The legacy of my father's life

What he gave me — and what he gave the world

My Dad believed your job wasn’t to change the world — just to leave it a little better than you found it.

He didn’t frame this as a philosophy or talk about it as something noble. To him, it was simply how you were supposed to live. You showed up. You did your part. You treated people well. You took responsibility for what was in front of you. And you didn’t worry too much about recognition along the way.

That’s how he lived his life — quietly, steadily and with deep intention. Raising a family. Serving his church. Giving back to his community. Leading people at work with integrity and humility. None of it felt extraordinary to him. It was just what needed doing.

But when I step back now and look at the full picture, the truth of his life is impossible to miss. Those ordinary, everyday choices — made consistently and generously over decades — added up to something far bigger than he ever claimed for himself.

And it started at home.

To me, he was my Dad. He was the one constant presence in my life from the very beginning — always there, always steady. Through childhood, adolescence and adulthood, I knew that no matter what else was happening in the world, I could count on him. For big moments and small ones. For guidance, encouragement and grounding. He showed up in ways that shaped who I became, often without fanfare and always without conditions.

Some of my favorite memories are simple ones. Family vacations to the Outer Banks. Playing football on the beach, tennis at the lake or basketball in the driveway. Riding elephants and spotting game in South Africa. Long days on his beloved Lake Murray. Riding a pony for the first time, safe in his arms. Being dragged out of bed as a teenager because “the day is being wasted.” Mizzou football games. A jump rope given in the hope it might improve my basketball jump shot (and it definitely did not). Dancing at a random polka festival we stumbled across in Wisconsin.

He didn’t grandstand his love. He lived it — in presence, in consistency, in expectation. He gave me roots. He gave me wings. And he gave me a deep sense of curiosity about the world, a passion for journalism, a belief that it was worth engaging with and the confidence to find my place in it.

What I’ve come to realize, especially now, is that the same quiet philosophy that shaped me shaped everything else he touched.

My Dad believed that small acts mattered. That you didn’t need to cure cancer, end war or solve world hunger to make a difference. You just needed to leave things a little better than you found them — again and again, over time. And you never know – that one life you touched might be the one that does cure cancer ….

That belief showed up clearly in his service to others. For decades, he gave back to his community through the food pantry and church. He downplayed awards and recognition, but the real measure of his impact tells a different story: Millions of pounds of food distributed through We Care Food Pantry and countless families who didn’t go hungry because he cared enough to act.

A child who eats can learn. A student who learns can graduate. A graduate can change the trajectory of their own life — and others. My Dad understood that chain reaction intuitively. What looked like small, ordinary service to him created opportunities that rippled outward in ways none of us can fully measure.

That same spirit carried into his faith. Church wasn’t just something he attended — it was something he built, sustained and strengthened. He believed in community rooted in care, accountability and service. He believed faith should show up in action. And he lived that belief with consistency and humility at Our Lady of the Lake Catholic Church through capital campaigns, men’s club, Pacesetters club and Bible study.

It also carried into his work. To him, leadership wasn’t about titles or authority — it was about responsibility. In the days since his death, the stories people have shared say it all. The best boss they ever had. The mentor who opened doors.

The leader who trusted them before they trusted themselves. People credit him with shaping their careers, modeling integrity and showing them what it meant to lead with decency and respect.

His impact didn’t stop with him. It multiplied. Each person he helped went on to help others. The ripples continue.

For most of his life, my Dad would have told you he was just doing what anyone should do — making the world a little better in the ways available to him. Loving his family. Serving his faith. Giving back to his community. Opening doors when he could.

The truth is, he did far more than that.

When you add it all up — the people he helped, the families he supported, the lives he influenced — the impact compounds. What felt ordinary to him became extraordinary in its reach. This is his living legacy.

I am one small part of it. So are my siblings. So are his grandchildren. So are the countless people who carry his influence forward, often without even realizing where it began.

I lost him this winter, and in the days since, I’ve been thinking about what he believed — and how he lived it.

He is no longer here in the way I wish he were. I can’t see him or hear his voice the way I used to. But he is still with me. I carry his guidance, his judgment and his steady presence every day.

I talk to him. I feel him beside me. And I believe — deeply — that this relationship did not end. It changed.

Dad, you thought you were making the world a little better.

The truth of your life is this: You made it so much better than you ever knew.

And I will do my best to keep carrying that forward.

I love you, Dad.

Official obituary: https://www.whitakerfuneralhome.com/obituaries/gary-schmedding