Father's Day 2007
Hey Folks –
It’s been ten years since my father died. I miss him. He was quite a man.
I knew him before he acquired polio, but I don’t remember him that way. He always walked with crutches and braces as far as I remember. But even so, he was the toughest, strongest, most honest, intelligent, and honorable man I ever knew.
The metal superstructure never slowed him down – no more than did his hat. He worked, drove, enjoyed his pontoon barge, made friends, and helped thousands of the less competent souls around him throughout his life.
Dad didn’t need “help”; he helped others. He helped Grandpa and Grandma (as he had since his youth – Grandpa was a bit of a dreamy idler). When my best school pal’s parents kicked him out, Dad took him in and treated him like his own. When the hotshot father-next-door (supposedly a former “Paratrooper”) was giving me a dose of undeserved shit to show off for his kid, Dad took him on, and ended the brief confrontation by threatening to wrap his crutch around the guy's head (Dad really WAS a WW II Sea Bee; he knew the most efficient way to bend aluminum around anything – craniums included – the “paratrooper” bailed out).
A major thing he did for me – besides providing a broadly extraordinary role model – was to set my mind free. Raised Catholic (Dad converted), I was full of all the fears that all Catholic kids get crammed into their heads at school (at that time, via the Baltimore Catechism).
One time on vacation, visiting Protestant Grandpa and Grandma, on a Friday, Grandma was innocently frying bacon for breakfast. I LOVE bacon, and the aroma was driving me nuts - because it was FRIDAY, and I couldn’t eat meat.
When my Dad figured out why I was agitated (if I ate meat on Friday, it would be a mortal sin, and I’d go to hell), he told me I COULD eat the bacon, and I WOULDN’T go to hell.
Well, there you have it: the Pope on one side and my Dad on the other; delicious bacon on one side and austere doctrine on the other. It was easy. I went with the old man!!
Of course, for a while I suffered occasional pangs of doubt and thoughts of flame, but that was the beginning of the end of thought control for me. As one eighth-grade friend later said to me, “What you need is discipline!!” To which another replied, “They’ll never discipline Harker!!”
I think that last statement is right. It’s been true so far at least, and I owe that to my dad.
Most of what I am I owe to him.
- Uke Man
It’s been ten years since my father died. I miss him. He was quite a man.
I knew him before he acquired polio, but I don’t remember him that way. He always walked with crutches and braces as far as I remember. But even so, he was the toughest, strongest, most honest, intelligent, and honorable man I ever knew.
The metal superstructure never slowed him down – no more than did his hat. He worked, drove, enjoyed his pontoon barge, made friends, and helped thousands of the less competent souls around him throughout his life.
Dad didn’t need “help”; he helped others. He helped Grandpa and Grandma (as he had since his youth – Grandpa was a bit of a dreamy idler). When my best school pal’s parents kicked him out, Dad took him in and treated him like his own. When the hotshot father-next-door (supposedly a former “Paratrooper”) was giving me a dose of undeserved shit to show off for his kid, Dad took him on, and ended the brief confrontation by threatening to wrap his crutch around the guy's head (Dad really WAS a WW II Sea Bee; he knew the most efficient way to bend aluminum around anything – craniums included – the “paratrooper” bailed out).
A major thing he did for me – besides providing a broadly extraordinary role model – was to set my mind free. Raised Catholic (Dad converted), I was full of all the fears that all Catholic kids get crammed into their heads at school (at that time, via the Baltimore Catechism).
One time on vacation, visiting Protestant Grandpa and Grandma, on a Friday, Grandma was innocently frying bacon for breakfast. I LOVE bacon, and the aroma was driving me nuts - because it was FRIDAY, and I couldn’t eat meat.
When my Dad figured out why I was agitated (if I ate meat on Friday, it would be a mortal sin, and I’d go to hell), he told me I COULD eat the bacon, and I WOULDN’T go to hell.
Well, there you have it: the Pope on one side and my Dad on the other; delicious bacon on one side and austere doctrine on the other. It was easy. I went with the old man!!
Of course, for a while I suffered occasional pangs of doubt and thoughts of flame, but that was the beginning of the end of thought control for me. As one eighth-grade friend later said to me, “What you need is discipline!!” To which another replied, “They’ll never discipline Harker!!”
I think that last statement is right. It’s been true so far at least, and I owe that to my dad.
Most of what I am I owe to him.
- Uke Man
1 Comments:
Damn Tom -
What a PHantastic piece -
I've always expected your dad would have been someone very special - given how YOU are and how it seems YOUR sons have turned out as well -
My dad was also a convert to the evil C religion - he was a convert from C Light - his mother was an immigrant from Rugby England so she was the E religion -
Both of your parents have to be pleased as punch as to how their little PTH turned out!
That is something G41 and Babs CAN'T say!
Thanks for this!
Phyll
Post a Comment
Links to this post:
Create a Link
<< Home