The day for the Pops, Fathers, Daddy’s and those who handed out cigars at the maternity room for what you had accomplished with a squirt.
In my world, the dad was the ‘head-of-the-house’ and ruled supreme. He was the bread winner and made the final decisions on everything that affected our family.
My dad already had a son to show as his manliness, but I may have been a mistake and joined the family a couple of years later.
My dad did the best to cloth us and feed us and give us a shelter and send us kids to fine schools and attend religious ceremonies every Sunday.
My dad provided the acceptable ‘middle class life’. He did provide us with a few perks like attending country clubs and vacations at the beach.
My dad also tried to keep me busy. There were camps and scouts and weekend movies for otherwise I was content being in my room watching black & white television and sketch.
My dad did not show me how to fish or tie a fly or shoot a gun or fly a kite or even drive.
Thinking back on it, my dad did do other things that were adventurous.
He took the family to Mount Vernon where the old building wasn’t special but the land of a plantation with a beautiful view had no history of the redeemed first president and general from the revolution that was in the school books without talking about slavery. He took us to Washington DC stopping by the newly constructed Marine statue and going to the Smithsonian Museum to see the big wall hanging from the ceiling. He gave me membership to the Virginia Museum to take art classes and signed me up one summer to ride my bike over the river to attend art school at George Wythe HS. He did introduce me to type for signs at his club.
There are no remembrance of political conversations or even religious means. There was no economics instruction but he did give ‘the talk’ long after I knew how to do-it. He persuaded me to leave an apartment and purchase a house as an investment. He also persuaded me to buy life insurance, that sounded like a savings account, but I would not get the reward. He did pay for dog bites, split lips, tonsils and appendix and wisdom teeth removal with whatever family health insurance he had. He did go to court with me to pay off my speeding tickets and take my license away.
He did take me to the State Fair where I got lost but got him to gamble to a carnie to get a knife set I would buy later at the grocery store. He took me to the circus sitting on bleachers and walking on smelly hay and watching an elephant walk about in a circle. He did sign me up to the weekly Kiwanis Travelogue at the Mosque along with the local symphony presentations. He had books on the family hierarchy but never discussed his parents or his brother. He did enjoy watching the British Black Watch having a tattoo at the local skating rink. He took me to the local football field to watch my brother’s college and their rivals play but the fun part were the cadet corps pranking one another. He took me to the baseball park to watch the local team but it was too hot and wasn’t very exciting when they lost.
My dad was more about slipping a few dollars in my pocket and giving a gigantic can of green beans than to have any affectionate talks.
Years later, I think he meant well but didn’t know how to do it. He didn’t get it from his family. I pass along the tradition.
I won’t attend his gravesite service attended by no one but write here a few words to myself, for without him, I couldn’t write these thoughts.
Dad, you were an OK dad. I’m sure I was too expensive and emotionally trying, but I turned out alright living a few blocks away from home. I didn’t go to Yale as you wished or follow down the fraternity row but have had a good life and career drawing pictures and didn’t cause any trouble (that I couldn’t get out of by myself).
I was the one who cleaned out your closet and finding little notes in your coat pockets. I gave away your gun. I threw away those dirty magazines you kept under the mattress. I tried to take care of your bride until it drove me crazy.
So, dad, I guess you were a good enough dad, at least to me. I don’t know what kind of a dad you were to my brother, but that is for you two to know.
Thanks, dad, for taking my training wheels off. I did alright.
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