My Dad

I am so lucky

Me learning to mow. Mowing neighborhood lawns would be my first cash job.

Mother’s Day and Father’s Day are nice if you are lucky enough to have had good parents. I am. My Mom and Dad are long gone. I do miss them both. Mom died at 66 - I was about 36. Dad remarried and lived far away. I regret how little adult to adult time I had with them.

I had the best parents I could have ever hoped for. They were positive examples of how we should treat each other. Both had survived World War II. They rarely spoke of the war. Dad might relate an entertaining story about a kid he served with who hailed from the Bronx. But he never shared in detail what it felt like ordering that same kid to his death in an attempt to take a village in Italy. I know it haunted him.

Dad was wounded in Italy after surviving battles with Rommel in North Africa. I think the hospital where they met was near Naples. Two lieutenants meet. Mom, the nurse, provided healing care for Dad. And then Dad cared for her as she suffered the pains of extreme arthritis for the rest of her life. Her disability became apparent to me when I was a very little kid. What I most remember about them was a mutual dedication to each other. He nursed the nurse to the end.

After serving about five years in the Army, they were finally home.

My father did two things for me that I will always treasure. First, he was an example of how we should live. He was well liked because he never spoke ill of anyone. He was a WASP “I like Ike” Republican and their best friends were Irish Catholic Democrats. One of his closest friends at work was an Indian (like India). Dad delighted in fondly describing the guy’s adjustment to life in America. He mentored him. Dad was the antithesis of a bigot.

The second thing he did was that he left me alone. He built me up with positive reinforcement and then he let his little bird fly. I didn’t want a “Disney dad” to play with me. I was a self entertainer. I wanted to be left alone to explore the world and dig deep into my interests. Don’t bother me when I am building a shortwave radio from a kit. Thanks for the gardening tools, but let me plant alone.

You wouldn’t want me on your team!

One event in particular always lingers in my head. I’m not sure of my age. It was time for me to play baseball. Dad had taken on a Little League team. I joined the team to please him. However, my only talent in baseball was to catch the ball with my forehead. I asked to quit the team. I felt terrible about disappointing him. But he simply said “OK, I understand.”

Another dad might have said something like, “C’mon Billy, everyone loves baseball! Get back in there and try again…” But he didn’t. He let me have my own head.

My next big act of rebellion - at age 13 - made me very nervous. What are they going to say or do?

We attended church services on a somewhat regular basis. No guilt trips if we missed a Sunday. But we got all dressed up and went. It felt more like tradition than commitment. My sister and I would attend “Sunday school” when little. I guess I graduated because suddenly I was sitting in a hard wooden pew listening to a guy in funny clothes rattle on about stories from a book that sounded fantastical. And we were supposed to sing! I do not sing. I am not designed to sing, dance or play an instrument. It is something I admire in others. But you do not want to hear me sing, nor do I.

I took my parents aside and announced that I would no longer be attending church. I just didn’t “believe”. And I especially didn’t want to sit next to adults who acted all humble and nice on Sundays but were complete asshats all the other days. I could not swallow the hypocrisy.

Mom and Dad were quiet. They looked at each other and then turned to me. I was ready for the rejoinder, the parental backlash. But then they said, “Oh, OK”. It was within two years, that both of them stopped sitting in those pews themselves. I suspect it was actually my mom’s physical discomfort from the rapidly progressing arthritis. For a while I was hoping I had become their role model in matters spiritual. Come to think of it, I never heard them refer to “God”.

So thanks to you Dad (and Mom) for being examples of the morality that churches used to embody. You know, the Golden Rule, Welcome the stranger, Help the poor kind of morality that has vanished from too many pulpits.

Thanks Dad, for being just the right kind of Dad for me. You let me be who I wanted to be - but your example as a human shined a light on a path for me. Miss ya.

In their civies a year before I arrived