Buy Ya Books, And Buy Ya Books...

(the following is a re-post from Father's Day 2017)

"Act like a man!"
"Act like you mean it!"
"You did a half way job!"
"Don't take a lazy man's load!"
"Buy ya books and buy ya books and STILL you don't remember."

I heard those admonitions from my dad throughout the years I remained under his roof.  Did I listen? Of course not.  I had to learn everything from experience or "the hard way" as he often reminded me. The truth is I learned almost NOTHING before messing up at least a couple of times and have remained a semi dunce for most of my life.  Fortunately for me there was a future in broadcasting, a natural destination for those of us who prefer to hang at the corner of Lazy and Stupid.

Dad's was a thankless job.  He raised a couple of goofball sons who resented nearly all of his good advice for, no doubt, the same reasons he probably failed to heed the guidance of his own father.  It's testosterone poisoning.  Young men are so completely full of themselves they become their own worst enemy.  That's why good fathers were invented.  Lucky lads have a dad with the grit and manners to prevent their spawn from going off course and into the ditch of life.  It's love designed to save a boy from the extensive pummeling the world is waiting to administer.  (see ass kicking)

Like most of the Greatest Generation, my dad came home from "the big war" ready for some peace and a slice of the American dream.  He and his tribe were exhausted by the cosmic hand they had been dealt by the Depression and World War II and naturally wanted their sons and daughters to have the peaceful and happy lives that they themselves had thus far been denied.  Of course we Boomers didn't appreciate any of this sacrifice at the time.  Nope, we, for the most part, thought them incredibly un-hip and square.  Rules?? We couldn't live by their rules!

What's the old saying?  "Too soon old; too late smart?"  I'm sure that if you look it up there is a picture of me and my brother right next to the definition.  Neither of us appreciated the tough love meted out by the old man until, well, after he was gone.  He died when we were both well into adulthood and, though it was never openly acknowledged, both of us had the impression that in his final days our dad was fairly well satisfied with how we turned out.  We weren't in prison and we weren't hitting him up for money.

This Sunday, Father's Day, would have been dad's 100th birthday.  (It was always convenient that his birthday fell either on or close to Father's Day as it meant only one card and gift.)  He lasted most of his 76th year which, frankly, seemed a whole lot greater an accomplishment in 1995 than it does now that I am 70.  Naturally I wish he were still around to thank him for his good advice and guidance; also for not killing me when nine out of ten juries would have acquitted him if he had.  He was a good man and an excellent father.

Though we never said things like, "I love you", I often think about the final words my father said to me.  My wife and I were leaving my parents home in Illinois heading for the airport in St. Louis and a return to our San Diego home.  Suddenly dad, who was suffering from a host of maladies including dementia, walked over to our rental car to apologize for not recognizing me on several occasions during our stay.  Through the haze of Alzheimer's he said, "Sorry I didn't know who you were.  You looked just like a man."  I told him not to worry about it.  A simple "I love you too dad" would have been the better and more honest reply.  To be "a man" was always the highest goal he set for his boys.  Achieve that and the rest would take care of itself.  I'd like to think that with this farewell he was telling me that at age 47 I had finally gotten there.  It sure felt like the best thing he ever said to me.  Years later I recall his words when my natural inclinations tempt me to default to the mode of immature and irresponsible.  Being a dad is easy but being a good one is a job for a man like he was.  Somewhere I hope he knows that I think he did a good job.