Remembering My Father

Today’s posts is a departure from this site’s theme. My father passed away unexpectedly on December 9. Today is his memorial service and I thought it would be a good idea to share my reflections for those people who were unable to attend and for anyone else who would like to learn a little bit about my father.

As I was driving home roughly two weeks ago, I couldn’t help but think about another trip. In 1996 my father drove to Maryland to spend a few days with me. I was spiraling downward and suffering from depression. You might expect that my father’s visit was what any concerned parent would do in a situation like this, but dad understood exactly what I was going through. He understood how debilitating such episodes can be and how quickly the darkness can overwhelm even the strongest among us.

My father wouldn’t mind me talking about this today. In fact, he would welcome it. As many of you know, he was very open about his battles with depression. Talking about it in an open and honest manner was his way of accepting and dealing with his condition. In short, it was his form of self-care. I can only imagine the number of people that he helped along the way. I know that he very likely saved my life.

You couldn’t understand my father without acknowledging his struggles, especially after his own father passed away at any early age, but he refused to allow it to define him. He fought for each day. Perhaps it was that South Philly neighborhood, where he grew up, that gave him strength, but I think it was, first and foremost, his love for his family that propelled him forward, starting with his mother Rose, and his siblings Michele and Marvin.

My brother and I couldn’t have asked for a more supportive and loving father. He coached us on the sports fields throughout our adolescent years and was our advocate at school. And boy did we need one, especially David. I will never forget the time dad called my sixth-grade social studies teacher to inquire why I always received a grade of C, along with the comment, “could do better,” on my projects. “Mr. Wallace,” he asked, “do you have a stamp with my son’s name on it that says, ‘C-could do better?’”

Later on in life he was our trusted confidant, always willing to lend an ear. If necessary, dad was prepared to whip out one of his trusted yellow legal pads to outline the pros and cons of any problem we might be facing. I have no doubt that he went through enough legal pads to circle the Earth at least once.

Regardless of how frustrated we made dad over the course of our lives (Once again, David much more so than me.), I know that we more than made up for it with the women we chose to spend the rest of our lives with. Dad loved Michaela and Jennifer as the daughters he never had and they loved him with all their heart.

No one here will be surprised to hear that very few of my memories of dad do not somehow include mom.

In mom, dad found the perfect partner. Let’s be honest. Who else could put up with him? Dad was a lot of work, but through thick and thin she never left his side. Mom struck the perfect balance between tenderness and tough love. She was his trusted friend and soul mate and together they created a loving and nurturing home for us.

But the most important gift that they gave us is the example of what a marriage filled with love and respect could look like and the hard work that it takes to sustain it.

Everything changed for my parents when Michael and Chelsea were born. There weren’t enough hours in the day for mom and dad to spend with their grandchildren. They used any excuse to see them and spoiled them rotten. Dad was perfectly content and happy on the floor playing or just sitting quietly on the couch holding them close in his arms.

I know that Michael and Chelsea will keep their memories of grandpop close to their hearts in the coming years.

Dad loved being around other people. He rarely hung around the house. You could find dad hanging out in the parking lot at Historic Smithville, the community clubhouse or some other public space quietly reading his newspaper. I always thought that this behavior was odd, but now I realize he was just waiting for the opportunity to talk with a friend or start up a conversation with a stranger.

Those chance meetings could lead to lifelong friendships, but you didn’t gain admission into my father’s inner circle by accident. Friendship for my dad was earned and once you passed the test you could count on him for anything. That test was very simple. You had to show an interest in other people. Nothing irked my father more than someone who talked exclusively about himself.

My father’s response at the end of these long stretches of self-absorption was always the same: “Do you have any questions for me?”

It may seem like an insignificant or even curious response, but I think this was dad’s not so subtle way of reminding people to take an interest in other people.

Those of you gathered in this room today made the cut at one point or another in dad’s life. You are the friends and family members who made dad smile, brought a twinkle to those blue eyes, and provided the stage for him to make us all laugh. And dad could make us laugh, more often than not, until we cried.

Earlier this week I was perusing one of dad’s daily planners. As many of you know, I am a historian of the nineteenth century, so I have plenty of experience deciphering really poor handwriting and dad’s rivals the worst that I have seen over the years. The only way I can describe dad’s handwriting is that it’s like trying to read an EKG scan. After flipping through the pages, I came across three clearly written words, perhaps a reminder for himself: “Be with someone.”

That’s my father in a nutshell.

Dad would be incredibly disappointed if I didn’t end this reflection without acknowledging his love of Hollywood movies. Films were more than entertainment for dad. He wrote about them in a regular column for his local community and he loved to talk about them with anyone who would listen. Movies were the visual, musical, and narrative soundtrack to his life. One of his favorites was the movie Sand Pebbles starring Steve McQueen, who was by far his favorite actor.

In one of the many memorable scenes from the movie, Frenchy Burgoyne, played by Richard Attenborough, shares his marriage vows with Maily.

We're mixing our lives together, Maily, and we'll never be able to unmix them again, and we'll never want to. I take you for what you are, and all that you are, and mix you with all of me, and I don't hold back nothing. When you're cold, and hungry, and afraid, so am I. I'm going to stay with you all that I can, take the best care of you that I can, and love you 'til I die.

I would not be the person that I am today without my father. With each passing day it is becoming more and more difficult to discern where my father ends and I begin. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

I love you, dad.

Thanks for taking the time to read this post. I will be back to writing on a regular schedule after the New Year. I hope all of you have a safe and joyous Holidays. Thanks for your support this year.