Father’s Day is once more nearly upon us. Important though our workplace interactions may be, family takes precedence. I want to share two favorite memories.
When I was in second grade, struggling with math (this would prove to be a lifelong struggle), the phone rang very, very early one morning. It was my father calling me from the train platform just before he boarded for his daily commute. He simply said, “The answer is 35. I have to run now.”
Dad and I had puzzled over a math problem the night before, and it must have taken all his self control to let me do the work. I don’t remember the problem, but I sure do recall his calling me with the answer.
Ironically, although I’d gone to bed feeling frustrated and defeated, I had been working on the problem myself that following morning, probably at the same time as Dad drove to the train station. I remember coming up with the same answer just moments before he called. Yet that did not diminish how much that call meant to me. All these years later, I still treasure the memory of our shared frustration and his photo-finish solution.
Then there was the Great Grilled Cheese Caper. Growing up in the ‘50s in a Catholic family meant that Friday night dinners were meatless. Since my mom had an aversion to fish, Campbell’s cream of tomato soup with rice and grilled cheese sandwiches were our Friday fare. And I mean every single Friday.
How I hated those grilled cheese sandwiches – no matter that I was allowed to eat them while watching TV (usually Popeye cartoons). So, out of sheer self-preservation, I came up with a plan. If I stood on my tiptoes and perched on the arm of Dad’s leather easy chair, I could reach the top shelf of his closet. With good aim, I could lob the sandwich quarters right into his hats, which were precisely aligned, brims up. Problem solved! And nobody was the wiser. When Mom came by to collect my empty plate, I gave her angelic (and self-satisfied) smiles.
Decades passed before the Great Grilled Cheese caper came up in conversation.
“Why didn’t you rat on me?” I asked Dad. “I never had the heart to do that. I loved your ingenuity. I hated those grilled cheese sandwiches, too. It was just a matter of replacing a couple of hats and putting them beyond your reach.”
Like most kids, I often wondered if Dad was paying attention to me. Kids are so self-centered. I was no different. As children we see and judge our parents solely on the basis of their relationship to us, never mind the extent to which they might have been pre-occupied with details like their own career and marriage which just happen to have kept the family going.
Now that I am an adult, I often think about the photo-finish arithmetic answer and the Great Grilled Cheese Caper. It’s very clear that, indeed, Dad was paying attention. Not only was he paying attention, he was teaching me precious life lessons through his example.
Most of all, my dad lived an attitude of gratitude. He appreciated and never took his robust health, his healthy family, his profession or the privilege of being an American for granted. He taught me to do what I love and never settle for anything less than giving an extra 10 percent to my best efforts. He taught me how profoundly important it is to console and support the bereaved. He taught me to make athletics as vital to my life as the air I breathe, and to take pride in my appearance. He taught me that it isn’t enough to love someone; you have to let them know.
Father’s Day is tailor-made to ponder those lessons our dads taught us. I hope that, through sharing mine, you will remember and appreciate your own. And that no matter how stormy your relationship with your dad might be, you’ll let him know that you love him.