Remembering My Father

Dad

My father wasn't an easy man to like when we were growing up. He worked three different jobs when we were kids to keep us fed and clothed and was often tired and cranky as a result. In addition to his responsibilities as husband and father to three children, he was a machinist, tool and die maker, truck driver, oft time mechanic to our cars that needed repair and everything in the house that was broken or needed upkeep.

He wasn't flashy. His father died of a ruptured spleen before he entered elementary school and his widowed mother couldn't provide for three children, so she sent my father and his older brother to Gerald College in Philadelphia. Gerald College was a school founded by Stephen Girard, a French immigrant and merchant. Girard founded Girard College as a school for "poor white male orphans", with an emphasis on providing an education for children that would not otherwise be able to be educated. Eventually, the school evolved to include both male and female students of diverse races, cultures and ethnicities.

After graduating, Dad worked for Schmidt's Brewing company in Norristown, PA. At the start of WWII, he lied about his age so that he could join the Navy. After boot camp, he was shipped to Okinawa where he served as a CB (Construction Battalion), building airfields for the planes that would eventually bring in the U.S. Marines. He spoke little of his time there, but we knew he encountered Japanese enemy troops as the first military to come to the island. We asked him if he "ever killed anybody" and he would just say, he did his job and was happy to come home.

I regret to say I didn't really know or understand my father until my mother passed in 2012. Mom and Dad were inseparable and I was busy with my own life, family and work. After her passing, my father continued to live in the house where we were raised until he fell off a ladder cutting branches and broke his hip. Shortly thereafter, we moved him closer to us into an apartment, which was close to my work. Not long after getting settled, he and I fell into a pattern of lunches during the work week. He would come to my work, and we'd go someplace for lunch whenever possible. He was a voracious reader and would bring me magazines or printed articles from the internet, all highlighted with notes in the margins for me to read. We would discuss politics, news, technology, the kids, anything and EVERYTHING.

The man that I thought was so unapproachable and distant growing up turned out to be both SENSITIVE and CARING. The man I thought was bullheaded, a little racist and possibly homophobic was in reality NONE of those things. He had tolerance and an intelligence that I never suspected. He took people at face value, believed in everything in moderation and didn't talk badly about anyone.

He taught me a lot of life lessons:

• Don't live beyond your means

• Don't compare yourself to others

• Don't worry about the future or your past - there's little you can do about either

• See everything as a learning experience - even the bad stuff that happens - know better for next time

• Hate NO ONE - He said hate manifests itself like a cancer - you're the one that suffers more than anyone you don't like or agree with

• Everything in moderation - drinking, speeding, talking...

• Be a lifelong learner - never stop reading and educating yourself, no matter the subject

• Surround yourself with people who can teach you or help you succeed. While it's all well and good to have pals and friends like you, it's even more beneficial to hang with people outside your comfort zone and learn from them

• Don't be afraid to show your weaknesses or acknowledge that you need help. EGOs have destroyed more individuals than people realize.

My father showed us what discipline looked like. He lived his life by some compass that only he understood. He tried never to compromise his principles or let those around him down.

He loved us dearly and we miss him.