...and neither he nor my mother was home. This was unusual because, as a rule, my parents don't recognize Mother's Day and Father's Day to each other (as they are not each others' parents).
A quick back-up. Father's Day, for me, had already been full. I'd woken up pretty early this morning to work on a story, and left for church an hour early since Timothy was cooking a brunch today at the Renaissance Center, and I didn't have access to a vehicle. On those vehicleless Sundays, we ride with our assistant pastor, who needs to be at church early. Once there, I talked to Sarah (and got waylaid by Timothy's godfather who wanted me to chant the Epistle during liturgy), attended a Father's Day brunch in the church hall, came home to write a second story, and then helped Daniel finish a Father's Day brunch at the house for my oldest son, who had both his sons with his that day. So when Christopher went to bring one of the boys home (We get to keep the older one for another week), I suggested leaving a bit early to see my dad, as he is humbly proud of having lived long enough to see his great-grandkids.
Still, I (wrongly) assumed that my seventy-nine, very healthy, and still working parents had decided to take advantage of a very nice Sunday by going out to dinner.
Furthermore, as my father tends to keep his cell phone on only during business hours, I (again, wrongly) knew that a quick call would not disturb his dinner, but would, in fact, go straight to his voice mail, where he could enjoy it Monday morning.
I dialed. It rang, and my father picked it up on the fifth ring. I'm not certain where my mother was today--she's employed at a gift shop, so maybe working?--because my father was mostly certainly NOT at dinner.
He was about an hour away, conducting, of all things, a home inspection. Not many people my age (I'll be 52 on July 15) can boast about having parents as "young" as mine.
So who is my father?
* He's a retired architect, one that built up an impressive business. This included buying a large New Lenox church and converting it into his and other rented office space while maintaining the integral "feel" of the church (stained glass windows, etc.). He held an exclusive contract for all the life safety work on all the Joliet schools. He performed various government projects. He's now a consultant to other architects and a certified home inspector.
* He's the oldest of two sons, born to a prison guard (who walked to work) and his wife. He grew up in Napanoch, New York, a hamlet in Ulster County. The 2000 census reported a population of 1168.
* He's a Notre Dame graduate, one who rented from a family in South Bend while going to school, skipping meals when cash funds were tight. He didn't attend his college graduation because he had graduated early and had no desire to travel back for it.
* He taught me to ride a two-wheeler.
* He read every night to my sister and me, him and the book in the middle, and she and I snuggled into his sides.
* He gave us piggy back rides to bed before dumping us into our respective abodes of slumber.
* He paused while cutting the grass to show me how to catch and feed the enormous green grasshoppers that leaped across our yard.
* He faithfully mowed every week and pulled out the dandelions. He installed a rock garden and a metal shed in the backyard.
* He put up a sandbox, set up sprinklers for my sister and me to run through on hot summer days, assembled and filled wading pools.
* He frequently took us to Highland Park--which backed up to our yard--and pushed us on the swings. Moreover, he drove us there, as the playground portion was nowhere near our house.
* He could link his hands together to form a "swing" with his arms as the chains.
* He fooled us into thinking he could remove his thumb, a trick I've showed to everyone of my six children.
* When we went swimming at the long closed Michigan Beach in Joliet--where a neighbor (deceased) was manager--he taught me the basics of swimming, dog paddling and dead man floating. He also let my sister and me using his back as a "diving board."
* He played old Bing Crosby singalong records and taught us songs: Mairzy Doats, KKKKaty, Long Long Ago, My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean, O Where O Where Has My Little Dog Gone, Take Me Out To the Ball Game, Daisy Daisy Give Me Your Answer Do. These are songs I sang to my children while pushing them on swings, at bedtime, or while driving from one destination to another.
* When my sister and I were playing dolls with our cardboard kitchen sink, metal table and chairs, and plastic food to go with our plastic dishes, he'd surprise us by donning his Tiny Tim wig and showing up as a guest. He'd sit at the table, "eat" the plastic food, and play a plastic "badminton" guitar to entertain us.
* He spanked us when we needed it. I remember my last spanking. I was seven. I don't remember the infraction, but I do remember thinking seven was too old for a spanking. My father apparently thought so, too, because I never received another.
* He showed me that peanut butter and bacon go well together on hot, buttered toast.
* When I was eleven, and he rented his first office space in downtown Joliet, 325 E. Cass Street, the former Relyea building (and George Relyea is now deceased), he brought me along to help him paint it: the reception/secretarial area, his private office, the conference room, the drafting room, the hall where all the files were kept, and the room where the blueprint machine was.
* At fifteen, when the asthma I'd suffered from my entire life was finally diagnosed, my father drove me into Joliet from New Lenox (where we now lived) each week for my allergy shots. When I was old enough to drive, he made sure I knew how to get there.
* My first job at sixteen (the previous three years worth of babysitting didn't count) was as a file clerk in his office. On nights he needed extra specs for a job copied, we'd stay downtown after hours, eat in a restaurant, and go back to work.
* While working for him, my father allowed me to tear apart and restructure his blueprint filing system and create a library of reference materials. When I was in college and received an "A" for an organizational communication class, he hired me to conduct a communication audit for his business.
* When my three oldest children were preschoolers, and my father still owned the former church, he would alternate them as his office cleaning partners. They would help empty wastebaskets for a quarter, some old keys, or the fun of copying their preschool pictures on the Xerox machine.
* Today, he helps out with rides, He's driven me to and accompanied me on various, in-person assignments. He occasionally takes my two youngest children to junior college or to their job. For a year (just a couple years ago), he was coming into the distribution center at midnight to help us roll papers.
* He read all three BryonySeries books when they were drafts. Visage was his favorite. He said he picked it up one morning, and never moved until he completed it. He created multiple displays for BryonySeries events, and even wrote a complete and bound "home inspection" for Simons Mansion.
* He reads extensively and can speak intelligently on many different subjects.
So how did those kaleidoscope experiences enrich my life? I learned industry, the joy of reading for reading's sake, innovation, entrepreneurship, creativity, self-discipline, and decent parenting skills.
I can only hope my own children will remember me for half as much. Happy Father's Day, Dad!
A quick back-up. Father's Day, for me, had already been full. I'd woken up pretty early this morning to work on a story, and left for church an hour early since Timothy was cooking a brunch today at the Renaissance Center, and I didn't have access to a vehicle. On those vehicleless Sundays, we ride with our assistant pastor, who needs to be at church early. Once there, I talked to Sarah (and got waylaid by Timothy's godfather who wanted me to chant the Epistle during liturgy), attended a Father's Day brunch in the church hall, came home to write a second story, and then helped Daniel finish a Father's Day brunch at the house for my oldest son, who had both his sons with his that day. So when Christopher went to bring one of the boys home (We get to keep the older one for another week), I suggested leaving a bit early to see my dad, as he is humbly proud of having lived long enough to see his great-grandkids.
Still, I (wrongly) assumed that my seventy-nine, very healthy, and still working parents had decided to take advantage of a very nice Sunday by going out to dinner.
Furthermore, as my father tends to keep his cell phone on only during business hours, I (again, wrongly) knew that a quick call would not disturb his dinner, but would, in fact, go straight to his voice mail, where he could enjoy it Monday morning.
I dialed. It rang, and my father picked it up on the fifth ring. I'm not certain where my mother was today--she's employed at a gift shop, so maybe working?--because my father was mostly certainly NOT at dinner.
He was about an hour away, conducting, of all things, a home inspection. Not many people my age (I'll be 52 on July 15) can boast about having parents as "young" as mine.
So who is my father?
* He's a retired architect, one that built up an impressive business. This included buying a large New Lenox church and converting it into his and other rented office space while maintaining the integral "feel" of the church (stained glass windows, etc.). He held an exclusive contract for all the life safety work on all the Joliet schools. He performed various government projects. He's now a consultant to other architects and a certified home inspector.
* He's the oldest of two sons, born to a prison guard (who walked to work) and his wife. He grew up in Napanoch, New York, a hamlet in Ulster County. The 2000 census reported a population of 1168.
* He's a Notre Dame graduate, one who rented from a family in South Bend while going to school, skipping meals when cash funds were tight. He didn't attend his college graduation because he had graduated early and had no desire to travel back for it.
* He taught me to ride a two-wheeler.
* He read every night to my sister and me, him and the book in the middle, and she and I snuggled into his sides.
* He gave us piggy back rides to bed before dumping us into our respective abodes of slumber.
* He paused while cutting the grass to show me how to catch and feed the enormous green grasshoppers that leaped across our yard.
* He faithfully mowed every week and pulled out the dandelions. He installed a rock garden and a metal shed in the backyard.
* He put up a sandbox, set up sprinklers for my sister and me to run through on hot summer days, assembled and filled wading pools.
* He frequently took us to Highland Park--which backed up to our yard--and pushed us on the swings. Moreover, he drove us there, as the playground portion was nowhere near our house.
* He could link his hands together to form a "swing" with his arms as the chains.
* He fooled us into thinking he could remove his thumb, a trick I've showed to everyone of my six children.
* When we went swimming at the long closed Michigan Beach in Joliet--where a neighbor (deceased) was manager--he taught me the basics of swimming, dog paddling and dead man floating. He also let my sister and me using his back as a "diving board."
* He played old Bing Crosby singalong records and taught us songs: Mairzy Doats, KKKKaty, Long Long Ago, My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean, O Where O Where Has My Little Dog Gone, Take Me Out To the Ball Game, Daisy Daisy Give Me Your Answer Do. These are songs I sang to my children while pushing them on swings, at bedtime, or while driving from one destination to another.
* When my sister and I were playing dolls with our cardboard kitchen sink, metal table and chairs, and plastic food to go with our plastic dishes, he'd surprise us by donning his Tiny Tim wig and showing up as a guest. He'd sit at the table, "eat" the plastic food, and play a plastic "badminton" guitar to entertain us.
* He spanked us when we needed it. I remember my last spanking. I was seven. I don't remember the infraction, but I do remember thinking seven was too old for a spanking. My father apparently thought so, too, because I never received another.
* He showed me that peanut butter and bacon go well together on hot, buttered toast.
* When I was eleven, and he rented his first office space in downtown Joliet, 325 E. Cass Street, the former Relyea building (and George Relyea is now deceased), he brought me along to help him paint it: the reception/secretarial area, his private office, the conference room, the drafting room, the hall where all the files were kept, and the room where the blueprint machine was.
* At fifteen, when the asthma I'd suffered from my entire life was finally diagnosed, my father drove me into Joliet from New Lenox (where we now lived) each week for my allergy shots. When I was old enough to drive, he made sure I knew how to get there.
* My first job at sixteen (the previous three years worth of babysitting didn't count) was as a file clerk in his office. On nights he needed extra specs for a job copied, we'd stay downtown after hours, eat in a restaurant, and go back to work.
* While working for him, my father allowed me to tear apart and restructure his blueprint filing system and create a library of reference materials. When I was in college and received an "A" for an organizational communication class, he hired me to conduct a communication audit for his business.
* When my three oldest children were preschoolers, and my father still owned the former church, he would alternate them as his office cleaning partners. They would help empty wastebaskets for a quarter, some old keys, or the fun of copying their preschool pictures on the Xerox machine.
* Today, he helps out with rides, He's driven me to and accompanied me on various, in-person assignments. He occasionally takes my two youngest children to junior college or to their job. For a year (just a couple years ago), he was coming into the distribution center at midnight to help us roll papers.
* He read all three BryonySeries books when they were drafts. Visage was his favorite. He said he picked it up one morning, and never moved until he completed it. He created multiple displays for BryonySeries events, and even wrote a complete and bound "home inspection" for Simons Mansion.
* He reads extensively and can speak intelligently on many different subjects.
So how did those kaleidoscope experiences enrich my life? I learned industry, the joy of reading for reading's sake, innovation, entrepreneurship, creativity, self-discipline, and decent parenting skills.
I can only hope my own children will remember me for half as much. Happy Father's Day, Dad!
2 comments:
Wonderful, top to bottom. Sounds like a great guy.
That he is, Tom, that he is.
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