Sunday Search: Being True To Father’s Day

This is a long overdue post that I have kept putting off when the thought of writing it has entered my mind over the years. As the most recent urge to record my thoughts coincided with Father’s Day it really was no longer an option to write about my father at greater length. While I have briefly mentioned my father in previous posts, I have consistently left out many of the details… pretty much all of the details in fact. While by no means comprehensive and certainly a work in progress, I dedicate this post to my father.

Growing up in a rather modest row home on Iona Avenue in Narberth, Pennsylvania my father was one who, despite his academic abilities, focused largely on sports during his formative years. In fact, I have been told stories on a few occasions that there were even scouts in the stands when my father was a catcher on the varsity baseball team for Lower Merion High School. And not all of those scouts were focusing on other players on the team or opposing hitters in the other dugout like Reggie Jackson. Because major league teams don’t keep all of their scouting records, this is a story that has no substantiation but, given the honest passion with which they were told and the talent that I saw on display decades later, there has to at least be a little truth in those tales.

What I do know for certain is that following his high school graduation my father knew with near absolute certainty that he was going to be drafted. Not surprisingly, he took his fate into his own hands and figured out a way to go into the military as an officer without the luxury of a college degree. This how my father ended up serving as a warrant officer and helicopter pilot during the Vietnam War. While he flew in excess of, conservatively, 50 combat missions and nearly paid the ultimate sacrifice during the Tet offensive on 30 January 1968 at 1830 hours when he was struck by one of the seven 30 caliber rounds that punctured his aircraft, he has yet to receive the recognition for his service with the 155^th Assault Helicopter Company (Stagecoach) out of Ban Me Thuot. This is an oversight that I am trying to rectify… I actually found out that this is an issue common with the company in which he served.

Following his Army service, my father returned home and, with his newly found focus, truncated the time it took to receive his degree from St. Joseph’s University (then St. Joseph’s College). With funds remaining in his GI Bill, he immediately pursued and later received his MBA from the same institution. He considered law school but eventually decided to continue his career in finance. Mind you he was also maintaining full time employment and volunteering with the Narberth Ambulance  Corps. Also during this period in his life, he was introduced to my mother (thanks to her brother), a relationship that has lasted for over 40 years.

With his education complete and a young family at home, my father continued thrive in the business world. While there have been certain unpleasant monikers and unpleasant terms used to describe my father during this time, in the end, he was good at his job, didn’t accept failure, hated braggers and name droppers, and expected people to work just as hard as he did. Even years later, I can recall brief moments of conversations echoing from his office. I may not have completely understood them at the time and even now I can’t recall exactly what was said but, as I have gotten older, I have come to understand those moments to be glimpses into his aforementioned work ethic.

I have also come to realize that my older siblings may have had a different experience growing up but I remember my father trying to find the time to help me when he could, attend practices and games, and answer questions that broke through my stubbornness while completing homework assignments. I also recall the moments playing miniature golf on the board walk in Ocean City, my poor attempts to play real golf on various occasions, going to Phillies games at the Vet, and simply joining him during weekly short car rides into the city or along the main line with the oldies station or KYW News Radio (1060) playing in the background.

To this day I still look up to my father and there are new memories made every day. I have come to better appreciate everything that he has done for me and the lessons that he has taught me over the years… some I took to quickly while others it took years before I finally got it. While our conversations have changed over the years, I enjoy the times that he is able to share his experiences and knowledge about subjects with me as well as those rare moments when I am able to tell him about something new or a recent family discovery that I have made.

However, the greatest moment are when I am able to see him with his grandson with whom he shares his name. And the times when we can all experience something new as a family are the memories that will last not just my lifetime but my son’s lifetime as well. There is no greater feeling than when I remind my son that this is your granddad, this is daddy’s daddy. Happy Father’s Day Dad!

Son Of A… Beach

Kiss my seagull arse!

Yes, the title of this post has become quite the cliché especially in recent years. However, it seemed to be the most appropriate collection of words to convey some of the experiences from this past weekend at the shore. While I grew up going down to the New Jersey beaches, as I have gotten older they have become less and less appealing. Some people find the sand and salt air in the southern half of this communist state enjoyable and even relaxing but my experience is definitely at the opposite end of the spectrum. Obviously, heading east from my office is not normally a direction I would chose to travel but my wife and I received a generous offer to spend some time near the beach so off I went.

After a long work week I got in the car and headed over the iron river and into the communist state. Almost as soon as I crossed the halfway point over the bridge and into the dark side, the traffic came to a halt. This seems to be a regular occurrence during my rare travels into the restrictive boarders of New Jersey and would prove to be a pattern throughout our brief time east of civilization. Adding to our relaxing travels was the use of the New Jersey turn signal. As many of you know, this can come in two forms either an imaginary notification to drivers behind them or a single blink halfway through the turn. Either way, it is a marvelous way to drive. As the smell of seagull arse grew stronger, I knew that I was getting close to ending the three hour trek down to the beach.

Finally, people started leaving for the day!

With a night of sleep behind us and the morning coming to an end, we walked out to the car and back on the road to visit the places we frequented during our childhoods. While there were a few similarities to the memories that we continue to carry with us, there are also tremendous differences that we immediately noticed. In addition to the obvious overgrowth near my wife’s childhood vacation spot in Cape May, one of the houses I remember fondly in Ocean City was completely gone. It may not be practical but I guess that is one way to get rid of the streaks left by a dog dragging his butt across the carpet.

However, the one thing that each of those towns had in common was the crowds that filled the streets and sidewalks. Even during the peak times of summer, I don’t remember that many people flooding the shore points years ago. And while these were never cheap places to begin with, the few signs that we did see included a noticeable increase from those days past. I know it has been ten or twenty years since I spent any substantial amount of time there but those prices were well beyond normal inflation over time.

However, there are some things that stay the same. Most notably is the inconsiderate atmosphere that still proves pervasive during tourist season. There are too many examples to cite here but I am sure that many of you know what I am talking about… especially those who have spent time at the Jersey shore. Much of this stems from congestion and, given the increased number of people flooding the beaches, it is only going to get worse. Combine that with the entitlement that fills the air and this destinations along the coast are far from relaxing. This is probably why we were more wiped out after a few days at the shore than we were after 10 days and 2500 miles traveling throughout Virginia. I think we will continue sticking with the mountains.

That is so flat it's disturbing!

From Home To House

Today I couldn’t help but think about my grandmom’s old house in Ocean City, New Jersey. I remember visiting her multiple times every summer and, on occasion, staying in the extra bedroom. When time came to sell the house, I remember not wanting to even drive by there anymore. It wasn’t the same without her there. It was nothing more than a simple structure. The memories are what made a special place.

While today was a completely different situation altogether, I couldn’t keep that memory from coming to the surface. I also couldn’t help but think about the many times my wife and I would drive up the hill to her mother’s house and begin walking down the path waiting for the dogs to start barking. It is interesting the memories that are the most vivid. Of course there are others but some memories need to be kept inside for a while before sharing them as stories.  

This was just my thought process. Throughout my work day I kept thinking about my wife and all that she has had to deal with over these last several months. I can’t imagine what was going through my wife’s mind today. It is one of those times when saying “I know how it feels” or “I know what you are going through” would be wildly inappropriate. I have no idea what this has been like and I have no inkling of what memories have been brought to the surface today.

The only think that I know is that a place that was once part of our normal weekly routine has become a memory. What made that place special lives on in our minds but, for me, the place itself is now just a house. Maybe this seems cold to some but it is how I deal with it. It is a process that works for me regardless of how imperfect it may be. It is also one that I can’t expect will work for others. This is why I will not drive by the house just for the heck of it.

With that said, I look at that house in my mind and wish that our son was able to experience the same happiness that once filled the vast space within those walls. However, those memories will certainly live on in the stories that we will be telling our son throughout his life. But, for now, those memories will remain in my mind as we continue through this whole process. Besides, I’m not the right person to be telling him those stories anyway.