My Father's Day

My father sat in his chair reading contently.
It wasn’t an unusual sight. One of his favorite things to do would be to recline in his chair that overlooks our cove in Owls Head with a book in his hand. On this occasion, the story he was engrossed in was his own. This particular summer he was reading his memoirs. His own life story that he had written a year or so prior to that.
I’d watch him be completely enthralled in his own life story and tell him “Dad, it’s not like you don’t know how it ends.”
He’d laugh or at least acknowledge his smart ass son and comment about how interesting his memoirs were. I must say, he had a point. His story was quite incredible especially when you look at the man that rose from those early years of uncertainty and tragedy. In fact, he only wrote about his life up to the point that he got married and had kids. There wasn't much exciting to recant after that.
Today is my Dad’s birthday. There are a couple of ways I could recognize him on this day. I could spend the day in Owls Head at the place he loved and cherished. I could go out and buy a pie, something else he loved and cherished (but not for the same reasons). If I had gotten down to Owls Head, I would have visited the cemetery, even though I’m not sure his stone would be visible beneath all the snow. So I would have ended up working around the cottage doing various chores, all things he loved to do (even if he did fail to fully inform me about the significant amount of work and responsibility the place requires).
Since I couldn’t do all those, even though buying a pie option is still being considered, I thought I might write a blog about him.
One of the things that amazes me most about my Dad was the fact that he was such a normal person. I recall one lady referring to him as a gentleman – a gentle man, which he was (unless of course you accidentally back the car down the driveway by releasing the emergency break. His hand wasn’t so gentle on my backside in that instance).
He was a friend, a minister and a teacher to many, yet most people probably didn’t even know the adversity he faced growing up. In this day and age, his upbringing could have been described as a bit dysfunctional, but I’m sure he never would have called it that. I remember the morning of his memorial service and stopping by the church. I got into a conversation with the minister at the church and recounted some of the things my father went through as child. He wasn’t even aware of those hardships that my father faced.
My Dad was only a few years old when it was discovered that his mother had tuberculosis. My grandfather’s first wife died of that disease a year after their wedding in 1917. My grandfather married one of her closest friends, my grandmother, a few years later. My Dad, his two brothers and their mother spent much of the late 1920’s in a sanitorium. First they were in Fairfield and then were moved to Hebron.
Eventually all the boys were able to return home while Frances, their mother, stayed at the sanitorium in Hebron. My grandfather, a clerk at a manufacturer in Rockland, would make regular trips to Hebron when he could to visit Frances.
Most of my Dad’s interaction with his Mother was in the sanitorium. She died when he was just 10. From there, my grandfather raised his three young boys on his own. He worked hard but tried to make a good life for his boys. He made sure they were baptized, a wish made by Frances before she died. He gave them a fine upbringing and then watched all three go off to World War II. My Dad was a radio operator, and as a result he didn’t get sent to Europe until the late stages of the war. After the war, my Dad finished high school and went off to college, the first in his family to do so. He went to seminary and became an ordained minister.
Between reading his memoirs, researching the life of my grandfather and having numerous discussions about his life and upbringing, I know my Dad's story well. One day, he and I even made a trip out to Hebron. The place is all grown in and hardly any buildings remain, but he drew out a map and gave me a tour. Thanks to the sharp memory that I inherited, he remembered exactly where everything was. I drive by Greenwood Mountain fairly regularly think about that part of his life.
I can’t imagine growing up in such a scenario and certainly having limited access to your mother and then subsequently losing her at age 10 are circumstances that I can’t even fathom. I can’t help but think about the story of the day the telegram came to say that Frances was very ill. My grandfather tried to make arrangement to get off work and find care for the boys so he could drive to Hebron to be with Frances in her final hours. He didn’t make it. He got another message the following day telling him that she had died. My father recalls crying himself to sleep that night after learning that his mother was gone.
My Dad had a hard life early on. It was a life filled with hardship, adversity and disappointment. Yet, he never spoke of his upbringing in those terms. Life in the sanitorium, he said, provided him a place to live and play with kids his own age during the depression. It also allowed him interaction with his mother.
Between his mother and other influences at the sanitorium, the seeds of his desire to enter the ministry were sown. His father provided for his boys and was active in their lives in the church and the boy scouts. For a young life that was so difficult, my grandfather and father made the best of their circumstances.
And that was always my Dad. Like his father, he always moved forward and wasn’t burdened by misfortune. He lived a life of strength and courage, resembling one of his favorite scripture verses. You never heard him complain. He never showed any signs of bitterness for the travails he experienced as a boy. Those were the years that shaped him and defined him, and I think my Dad made sure they did so for the better. He used those experiences to make himself a better person and lived life with full knowledge that despite the adversity, he had many blessings as well.
I remember the day I learned the prognosis that he had gotten at Dana Farber. I had been away on a schooner vacation and returned home to hear what the doctor had said. My Dad initially downplayed it and said that it was leukemia, the worst-case scenario, and that he had to be sure he was careful with germs etc because his immune system couldn’t handle it. He made it sound like it was no big deal and nothing we hadn’t already been doing. It wasn’t until my Mother got me alone moments later when she explained that the real prognosis was that he could live another two weeks or another two months.
It turned out to be another two months. He died the day before Christmas, and I spent Christmas Eve writing his obituary. Never during that time did my Dad ever shows signs of anything but complete strength and courage, even though he knew his life was at its end. We spent those two months watching football games, watching Meet the Press, talking about the cottage and going through books and tools that he wanted to get rid of.
I could go on and on about various influences he had on me and my life. But as I reflect on his life and the hardships he endured, he proved to me that life is full of good and bad, but it can be what you make of it.
Hardship and adversity can break you down and ruin you or it can build you up and make you stronger. You can feel cursed or you can feel blessed. My Dad showed me that strength, courage and faith is enough to get you through most anything. Misfortune only dictates your life if you let it. He never did that. The simple blessing of his life shaped him and kept him going.
As I researched and wrote a 350-page history on the life of my grandfather, I developed a great admiration for a man who I hardly knew. He died when I was just six. In my Dad’s memoirs, he wrote about his own father “ Dad’s legacy was not in his property but in the life he lived and the faith he passed on to all three of us boys.”
That is great legacy left by my grandfather but one that my Dad also followed and left for me. My Dad was a better man for all he endured in his lifetime. As a result, I hope I am a better person, learning from him and his legacy.
Which has me thinking. I could go for a piece of pie. Happy Birthday Dad!