Dad

Dad passed away fifteen years ago on June 25th, 2010. I think of him often and smile at our times together, and the stories he told of his life. I am eternally grateful for the gifts he passed on to me. I could also cry, thinking of the questions I never asked him, and never thought to ask while he was alive. 

Growing older, I have come to appreciate the “gifts” he gave me of storytelling, the freedom to be me, and my optimism. Of course, those traits, and inheriting them from Dad, did not register when I was younger. It is only since his passing that I have really thought about them in that context. 

Dad was a wonderful storyteller. Tales of his youth in the depression. The war years and his adventures in North Carolina, Africa, and Sicily. Stories of the early post-war years back in Ottawa. They were always funny, and I have repeated most of them over the years, including in earlier blogs. I know his storytelling ability has influenced me, and my blogs, although I realize I am only a pale comparison. 

As time has passed since his death, I have also wondered if he used those funny stories to cover what the times were actually like. The desperation. The living on the edge of life.

He grew up in a too small shack with a wonderful mother, but a father who was probably an alcoholic. There was little or no money. After graduating from 8th Grade, he joined the CCCs a year later at the age of 15 to get a job. Any job. He joined the army at 16 in 1940, probably for the same reason. 

For many of my blogs about the stories of his war-years, I have studied the history of specific battles and happenings. This was unfortunately several years after he passed away and I never had the chance to ask him about some of the things I learned. Yes, he told us funny and true stories of his wartime experiences. He also skipped many other things. As one example, he never talked about the Battle of Djebel Cheniti in Tunisia, where the order was given to his unit to fix bayonets and charge a hill. I can’t begin to imagine what you think when the order to fix bayonets is given, other than “oh sh!t”.

Yes, I would give anything for more time with him to ask about his past and the stories he did not tell us. Sitting with a cup of coffee at the kitchen table, or a beer in their back yard. “Hey Dad, could you tell me more about…”

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Dad treated me as an adult, starting at 18 when I left home for West Point. Beginning that year, he would pass on advice when I asked for it, but he let me live my own life. Those twin gifts of wisdom and freedom are something I can never repay. He always listened, never told me what to do, and only offered advice if I asked. I could use more time to pick his brain about things now, even though I recently turned 70. “Hey Dad, what do you think about…”

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Looking back now at Dad and his stories, and how he lived his life, I realize he was a true optimist. In his world, there was always an upside. Maybe surviving being shot and almost dying during the war gave him that optimism. While he was alive, I don’t know that I ever understood he was an optimist. Or maybe I just did not think about it. My wife Cathy would tell you I am the ultimate optimist. My glass is always AT LEAST half full ;-). I only recently realized his optimism was one more gift he passed along to me. “Hey Dad, with so many challenges in your life, what made you the optimist you were?”

The late singer/songwriter Dan Fogelberg wrote a wonderful song about his own father called, “The Leader of the Band.”  The song has always resonated with me, perhaps more so since Dad passed away. I particularly enjoy the last verse:

I thank you for the music

And your stories of the road

I thank you for the freedom

When it came my time to go

I thank you for the kindness

And the times when you got tough

And papa I don’t think I said

“I love you” near enough.

I love you Dad.