game beyond the memory of feeling very relieved to get to play, a few things were already clear to me then: I was so blessed to have a father who constantly made his presence felt with every game, activity and special event that my siblings and I had… but will also do whatever it takes – even offering up his shoes and dealing with the inconvenience of practically going barefoot – to enable us to keep doing the things that bring us joy.

My appreciation for all that he has done for us has only grown in magnitude as I raise my kids and find myself replaying various scenes of my childhood through the lens of a father.

And it’s not just about the grand gestures, big trips, or hallmark moments. I actually find that I appreciate the most the everyday encounters where he reinforces the values he held so dearly.

To me, he was a man who showed up and showed you how much family time mattered. The primary manifestation of this often took place over a sumptuous meal, which was the love language of the broader Crisol clan and meant a trade-off in weight gain for the sake of quality time.

He was also a man of compassion, showing kindness regardless of title, status, or situation. He treated every person with dignity. I visited his office plenty of times growing up. I was always impressed at how he’d make it a point to acknowledge and talk to staff, cleaning crews, and security guards with as much enthusiasm and energy as he did with his senior leaders. Outside of work, he especially loved making us laugh with his attempts to bring an unexpected jolt of randomness to the days of those serving the fast food drive-thru. He ordered food using various accents to let us witness that initial glimpse of confusion turned into a smile from them when it was time to pick up our food.

Of course, he was a man of faith. He believed in the compounding power of prayer and doubled down on the strength of his expansive community. He started each of his 800 or so dialysis sessions by sending a message to our family chat with a list of things he was praying for and another handful of things he was thanking the Lord for. These intercessions often related to what we were dealing with in our lives. And he did this every single time.

I know his last few years navigating his health challenges have been an inspiration to many – and certainly, it was to me. But it wasn’t just how he fought the good fight physically that inspired me. I thought the impact of his plight resonated profoundly in how he redefined what it meant to be a man of faith – showing tremendous courage as he gave us all front-row seats to his vulnerabilities and suffering and, in the process, invited us all to join him in his journey home to the Lord.

I loved my father deeply, admired him greatly, and got such a high from the pursuit of making him proud. That basketball game when we exchanged footwear is more than 25 years old, yet the imagery looms large for me today as I brace myself for a tomorrow without him. I have really big shoes to fill, yet oddly, I feel a sense of comfort in knowing this journey is one that my father has paved with unending love and prayer along the way.

You did good pops. I will miss you terribly.