It is early in the AM on Fathers Day for 2012. This marks my 57th visitation of this day. Of course I have not always been cognizant of the day, nor near so understanding of what it might signify. This years coming is momentous...... or at least significant. It marks the first year that I do not have a Father to call and offer recognition for all that we have shared.
I am not sure I am at all fully aware of all that is significant in Dad's contributions to who I am. It is not even a year since his passing. The Fathers Day card from last year is still sitting on the snack table in what was his office. A year ago today marks the real acceleration of his decline in health. He was still cognizant, but the usual mental acuity was beginning to slip. I remember the shock and disorientation that came with the realization that my father could actually begin to fail. Honestly, on some visceral level I guess I just thought he would always be there.
He died in July. I/we miss him still. It is not an active grieving, and at times life seems to somehow have returned to normal......... at least for awhile. Then certain events come along and the fact that I can not just call to share a thought or two is once again immediate. It does not hurt like before, but the emptiness is again manifest. I walked through the card section in a local outlet store just before I left on this trip. They had the Fathers Day cards out, and I wanted/needed to make contact with something that was gone. There is no way to send Dad a card...... but somehow just reading them and enjoying the humorous ones made me feel closer. In retrospect I think I should have sent a card to my Brother. Not because he is my parent, but because he is so much like Dad, and that may be the most complimentary thing I have ever offered about my brother.
Dad had several successes in his life. One of the most noteworthy (at least from a standpoint that it was recognized by a large group of people) was his being a participant in the High School All American football game. I do not know if they have such a thing anymore. Living in the Pensacola region (where high school football is just a little beneath religion on most peoples priority list) I can only wonder just what the best and most promising seniors today would look like. Dad played offensive center, and I do not think he weighed even 200 lbs. I guess we grow them bigger today.
He grew up in a small town that lived football. He was a standout in the one universal interest of his community. I will tell you it shaped a lot of his life. It offered a certain amount of fame, an easy identity, and more than a little glory. They talk about it still in Haywood county Tennessee. I will also offer the opinion that if his accolades were the summation of his life it would have been a largely wasted life. Imagine a life complete before college. As he lived into his 70's, that would have constituted a lot of wasted time.
No, There was no wasted time in Dad's life. Dad was involved. Whether professional, or personal Dad did nothing without his full dedication and attention. His first job before going into school administration was as a coach. When he was a football coach (a profession that did not offer the compensation or possible career opportunities evident today) Dad was heavily involved in the lives of the young people he coached. Skills on the field were just part of what he imparted. Just a few years before he died several of the young men he coached (now grown men) went to some trouble to find their old "Coach". Dad was humbled by their efforts, and I think more than a little surprised when they relayed the impact he had had on their lives. Each individual had differing experiences, but they all shared that it was something beyond the game that they had taken with them and treasured. It may have surprised Dad, but it was not a surprise to myself or my brother. Dad cared.
Above all else (save perhaps working at a relationship with my Mother), I think my Dad's highest priorities were always in being a good Father. Now, I am not talking about being a consistent maker and enforcer of rules (which he was), or a great example as to how one should conduct oneself (again, he was that in spades), but it was in the dedication and willingness to express his involvement in our lives where Dad was superlative. It is easy to make and enforce rules. It is even relatively easy to conduct oneself in a manner that anyone observing can emulate. It is not easy to be involved. A review of any and all significant days in my life reveal that Dad was always there. I think he missed at most 2 events. He was just always there. Dad always took the time to recognize and make personal whatever was going on in our life. He shared in our successes, and suffered with us whenever life conspired to challenge us. That, is not easy. If nothing else, it takes time. It is (in my humble opinion) worthy of recognition.
I know my brother and I are who we are as a consequence of his being involved. My Daughter, and my nieces are all beneficiaries of his examples.
So, in honor of the day, and to the man I want to grow up and be like...... Happy Fathers Day.
Daddy, I love you.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Being Dad
There is a wedding in our future. Now, I have suspected this to be the truth for about 27 years. From the first time the nurse passed the little bundle into my arms I "knew" there was a wedding in our future. It was not to recently that I might have reached the point that I might supply a date. It is a time of great excitement, and some anxiety (there is much to do). Still, in any extremity there are those moments.....
I was sitting in a bridal shop (not one of my usual haunts I assure you), looking at an enormous wall of mirrors. I mean, lots of mirrors. Young brides were bustling into and out of the dressing rooms. There were bright smiles, and facial expressions reserved for tasting something that was recently inside something else's intestinal track. You really have to be involved to make that disgusted a look over a dress..... A man in a wedding dress store is individual in an unknown and unfamiliar environment.
There at the far end of the room, with her style of dress hanging on the hook (so that we might offer the appropriate words of support for her selection) was my daughter. Her mother was there by her side as they tried on any of the dozens of veils available. Suddenly over the overhead speaker came Ben E Kings song "Stand By Me". Almost 30 years ago, before the life that has become so central to my existence was even contemplated, we danced to that song at the ceremony that cemented the partnership that would bring our young bride into existence. Suddenly, in response to the music I saw my wife looking my way. For just a minute she acknowledged my presence, and was then back to the task at hand. They tried several veils, and I guess finally reached a decision. I could not hear the conversation, nor would I have intruded for any reason that I can conceive. They were enjoying one of those moments....... and I was just a witness.
Still, a witness to love is never a bad thing.
I was sitting in a bridal shop (not one of my usual haunts I assure you), looking at an enormous wall of mirrors. I mean, lots of mirrors. Young brides were bustling into and out of the dressing rooms. There were bright smiles, and facial expressions reserved for tasting something that was recently inside something else's intestinal track. You really have to be involved to make that disgusted a look over a dress..... A man in a wedding dress store is individual in an unknown and unfamiliar environment.
There at the far end of the room, with her style of dress hanging on the hook (so that we might offer the appropriate words of support for her selection) was my daughter. Her mother was there by her side as they tried on any of the dozens of veils available. Suddenly over the overhead speaker came Ben E Kings song "Stand By Me". Almost 30 years ago, before the life that has become so central to my existence was even contemplated, we danced to that song at the ceremony that cemented the partnership that would bring our young bride into existence. Suddenly, in response to the music I saw my wife looking my way. For just a minute she acknowledged my presence, and was then back to the task at hand. They tried several veils, and I guess finally reached a decision. I could not hear the conversation, nor would I have intruded for any reason that I can conceive. They were enjoying one of those moments....... and I was just a witness.
Still, a witness to love is never a bad thing.
Memorial Day
I manage to get somehow reflective each memorial day. The difference between Memorial Day and Veterans Day is relatively small, but noteworthy. Veterans Day is for all military people, living and dead, Memorial Day is just in memory of the departed. Now for the individuals involved I would imagine this distinction would be enormously important, but in truth as we all are mortal, all veterans will eventually be qualified to be celebrated and remembered on Memorial Day.
Why might that distinction matter? Well, I qualify as a veteran. I sometimes wonder if my 10 years of time in the military are worthy of any notice come some future Veterans Day. My personal experiences means I do have at least a more accurate view of just who we honor on Veterans Day.
Are all military members worthy of being honored? Living or dead, does just being a member of an armed service somehow make you worthy of any extra notice? Well, at the risk of being a little controversial, I am of the opinion that it does not. Anyone forget the old practice of a judge saying to some young scofflaw "Son, you have a choice, the Army or jail." Not exactly the dedicated and highly moral individual we build monuments to. Or, during draft times someone "inducted" because of some government legislated lottery just does not speak to all military members being of superior character.
Truth is, history tells us that US service members have at times behaved in ways that do not speak to the higher ideals of humanity. Being involved in an organized activity that is reflective of mankind at its worst is not exactly refective of humanity at its best. The members of our armed services are in fact a reflection of all humanity. You can certainly find examples of nobility, or some opposite extreme in everything humans do. Dieing in the performance of something noble is always noteworthy, dieing while practicing some private genocide is not. I knew the full gamut of individuals while in uniform. Some with a deeply ingrained sense of honor and service. I knew others who were collecting a paycheck till they could move on. In truth, I suspect it is less about what we do, than how we do it that constitutes true service. There are self centered jerks working in hospitals, just as there are real angels to be found in the same profession. It is the individual and what motivates them that makes all the difference..
I have known many true warriors. Some even served in a uniform. The line from the movie "A Few Good Men" speaks to this truth...... "... You do not need a patch on your arm to understand honor....". So true. Still, there is another aspect to military service that is unique to individuals who regularly deal with death and destruction...... either the dealing of death, or just having to continuously deal with it's collateral damages.
I have known two men that were veterans of Vietnam. Both of them are men I consider worthy of respect. They understand those mystical terms like "honor", "code of conduct", "responsibility", and "duty". That said, they are both scarred. Deeply scarred. A cursory investigation of even the exposed body parts reveal scars. A more detailed investigation leaves one wondering how they survived. That is just the physical evidence of violence. Both of these dear friends carry emotional wounds that are not visible. The old adage about whenever you go to bury another you should dig two graves (one for the victim, and one for yourself) is most obvious. The fact that both of these men have to live with the knowledge that they took another life weighs on them. It is a ponderous burden. I love them, and I grieve for the hurt evidenced in all they do.
Our nations cemeteries are full of markers for men like my two friends. Both of them speak of lost comrades with a soulful awareness. Each loss is still immediate for them. Those of us who love them, albeit vicariously, share in the loss. I want/need to honor my friends, and the brothers in arms that they still grieve.
That should sum up this entry..... but it does not. For each of the stone markers in all the nations cemeteries, and each of the flags placed there this weekend, there is not just a soldier who was hurt. That little flag marks a loss for parents, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, spouses and offspring. Each flag marks the center for the ripple of hurt for a much larger and expanding group. When considering the overall loss it becomes just more than I can comprehend.
That became more obvious to me this year. My loving wife of almost 30 years, the mother of my children, and "Gopper" to my grand babies shared with me the story of a young man I never knew. An Army CWO helicopter pilot named Russel Rowe. He graduated from High School a year before my wife. They eventually started dating, and I am sure he "owned" her heart. He had stated his intentions clearly before he left for his second tour in Vietnam.
He never made it back. I have learned of the effect on his family, and how the loss essentially destroyed that very family. My lovely wife was not destroyed, but there is a deep hurt somewhere in her that she carries always. The subject does not come up often, and is not the topic of frequent discussion. Still, occasionally she is forced to revisit the pain.. This year I am keenly aware of another Vietnam War victim, and I honor her sacrifice. A shame there is no monument to mark her loss.
Why might that distinction matter? Well, I qualify as a veteran. I sometimes wonder if my 10 years of time in the military are worthy of any notice come some future Veterans Day. My personal experiences means I do have at least a more accurate view of just who we honor on Veterans Day.
Are all military members worthy of being honored? Living or dead, does just being a member of an armed service somehow make you worthy of any extra notice? Well, at the risk of being a little controversial, I am of the opinion that it does not. Anyone forget the old practice of a judge saying to some young scofflaw "Son, you have a choice, the Army or jail." Not exactly the dedicated and highly moral individual we build monuments to. Or, during draft times someone "inducted" because of some government legislated lottery just does not speak to all military members being of superior character.
Truth is, history tells us that US service members have at times behaved in ways that do not speak to the higher ideals of humanity. Being involved in an organized activity that is reflective of mankind at its worst is not exactly refective of humanity at its best. The members of our armed services are in fact a reflection of all humanity. You can certainly find examples of nobility, or some opposite extreme in everything humans do. Dieing in the performance of something noble is always noteworthy, dieing while practicing some private genocide is not. I knew the full gamut of individuals while in uniform. Some with a deeply ingrained sense of honor and service. I knew others who were collecting a paycheck till they could move on. In truth, I suspect it is less about what we do, than how we do it that constitutes true service. There are self centered jerks working in hospitals, just as there are real angels to be found in the same profession. It is the individual and what motivates them that makes all the difference..
I have known many true warriors. Some even served in a uniform. The line from the movie "A Few Good Men" speaks to this truth...... "... You do not need a patch on your arm to understand honor....". So true. Still, there is another aspect to military service that is unique to individuals who regularly deal with death and destruction...... either the dealing of death, or just having to continuously deal with it's collateral damages.
I have known two men that were veterans of Vietnam. Both of them are men I consider worthy of respect. They understand those mystical terms like "honor", "code of conduct", "responsibility", and "duty". That said, they are both scarred. Deeply scarred. A cursory investigation of even the exposed body parts reveal scars. A more detailed investigation leaves one wondering how they survived. That is just the physical evidence of violence. Both of these dear friends carry emotional wounds that are not visible. The old adage about whenever you go to bury another you should dig two graves (one for the victim, and one for yourself) is most obvious. The fact that both of these men have to live with the knowledge that they took another life weighs on them. It is a ponderous burden. I love them, and I grieve for the hurt evidenced in all they do.
Our nations cemeteries are full of markers for men like my two friends. Both of them speak of lost comrades with a soulful awareness. Each loss is still immediate for them. Those of us who love them, albeit vicariously, share in the loss. I want/need to honor my friends, and the brothers in arms that they still grieve.
That should sum up this entry..... but it does not. For each of the stone markers in all the nations cemeteries, and each of the flags placed there this weekend, there is not just a soldier who was hurt. That little flag marks a loss for parents, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, spouses and offspring. Each flag marks the center for the ripple of hurt for a much larger and expanding group. When considering the overall loss it becomes just more than I can comprehend.
That became more obvious to me this year. My loving wife of almost 30 years, the mother of my children, and "Gopper" to my grand babies shared with me the story of a young man I never knew. An Army CWO helicopter pilot named Russel Rowe. He graduated from High School a year before my wife. They eventually started dating, and I am sure he "owned" her heart. He had stated his intentions clearly before he left for his second tour in Vietnam.
He never made it back. I have learned of the effect on his family, and how the loss essentially destroyed that very family. My lovely wife was not destroyed, but there is a deep hurt somewhere in her that she carries always. The subject does not come up often, and is not the topic of frequent discussion. Still, occasionally she is forced to revisit the pain.. This year I am keenly aware of another Vietnam War victim, and I honor her sacrifice. A shame there is no monument to mark her loss.
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