My dad was there for me in 2003 when I moved away from college and off to my first job in the real world.

It was a four-hour trek from my college town of Ruston in north-central Louisiana to Ennis, Texas. It was an eight-hour drive from my dad’s home in Covington.

I was 22, and dad was 50. We are both somewhat hard-headed so it was inevitable a conflict would occur. Unfortunately, even with a combined age of 72, we did a horrible job of settling our issues maturely.

After finally unloading all of my furniture in my first real world apartment, dad and I got into an extreme verbal spat over who would go to the grocery store for needed kitchen supplies.

As I type this today at the age of 34, that’s about the dumbest reason ever to get into a knockdown fight.

What made things worse was the fact the argument took place right in front of my girlfriend (now wife) and sister and brother, who were 12 and 10 at the time.

They were all too shocked to say anything and powerless to stop what was unfolding.

Things got so heated dad picked up and left right then, driving home eight straight hours through the night. I displayed my hard-headed antics by refusing to take the money he brought me that my family collected to help get me started.

Weeks of eating tuna fish and turkey sandwiches for dinner every single night made me realize how dumb I was.

Things were much better 14 months later when my dad drove all the way back for my move to my second job. He brought his dad (my grandfather) with him, and the two “junior” Hemelts deferred to the senior man on site.

With my grandpa supervising the move, dad and I just listened to what he said. There were no arguments and no dropped furniture.

By dad getting grandpa involved, he guaranteed a harmonious success — a truly brilliant move on his part.

I have been thinking about that chain of events lately because with Father’s Day right around the corner, it still teaches me a lesson in grace and respect, something especially important as my own children (5 and 7) look to my example for guidance.

They pick up so much more from what my wife and I do than what we say.

Also, my dad has never stopped helping me move.

He drove through the night, more than 950 miles, to get to North Carolina to bring furniture and help my wife and I move from an apartment to our first house.

Four years later, when I was down with a torn muscle in my back, he drove from Covington to Vidalia to load my stuff and bring it back home in a day — that trip helping secure our home as I began work in LaPlace with L’OBSERVATEUR.

I just can’t imagine anyone else helping me move.

My son is 7 years old and is starting to understand just how cool it is to have our three generations of “men” working anytime we tackle a project together.

But my hope is one day when it is he who needs to be moved from one city to the next and he just can’t stand taking instructions from me, he’ll turn to his grandpa for answers.

When he does, he’ll be getting help from the same person who’s been there for me every step of the way.

Happy Father’s Day, River Region.

Stephen Hemelt is general manager and editor of L’OBSERVATEUR. He can be reached at 985-652-9545 or stephen.hemelt@lobservateur.com.