Remembering Father
If you're reading this article on its release date (August 2), then I have just turned forty years old. I celebrate (if you can call it that!) both my having survived four extremely difficult decades, although flecked with a good deal of happiness of my own making.
I also reflect on the fact that just a few weeks ago, was the anniversary of the deaths of my parents, although more than three decades apart. They both died on the same secular day thirty three years apart.
In many ways, I can take myself back instantly to my childhood, having grown up with my younger sister and my father. My mother died when I was only six, and my sister just four. (See my first article-- "Mother Load"-- for the story of her death and my learning of it).
My sister and I are able to recall, easily, so much about being raised by our dad. This article is dedicated to the man who raised us, in the best fashion that he could, through many turbulent years.
My father (whom my sister and I called by his first name, "Dick") was a complicated man, full of fast-held opinions, always ready for a good debate. And soo-oo tenacious. These qualities (or demerits, depending upon the situation in which they expressed themselves!) were passed on to me.
My sister is one who backs away from controversy. Head down, subdued and, only if strongly stirred by the topic, suddenly quite assertive: a text book passive-aggressive.
I, on the otherhand, taking my cue from a father who was bull-headed, inquisitive, and intellectual, headed straight into the eye of any storm. Taking all comers. He is probably the reason I became a lawyer: I was born with a little pair of boxing gloves!
My father died in July 1999 and, since my younger sister and I grew to adulthood without a mother, we have stories only of our father, our adventures with him, and his influence upon us.
At the memorial service and the scattering of my father's ashes in Washington, D.C. last July, I read a remembrance that I wrote about my dad, to whom I was quite close. The piece I wrote was called "Reminiscences."
I will share some of it, as I am proud to say that as difficulat as it was to have lost my mother while I was so young, my father has taught me much. I often think of him, very nearly on a daily basis, and keep a small photo of him on the chest near my bed.
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