He was a country boy, a Carbon County cowboy.

Not a rhinestone cowboy. More of a diamond. Definitely a diamond.Dad was a character. He could be dramatic and somewhat of a showman. He did everything with flair, even the way he held a cigarette, like a movie star.The family kept horses on Fireline Road and Dad knew how to ride.He also played the violin, which cowboys call a fiddle.He was a whiz at math and had exceptional penmanship. Interestingly, he was neither right-handed nor left-handed. But both. Completely ambidextrous.Dad was tall and thin. He walked with perfect posture and enjoyed dressing to the hilt. He liked to wear a fancy homburg and owned many fine hats.His flashiness belied a simple background. He came from a long line of Pennsylvania Dutchmen. Not Amish or Mennonite, but Reformed.His parents typically spoke the native tongue, and so Dad was fluent in two languages.Sometime after graduation from Stephen S. Palmer High School, Dad moved to neighboring Schuylkill County. There he met and married Marie Hill of Reynolds. The couple set up house in the rich, rolling hills of Lewistown Valley. For a time he served as magistrate there, in Walker Township, in days when the job was known as justice of the peace.The family grew quickly. Mom and Dad already had four children by the time I was born. So they moved into a large house on the main street of Tamaqua.In those days, Dad would march us off to a Presbyterian church on Sunday mornings.He had a bellowing voice, and when the congregation sang hymns, he'd join in and drown out everybody. His loud baritone vocals filled the nave and sanctuary, so much so that others in front would turn around to watch. Even the choir stared at Dad. I was embarrassed. I'd duck down under the pews to hide. There, I'd study everybody's shoes.Today I'm filled with memories and misgivings. Dad had talent and was someone to admire in many ways.I wish I knew how to sing like he did. And wish I would've asked him to teach me the violin. I also wish I would've grown as tall as Dad.Health became an issue as he grew older. He developed diabetes. Eventually he lost both legs below the knees.But Dad learned to walk again using prosthetics. He could even jog, without anyone realizing he'd been fitted with artificial legs. Nothing could keep his spirit down.At age 55, Dad realized the years were moving by too quickly. He decided to treat himself to something special. His birthday was in April, and his birthstone, a diamond. So the decision was easy. Time for a fancy ring.Dad didn't buy a regular, commonplace, jewelry-store diamond as others might've done. He wanted the brightest diamonds possible. So he imported seven round-cut gems from Belgium. I'm not sure why he chose seven, probably because he had seven children, including a firstborn son who died in infancy.When those diamonds arrived, Dad designed a golden sunburst setting. He took his plans to a jeweler and together they created a brilliant cluster ring that glittered like no other.Dad wore it proudly."These diamonds sparkle like fire," he'd say, admiring the torch on his finger.He knew the ring was special, a reflection of his spirit. To him, those diamonds embodied a zest for living, so important for each of us.One day he looked at the shimmering stones and then turned to me and said, "When I die, I want you to take this ring off my finger."Dad wanted the ring to survive. Burying it just didn't seem right, he thought. Diamonds are forever.One October evening in 1991, autumn leaves in full color, I went to wake Dad for supper. He'd been napping on the sofa. Turns out, Dad had quietly passed away in his sleep. He was 69.In shock over what happened, I forgot about the ring. But it was still on his finger a few days later at the funeral home, where we removed it.I looked inside the 14K band and, to my surprise, saw Dad's final words engraved in solid gold. He'd instructed the jeweler to inscribe the ring with my name, followed by "From Dad." I never realized he wanted me to have that ring. But I suppose it made sense. I was born in April, just like Dad. And so a diamond birthstone was something we had in common.On that bitter cold night 25 years ago, I put Dad's dazzling ring on my finger. It's been there ever since. I look at it and admire it. Sometimes I cry.I remove it only to clean it. And I make sure it sparkles to the max because that's how Dad always kept it.It's a privilege for me to carry the torch. But more importantly, it's an honor to remember a diamond.He left without saying goodbye, but will never be forgotten.Next weekend is Father's Day.Be sure to honor the diamond in your life.Contact Donald R. Serfass at

dserfass@tnonline.com.