Happy Father’s Day

I’ve been thinking of my dad, a man who never made a fuss about father’s day, or about anything else. Born during the great depression, he grew up without having very much. He often told me stories of going to the movies for a nickel when he was growing up during World War II. His father would give him a dime on Saturday, and he’d have to decide whether to buy comic books or go to a movie. He had a bike at one point and rode it around Riverhead, but it was stolen one day, and his father could not afford to buy him a new one. That story stuck with me. He loved the bike and he wanted a new one, but his father, a carpenter and house painter, didn’t have enough money to buy him another.

As a boy he had various odd jobs, including one as a caddy. He made good money doing that, and had some hilarious tales of the caddyshack, as it was in the 1940s. He once won a huge pot in a craps game and was nearly attacked by an angry older caddy, but ran away and brought the dough back to his parents. He then stayed away from the golf course for a week, from fear of his vengeful nemesis.

After graduating high school, dad joined the air force. He would tell me that he felt very lucky—the Korean War was going on, and he knew people who perished in that conflict, but he was sent to Germany and worked on a base there. He served at other bases in the early fifties, then returned home to try and start a career. All the while, this penniless man sent money home to his mom and dad, as plenty of soldiers of that generation did.

My dad was a smart man, who read a lot of history and politics, and he would have been an excellent teacher, lawyer, or professor. But he wasn’t inclined to take advantage of the GI Bill. He was a practical guy and had to make money right away to help his parents. He worked at a few different jobs, including RCA, a surveying job for the department of agriculture, and finally found work with New York Telephone. He stayed in a rooming house in Hempstead NY at first, living there during the week, and commuted home to be with his parents on the weekends. Eventually he was able to secure a job with NY Telephone in Riverhead, the town where he had grown up and where his parents lived. He got the job and stayed there for more than forty years, moving up from a janitor to eventually a switchman, which had much better pay.

As a boy, I remember him working very long hours, overnight shifts, taking all the overtime he could get to support his large family. Never once did he complain. He just did it. A devout Catholic, he was unfailingly kind to everyone he ever met. Despite the loss of one of his sons, he never felt sorry for himself–he didn’t view life as a tragedy, more as a comedy. He always had a twinkle in his eye and a terrible joke or pun at the ready. He was always smiling, always happy to come home and see his wife and children, no matter what kind of day he had.

There were six of us children, and I cherished the times I got to spend with him. He took great pride in all of us. Despite how busy he was, he always had time to be the little league coach or to go on scouting trips or take us to the city for baseball games. He was a true family man. Never drank, never swore (very often) and never yelled at us. He doted on my mother and his family was his great joy. He was as strong as they come.

I miss my dad, who passed away in 2013. I was happy he got to enjoy retirement for the last thirteen years of his life. He certainly enjoyed it, filling his days with visits from friends, reading the newspaper, watching old gangster movies and westerns, and watching his Mets. He had heart trouble, but he never complained about that, either.

The other day, someone I know mentioned the kinds of ‘sacrifices’ modern parents make. I understood what he meant, he was simply saying that we do stuff for our children, we always make choices. But I disagreed with him, and I told him so. In my view, these are not sacrifices, not remotely. If you decide to have children, this is simply your job, and what’s more, it is the most important job you have. You must do it. If you don’t, you’re not living up to your work as a parent. So I don’t like hearing of sacrifices in this way. Just do what you’re supposed to.

Thanks, dad. Happy father’s day.