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| design: skz photo: maz |
We didn't talk as much as we should have, fathers and sons are known for that, but because he served as a spy and such, we talked even less (except about sports). "My dad works on the base," was our family's given response. So I didn't grow up yearning to do what my dad did, because I didn't know what that was. I'm not complaining, but it certainly was a factor that inhibited a closeness to my dad during my youngest years.
The older I have grown the more grateful I am each day to have had a dad — he was and still is — my hero. I learned more things about plumbing and mechanics and baseball and gardening and roofing and geopolitics than many a dude.
For this I acquired my sense of right and wrong, or fairness, of hard work, of honor and patriotism.
I could not have 'done it' without him; that is, I could not have survived the travails and setbacks without him.
From my mother, she instilled me with the realities of hope and faith: two crucial rails to guide me when all seemed hopeless during my darker days.
Now they are both gone, buried together in Arlington National Cemetery.
Now I have no living heroes but realize, with a 4-year-old daughter, that I carry that responsibility of 'hero,' that I have to guide her; to allow her to make her own mistakes; to allow her to try new things; to (safely) test limits — they will become the basis of her understanding. (I wish the hell she would eat more, but I guess she takes after her dad.)
The biggest mistake I ever made was not listening to my father; was not understanding when my mother told me to "slow down and smell the roses."
My only hope is to establish that deep connection where my little one can tell me what her dreams are, what her fears are, what holds her back, what keeps her from reaching as high as she can. That work is up to me.
I am so fortunate to be a dad.
