Old Man With Candy:
My dad was a professional artist, and a highly talented one. And being raised by artists is pretty much the same thing as being raised by wolves, which likely shows in my writing. In any case, despite being the artsy type, he was not at all flighty, but was a deep and serious thinker. Our house was filled with books on all subjects, and we kids were not restricted in any way from reading what we liked, no matter the content. I’ve noted before that he started me on my R. Crumb fanboyism when I was about 12 by plopping down a copy of Zap Comix and noting, “This is great art.” Not exactly a traditional dad in the 1960s.
He spent much time teaching me how to think rather than what to think. He encouraged me to say stupid shit which he would then casually dissect, and that was certainly a life lesson. But where he really drove things home was how he would think things through in a very logical “if-then” way, not unlike how scientists look at hypotheses and derive experiments to demonstrate (or refute) their consequences.
Here’s my favorite Dad story that illustrates the way he thought and what he imparted to me.
It was 1970 and I had just finished tenth grade. I will admit that as a student, I was not exactly a public school teacher’s dream, and I knew they badly wanted to get rid of me. And finally, with some new rules put in place as part of the spirit of Nixon’s then-new War On Drugs, they saw their chance. The principal instructed me to have my father come to the school with me the next day.
We came to the school, then sat in the principal’s office while he shuffled some papers. After a minute of this, he looked up and said to Dad, “I’m sorry to tell you that we are forced to expel your son.”
Dad asked, “For what reason?”
“We have reason to believe that your son is dealing drugs,” the principal gravely responded.
Dad looked very thoughtful for several seconds, then said, “Huh. He seems to be doing a fine job of covering up the money.”
That way of thinking has stayed with me for a lifetime. Dad died suddenly when I was in my 20s, and now, almost 40 years later, not a day goes by without me thinking about him. A lot. I’ll admit to a few tears flowing as I write this. Must be the onions SP is chopping.
Swiss Servator
I grew up in a comfortable upper middle class home – not the type my Dad had growing up. He came from if-not-quite-poverty, something close to it. I was fairly oblivious to this as a youngster. However, one day I was telling my Dad how they had started teaching us how to use .22 rifles at camp (this was the early 1970s in the Midwest). He was pleased, as he had wanted me to start learning (busy doctors don’t often find time – He had pulled himself up by his bootstraps, and was running the lab of a middle sized hospital, and also teaching medicine at the local branch of the state university). He asked if we had used short rounds or super short rounds. I asked what a super short round was – and he explained they were just strong enough that you could shoot a bird off a roof, or a beam inside a barn, and not do any real damage if you missed. I asked why you would shoot birds like that and his face hardened a bit and he simply said “to eat”. That sank in … not sport hunting, not choosing delicious game – but shooting pigeons to be able to eat some nights. I have often thought about how hard he worked (he is retired now) and how much he provided … not just material things, but an example of work and self improvement and giving opportunity to your family.
I would have loved your Dad, OMWC. Very rude of him to die before meeting me.
I was taught all manner of practical life skills by my Dad and his parents. Most people in my Dad’s family were rural Appalachian coal miners. They believed in self-sufficiency and true liberty. I still practice many activities they taught me, and retain the basic “why pay someone to do something you can learn to do for yourself” philosophy.
Dad was a teacher before he retired, but spent his summers building houses. Working as his gofer was a wonderful way to both spend time with him and get a real world education– not just in how to build a strong and safe dwelling, but also in how to treat people, how to work hard, and how to be proud of my work.
He would have pulled me aside and whispered, “Whoa, big ones!”
Rural, white, blue collar, middle class guy speaking here.
“why pay someone to do something you can learn to do for yourself” philosophy.
That’s what was taught to me by my father and my grandfather. I live by that mantra and it serves me well. I am doing my best to imprint that idea into my 5 year old son. I think I’m doing alright. He took his doorknob apart last week with his screwdrivers and locked himself in his room yesterday. I call that success.
Absolutely! You’re obviously doing a great job! 🙂
Thanks for sharing y’all. My father was not a major force in my life, divorcing my mother when I was seven and leaving her with two sons including a new born, all so he could bang a fat flusie. But I learned by his absence what a man was. The whole in our lives taught me early on what I needed to do in order to support those I loved. Consequently, his departure started my path to libertarian thinking, as I was witness to the shitty side of the world, the abuses and maladies heaped upon single parents and the negligent nature of authorities. I owe him my manhood, just not in the traditional way.
When I bought my first car, I had my heart set on a car with a manual transmission. It was harder than an automatic. My dad thought knowing how to drive a manual was a good skill to have. He learned how to drive on a manual, and the first time he drove an automatic was when he took his driving test.
My dad told me when he took the driving test, he had to quickly stop the car. I forget why. He was used to a manual, so without thinking he used his left foot to push the clutch down as he braked. The car, which remember was an automatic, did not have a clutch; however, it had a wider than normal brake pedal. My dad’s left foot came down on the brake pedal. Both my dad and the test administrator almost went through the windshield. My dad apologized, saying this was his first time driving an automatic. The test administrator nodded and told him to keep driving. My dad passed the test.
At the time I was learning to drive, neither of my parents had a manual transmission car. The driving school where I took the driving part of my driver’s ed wouldn’t take a student out in a manual unless the student already had his driver’s license. So my dad told me that if I bought a manual, he’d drive it back home, and he’d teach me how to drive a manual in the parking lot of the church down the road.
I bought a manual, with my own money. My parents refused to help me buy my first car. Dad drove it back. I drove dad’s car. We stopped in the church parking lot.
My dad showed me how to drive a manual. My first few times shifting all went smoothly. No stalls, no jerks, nothing. I thought, “This is easy.”
My dad said to me, “OK, You got the basics. I’m going to drive my car home and you’ll drive your car home.”
My dad walked over to his car, I got into my car. I tried to get it going in first and promptly stalled it. I thought, “I bet dad is laughing at me.” I looked over, and sure enough, I was right, he was laughing. He got into his car and drove home.
It took me a few tries, but I got the car going again and got home.
Well my 14 month old just started saying Dada when I walked into the room. I thought how timely. He then proceeded to call the dog Dada ?
Maybe I should not write this at this time but what the hell. I got on gibertarians today after several days pause and this fathers day thing hit me.
My father died 4 days ago and it hit me more than I thought anything would. I may not be a kid any more but it was something I was not expecting and it left I don’t know how to say a painful hole in me, which I don’t know how i’ll fix. He was 68 and the healthiest person I knew, so it was very unexpected. I had absolutely no worry about my anything happening to my parents and I expected not to have any for 15 years. Never a day sick in his life. I still don’t understand what happened. Some sort of infarction I think, but after he passe my mother did not want an autopsy.
What hurts thew most is that as a man ho was healthy all his life, he did not even hit average life expectancy. I would have though 85 the least. He did work hard all his life, long hours, and he was a smoker, although he cut down a lot. These days he was smoking 15 cigarettes or fewer a day, compared with maybe 40 in his youth. He did drink some alcohol, but was not a heavy drinker. And he did cut down as he aged.
Another thing that hurts is a feeling of unfairness. I guess. If you can talk about something like that in life. After working hard all his life he was just learning to relax. He and my mom were very happy. They had their dream house, with a great garden (some of it visible in my Easter food post) by the lake, no debt, some money set aside, and were both healthy. They should have had at least 10 good years. They deserved that. They loved each other, never argued, and could have had a good life. They had so many plan s for the future. No it is all gone. My mom is alone at 64 – which is a long time to be alone. Her mom died at 90 and I expect the same of her. But who knows? My fathers father and all his uncles hit 90. Genetic wise they were a long lived family. I don’t know what happened. They deserved those 10 years. They were good people, worked for everything they had, always got along with everyone, always helped those around them
I dunno know what will happen. But it is difficult to accept.
I am so sorry you are going through this.
I am sorry for your loss Pie. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family
Dang…sorry for that man. Sounds like a terrific guy. Just keep those memories alive.
I’ll second this. My father in law – a second father in every way – died at 67. Ridiculously young. I try every day to live up to his example.
All the best, Pie.
My mother had just convinced him to quit going to work. He was past retirement age in Romania, but he was afraid that he would have nothing to keep his mind busy. He was a damn good electronic engineer and loved his work, a lot more than I can say about me. He loved solving problems. He did mostly analog design stuff, was currently working on an improved way for I am not sure i get this right in English but cathodic protection from corrosion for oil and gas pipes. My godfather worked in the oil industry and they had a research project together.
My condolences. I lost my Dad a little less than a year ago and it is still hard. Some days you’ll be fine and some days you’ll be devastated. Take care of yourself.
I’m so sorry for your loss. No words are sufficient to frame that sort of sadness. Suffice it to say that I empathize with you and wish the pain to be short and the memories be strong and happy.
I’m sorry.
That’s really rough, Pie. My condolences. Sounds like he was a very fine man.
I’m 64 and the lesson I get from this, again, is that you never know how much time you or your loved one has left. Make the most of it.
Condolences, PITS.
Pie, I’m sorry for your loss. My dad died last year, and it was a blow, even though we knew it was coming (cancer).
Honestly, it’s going to be a lot harder than you might expect.
When my mom died about nine years ago now, I thought I would get over it fast as we really didn’t like each other and didn’t spend much time together. Still it took two years to come out of my funk. This deep grey funk would descend upon me, my fingers would go numb and I couldn’t keep my head up. Could barely talk and wouldn’t eat.
Of course I’m the sort that doesn’t let people in so no one knew what I was going through and maybe that made it harder than it had to be. So don’t be that guy. Find someone to talk to. Let yourself cry. Your dad had–has– a circle of friends, hit them up for stories of him when you’re ready. Don’t forget to eat and groom.
What really helped me was having an employer that let me work seven days a week. I did that for months. I’m not claiming it’s a universal remedy but I found something that worked for me. That and knowing I had little kids to take care of kept the dark grey funk from taking over completely. So find something that works for you.
I’m so very sorry for your devastating loss. We’ll be toasting all the lost fathers tonight.
That’s really sad, Pie. I appreciate you sharing with us and hope you find some comfort.
I’m very sorry to hear about that, Pie. My condolences to you and everyone else here who has lost their father. My dad’s been gone a little over three months now. He was my best friend and I’ve never felt so empty and alone.
My condolences on your loss. My father died about 6 years ago around this time of year. Between him and my mother, he was the healthy one, or at least appeared so. I still miss him every day.
Sorry to hear that. Saying prayers for y’all.
It’s not fair. It’s really not fair. I know your feelings and it’s very tough, almost unreal.
Very sorry to hear that. I know how you feel. My parents are both still alive but both my grandparents passed away, my grandfather only about a year ago. I was actually closer to the my grandparents on my mother’s side than my parents because they sort of adopted me and I was actually living with them more than with my parents until I was 18. I was visiting my parents last year and my grandfather lived about 150 miles from them then. I told my wife, We’re going to go down and see my grandfather while we’re out there. I didn’t do it and my cousin called me about 2 days later and gave me the bad news. That was fucking terrible, I felt awful for months. It’s very tough losing a loved one like that.
my sympathies, too. He sounds like a good man.
Deepest condolences on your tragic loss.
Condolences Pie.
I’m really sorry about your loss. My Dad passed away about six weeks ago; also waiting for this to get easier.
I am very sorry to hear about your loss.
I did not really return to the thread last night but thank you all
I’m extremely fortunate to have my dad still be alive and to now be a trusted confidant.
My dad grew up in what was probably genuine poverty. His mom was a pill-popper and his dad was a drunk, by and large. He started working at 15 or 16 and would give his parents money. He worked hard his entire life, and I never saw him touch a drop of alcohol. He was tightfisted with money for himself, but would bust his ass and save to be lavish with us boys on Christmas and Birthdays. He’d grown up without having much of anything, and he was bound and determined to see to it that his boys didn’t have to suffer through that. He was a kind man, friendly, willing to help a brother out, but he had no use for liars, thieves, or the lazy. He was never much for sports or particularly intellectual, but he enjoyed reading the occasional horror novel. And he was supportive of my brother and i trying hobbies; from football to boy scouts, from guitar to comic books, skateboarding to mountain biking. He could overindulge us, but he never wavered on disciplining us on those three things; being honest, working hard, and earning what you want. He rarely raised his voice unless we did something truly horrific. I got to see him apply his life philosophy, and rise up from being poor in my youth, to being solidly middle class by the time I went to college.
In the 1980s, the year the Transformers came out, he was working in the shipping and receiving department of a exercise equipment manufacturer. He’d work 10 hour days 3rd shift. My brother and I wanted an Optimus Prime and a Megatron and those toys were hot commodities. He spent 2-3 weeks of working all night, then driving around to every toy store hunting for them until he finally found one at a store 3 hours away to make sure we had them for Christmas.
I also recall once when I was a 12 or 13 I said something mean to him in my arrogance and youthful rebellion. The look of pain and hurt on his face, and disappointment that he was trying to hide, fucking killed me. I’d have rather have had him punch me in the mouth than see that look from him ever again. I don’t recall what I said, but I know that I probably did more to grow up and realize that I could either keep being that kind of jerk, or I could try to be a man worthy of his name and I picked the later.
I’m 42, successful, married myself now. But I’ll always look up to him and measure myself against him, not in terms of material success, but in terms of integrity.
My father left my mother 9 days after my 11th birthday. In many ways, it was the best thing I ever saw him do.
Most thoughtful adults believe that the key to making good people is to have them raised by both parents, but I gotta tell you, I’m not sure I’m convinced.
My father would regularly assault (in minor ways, mentally and physically) my older brother, and he was a vengeful, petty man. He left my mother penniless, to the point where she had to give up a part-time job (which he resented her doing) and get a full-time job rebuilding telephone switchgear. I never saw him strike my mother, but for the preceding four years, I had never hear him speak to my mother. Something had upset him, he had gone off on one of his almost-continuous grudge-silences and he simply maintained the behavior.
One Saturday, I went to see some friends. My mother went shopping, and when we came back – all his stuff had gone. Even his side of the family, who got one well with my mother, heard nothing. Until I got a letter addressed to me at school, asking if he could see me the following weekend in a coffee shop near my home. He never turned up. Nothing melodramatic had happened, he just didn’t show.
It didn’t put me in therapy. Pretty soon, life at home improved once the money worries were mostly out of the way. He reached out to me at 16, and we did meet, but it was awkward and nothing of any importance was shared. And that was it. Haven’t heard from him since. Even if he’d have made it possible to track him down, I’m not sure I would. My kids are curious, disbelieving that someone could be like that, but he was.
It was ridiculous to the point where I seriously doubted I ‘d be capable of being a good father myself, lacking a direct role model, but frankly, the experience was helpful, because I had a shortlist of what not to do. And today, of all days, my kids – who are old enough to offer constructive and insight – think I didn’t do an awful job.
So, it’s not enough to remember that of Father’s Day, that your kids appreciate you. Remember that to get those accolades is not automatic, and you earned ’em, because a lot of what makes you a good father is not luck, talent or a good model, it’s perseverance.
Most thoughtful adults believe that the key to making good people is to have them raised by both goodparents,
I think this is more what people mean.
My dad came from near-poverty and made himself into an independent businessman selling real estate and insurance on the East side of Cleveland. During the 60’s, when white flight was in full swing, he often purchased a house himself from an old Czech or Polish family who were taking Mom or Dad to Florida. Typically these houses were in horrible shape. He spent money, brought the electrical and plumbing up to code, repaired the roof etc, and then turned around and sold the house to a black family. At times, when the family didn’t qualify for FHA or GI loans, he sold the houses on ‘land contract’, i.e. took the mortgage himself. One of these families was headed by a blind man who had 7 kids. When I was about 14, he took me to visit them one evening to discuss their insurance policy. I was very surprised and impressed when the man said, “Tom, I know we owe you two years of payments; we have every intention of making good on them.” I later found out my Dad let them skate for about 3 years of payments.
Best story. When I was in Little League he managed our team. We were a juggernaut and my older brother was an excellent left-handed pitcher. One day we were playing the worst team in the league. After one inning we were winning 9-0. My Dad approached the other manager and asked if he could ‘trade pitchers’ for the balance of the game, i.e. my brother would pitch for them and their 10-yr old would pitch for us. My Dad really understood that the purpose of the game was to both have fun and challenge yourself to get better. And in my one and only at bat against my older brother, 9-yr-old me got a bunt single, earning me bragging rights for the past 56 years.
Miss you, Dad!
“Tom, I know we owe you two years of payments; we have every intention of making good on them.” I later found out my Dad let them skate for about 3 years of payments.
*tears up*
That is a good man there BigT.
My father…huh.
Deeply religious Evangelical Christian who once had me convinced that listening to Motley Crue would invite demons into my body and soul(this was the eighties and I was still under 10 years of age).
On occasion, he would forget to take his anti-psycho pills and proclaim the entire household guilty of transgressions towards the Christian faith.
A laugh riot, my father. :/
Good thing he never caught you playing D&D.
Ha!
Dangerous indeed. So much so that my long haired hippie older brother, who was an enthusiast of D&D, ended up joining the Marine Corps.
Kill! Kill! Kill!!!!!!!
That game is the devil’s own creation, corrupting innocent youth with its sick encouragement of teamwork, creative thinking, and math. Take me for example; I played D&D, and I went from a wholesome youth to a libertarian.
Corrupting the youths was always Libertarian Party member Gary Gygax’s plan.
HAIL GYGAX!
I thought his plan was to make us all look stupid.
Good grief, does that ever bring back memories. Backwards satanic lyrics!
Damn, I’m glad that my dad never got quite that crazy after going religious. All he did that really annoyed me was talk to me about Jesus all of the time. But I was an adult by then and could get away after listening to an hour of that.
My dad is alright. He worked hard and long hours and provided well for our family. He is a kind person. Went a little overboard with the born again Christianity, but that’s cool. He’s probably the funniest person I know. Smart. Good looking dude. Even at 71, he’s handsome as hell. I love him. Taught me how to be a good man, to treat women with respect. Taight me how to play guitar. He hated Black Flag. He loves REM. He’d come home fron work and we’d go down into the basement and jam. Me on drums, him on guitar. Buddy Holly and the Beach Boys, the Byrds were our jams.
He and mom are coming to Cali in a couple weeks for a visit. We’ll have good time.
My dad did the same. He’s still like that, but he’s a much gentler kinder person that he was when I was a kid. I mean he never did anything bad to me and him and mom are still together after more than 60 years. But he was a wild man to be sure. Then he got religion. I don’t throw any rocks into schoolyards, if you know what I mean.
My dad always encouraged my musical pursuits, which is another reason for me to respect his memory. He did once make fun of a band who’s singer he thought sucked. I later found out it was the Violent Femmes. While I disagree somewhat with total assessment of the band, I can’t really fault him for that.
Your dad was a wise man.
So yeah. I’m in the basement, blasting Black Flag through my PA system and playing along with my drums. I’m learning the songs, right? If I remember correctly, it was “Gimme Gimme Gimme” that sent him over the edge. From upstairs, I just hear a banshee scream “AAAAAaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh!!!!” I hear footsteps pounding through the kitchen and down the basement stairs. My old man is screaming “I can’t take it! Enough!!” He popped the Black Flag tape out of the cassette deck, put it in his pocket, and stomped back upstairs.
?
I liked Black Flag as a youngun’, too. (kind of still do) I don’t think I was so unwise as to actually let him hear me play it… (smiley face)
OT, but tell me you’ve seen Repo Man.
I watch Repo Man probably once a week.
Cool. Let’s go do some crimes.
My dad was killed a few months before my birth. So I never met him and mom never really talked about him though I know he was a heavy-drinking racist.
I’ve mostly avoided being either of those things, but I wonder what would have happened had he lived.
Sorry to hear that. My dad was pretty much the same back in my youth. Hell, almost every adult male I knew back then was the same. But dad turned out to be a pretty good guy in his older days. He’s 86 now.
Happy Father’s Day, fellow Glibs. You mean old bastards.
*growls back*
My dad wasn’t around much after my parents divorce. One story about him though is something that struck me.
When I was probably 6 or 7 I was home by myself after I walked home from school (latch key kid through and through). For some reason I thought dialing 911 would be fun. I don’t know if we just learned it in school or whatever, regardless the operator says “911, State your emergengy”. In a panic I hung up the old rotary phone. About a second later, the phone rings and you guessed it, 911 operator. I hang up again.
About 5 minutes later my dad happened to come by the house, again divorced but would sorta check up on me. 5 minutes after that, two boys in blue are banging on the door.
My dad opens it up and says “what can I do for you officers?” The explain they had a 911 call from this address and needed to check the grounds. My dad told em to pound sand and that he has a good idea what happened.
At this point I’m underneath the bed HIDING from what I knew would be an asswhooping…and an asswhooping is what I received.
Point is, his attitude toward the officers has stuck with me. Get out of here, I know what happened and I WILL deal with it.
I can’t imagine what would happen in today’s climate if this happened. I probaby would have witnessed my dad getting 20 bullets in his chest.
Ah….dads
My dad loved electronics and technology. As a kid, he had a Ham radio, and built Heathkit electronics stuff. Even as an adult, he built the main TV we used to watch from some kind of Radio Shack kit. This was fine for me, since it was 1) color and 2) much larger than most 70’s TVs, and it also had a basic remote control. He parlayed his love for electronics into a job with Unysis/Sperry (they kind of competed with IBM) fixing computers. This was back when computer “rooms” took up entire floors of high rise buildings. I remember him taking me with him on a short visit to the local telephone “Bell” company, and being amazed at the rows and rows of computers. And yeah, your phone has more power now. He once handed me a computer component about the size of an unabridged dictionary. It was a 1970’s computer “chip”.
He was also a man of great integrity and compassion. I miss him greatly.
My relationship with my dad is… complicated.
His entire goal through my childhood was to turn me into him. And, for the most part, he succeeded. He wanted me to go to law school, he succeed. He wanted me to work with him, he succeeded.
That’s mostly success from his point of view. I have a job that’s secure where I make decent, but not good, money. I think if most people looked at me from the outside they’d wonder what the hell my problem was. And honestly, they might be right. But I can’t be him. Partially because he could sell ice to an eskimo and I’m a fucking aspie.
But the issue comes with who he is. He’s been around the business long enough to know a lot of people and have a lot of contacts. Before I started law school, I had a discussion with him, where he assured me that once I finished, he’d talk to all of his contacts in the northeast corridor and help me find a job. He knew how little I wanted to live in South Florida again.
So, I get to my 3L year, I talk to him, he keeps promising to do just that once I get into my final semester and apply to the bar. I talked to our career services department who told me to basically ignore their programs because we didn’t want to duplicate anything. So I waited.
Nothing happened.
Okay, fine. I’m giving this more time. Maybe I need to get an LLM like he did. So I go to Villanova and get my masters degree in tax law. He’d continue to tell me he was going to talk to his contacts in that area.
Nothing happened.
Okay, fine. Maybe Florida works better, as much as I don’t want to go back. I’ll try Orlando-Tampa. Definitely not Miami though. He actually gets me a few interviews there, though I get the distinct impression they’re talking to me for the sake of talking to me and aren’t really interested in employing me.
After 2 years after graduating law school, my will broke. Agreed to come down to Miami (now Fort Lauderdale) to work with him. What he didn’t tell me about *that* is that the previous nepotism hire was terrible, but was the son of one of the biggest revenue partners so nobody could do anything about it. He barely did anything, but exceeded his hours requirement every year, mostly because his dad had multiple fixed price clients where he could bill 8-9 hours a day to without really breaking any rules.
But because of him, nobody there trusted me. I’ve been working for 12 years and they still don’t trust me. They’ll even tell me that all of my reviews (when I do get work from another lawyer) are great, and I’m certainly trying. They say they want to work with me, but never do. While I have no proof, my suspicion is that my father tells them off from it. Because of that I haven’t made my hours in years, and I’m still working for the same salary I was in 2008 (while my health insurance costs have quadrupled thanks to Obamacare and a kid, not to mention the cost of living since then and the kid being born in 2009).
He’s my dad, and I love him, but having to deal with him every day is one of the reasons I’m such a wreck.
But he’s a great grandfather. (not like that, the other way you can read that)
(oh, and that other nepotism hire is *still* there, is *still* making his hours on his dad’s fixed price clients, and has gotten raises every year because of how he exceeds his hours so well)
Time to move on…I should think.
I am not terribly close to my father. He is one of those traditional type of fathers that have a distant kind of love with their children. It took me well into adulthood to appreciate him for what he is. He came to this country an immigrant, an exile from his native Egypt. Jews were not welcome in Egypt under Nasser’s rule. His father took the family and left when things got unbearable. He (my father) came to this country as a teenager barely able to read or write English. He now makes a quarter million annually and runs his own business. I grew up oblivious to his hard work or his past, and lived probably a much more comfortable childhood than he had. Despite (or maybe because of) having many more opportunities and privileges than he had, as it is now I will be lucky to be half as prosperous as he is at his age.
My dad was a musician and a wild ass womanizer. Poor mom, but she stayed with the guy for more than 60 years now. He’s 86. Finally quit the music stuff and turned business man and religious. He finally found a fairly lucrative idea and retired on that. They were pretty poor when I was a kid, but they’ve been quite well off since dad sold his business and retired. He’s a good guy. Wasn’t around a lot when I was a kid, but I don’t have any bad feelings about that. Men are not made up to be the coddling parents that supposedly makes a perfect man today.
Forgot to mention that both my parents are artists in their older days. Not pros, but both are pretty good at painting, quite different styles.
My dad turns 80 in a few weeks. He earned his Ph.D in mechanical engineering and several patents, including one for foil bearings. As a kid the fact he designed the APU for 747’s and for the LM was a definite bragging rights but not the one I used. It was that he was raised in WI by immigrant parents who forced him to attend college but the hour of earning his degree he married my mom and one hour later they were moving to AZ.
He loves to work in the garage, still rides his BMW 1000 and Bultaco trail bike and I hunt with him when we can. (Hopefully this fall in WA for elk.) After I got my first deer at 14 that picture of us was in his office until he retired and still is on his desk. His grandfather died the day before the javelina hunt in 1973. He still took me hunting and we took a break during the period of the service where he told me all about how his grandfather taught him to shoot and hunt and would rather have us doing this on an AZ hillside than be standing at a WI graveside.
He raised us to be responsible and then treated us as responsible persons. My mom still can’t believe he let me and a friend at 17 take a bus to Yosemite to rock climb on our own for a month. IWe had some great climbs but more importantly learned how to manage our lives independently. But the semester in college where I spent so much time climbing I nearly failed out and had my scholarship put on probation he simply told me that I was an adult and not to expect him to pay for my irresponsibility. He then invited me outside to see his new BMW that he had purchased with my college fund. I got the point.
He was never happy with my career in the Army, but always supported me. When I deployed to Desert Shield/Desert Storm he made excuses to show up and visit my wife and young kids just to let them know they were supported. He never told me about it, he just did it. He even listened to me about voting for GayJay for president. It was his first LibParty vote.
Pie, I am sorry for your loss.
My dad and I are just sort of fine. We’re fundamentally different people, and a series of head injuries in his twenties has left him with a very short and random fuse. In my teenage years there was a lot of yelling at each other, but now we just kind of avoid pissing each other off. Hardworking farmer type, but definitely not a libertarian influence, loved the dairy quotas and cartels. Not a bad dad at all, just that’s hard to relate to.
[insert storyline here]…….and then I started stripping.
My dad is a far better person than me. I mostly blame my mom for screwing Ol Archie up. Not that I’m a bad person but I managed to screw my life up early on and had enough sense to know better. Probably would have turned out better if I got to see my dad more than every other weekend and a few weeks in the summer. Earliest childhood memory is of my mom chesting on dad and sleeping with another man. But, what can you do.
-hits pipe and ponders—
I always got along well with my dad. We have similar personalities.
random memories
My dad kept a giant humor file of news clippings and such he thought were funny. It was once of his prized possessions, along with his old All About science books and Mr Natural comics. The main one that sticks out in my memory was the stripper who filed an insurance claim for her tassles and g-strings that were lost when a strip club was flooded.
There was a huge tree in our front yard- maybe 80 ft high. It got struck by lightning and the top half fell. We cut it up and put it on the wood pile in the backyard. Time passed, so we decided it was time to get rid of it. My dad decided to douse it with gasoline and use a leaf blower to fan the flames. I swear, it looked there was a napalm strike. I expected birds to drop from the sky fully cooked. Thank god my mom wasn’t around to see it.
I went to an air show when I was 8 or 9. There was a Huey helicopter parked, and they lit kids sit in the cockpit and wear the helmet. My dad said when he saw me in there with a big smile on my face he was sure I was going to be in the military.
One time I was fighting with my brother in the back seat. I forget what he did that got me mad, but I took a loose seat belt and hit him in the forehead with the metal buckle. He screamed and bled all over the place. My dad made me clean out the blood and said that if I was going to do things like that, I should learn how to clean up the crime scene so I don’t get caught.
My dad was and is a computer programmer. We had a VIC 20 and he taught me and my brother how to some programming when we were 5 or 6. He wanted to raise smart kids and had a book called Intelligence Can Be Taught. He likes to say that the first thing any child types on a computer is “POOP”.
For a few years, he tried to make our toys for us instead of buying them from the store. They all looked like Homer Simpson’s spice rack. I laugh just thinking about them.
https://deadhomersociety.files.wordpress.com/2010/01/homericcraftsmanship.png
One time we got locked inside a local park, so my dad’s brilliant plan was to race the van down the hill in the hope of getting enough air to clear a small ditch that was the only obstacle to the main road. Fortunately, a park ranger stopped him before he tried that. He also once blew the head gasket on the van while revving the engine to intimidate some Civil War re-enactors that were blocking a road.
My brother had a toy airplane that broke, so he gave it to my dad for fixing. Time passed. Finally, my dad fixed it and proudly showed it to my brother during one of his visits home from college. I think he was mad at him for liking the store-bought toy better than the ones he made.
One time, our Boy Scout troop was going to sleep under the stars. The weather took a turn for the worse, so we all started making improvised shelters with tarps and rope. Except for my dad and my brother. My brother said it was stupid to camp in the rain without a tent and demanded to be taken home. My dad refused. When the rain started, they put a tarp on the ground and pulled it over themselves. It was a hell of a thunderstorm. I rode out the storm in my little shelter. When the morning came, my dad and brother were nowhere to be found. I found out later they got completely drenched and covered in worms and left after getting up to pee and deciding not to sleep in a puddle.
I’m gonna call him now.
Another random memory: for some reason, my dad refused to by a blue container for kerosene. He bought a red one and taped in a tiny label with “gasoline” written on it. It was hard to see. This lead to several incidents of me and him putting kerosene in things that are not meant for kerosene, such as a lawnmower and my brother’s car.
I managed to get the mower started, but it stalled a bunch of times. I didn’t realize what happened until I told my dad about it. Oh well. He was happy I mowed the lawn.
OT: Is there anything in sports more annoying than golf fans yelling “GET IN THE HOLE!” after every putt or approach shot? Fuck those idiots.
Yeah, more annoying is hearing that at a wedding!
Well, I’ve been on vacation with my dad and the rest of the family all week. Stopped at a gas station in Alabama now so my son could use the bathroom. We’ve always got along pretty well. My dad turned me on to sports and outdoors, and not taking shit from anyone. I can’t really say he taught me though. Because the one thing my dad truly lacks is the patience to teach others.
My dad looks like Phil Donohue
Semi OT: the current crop of retard lefties has made me respect Donahue much more than I ever thought I could. Going back when he would interview philosophical opponents, he would often listen to their arguments, and try to engage them. I watched parts of his interviews with Milton Friedman, Ayn Rand, and (IIRC) Bill Buckley. He’d actually wait for them to finish their answers and then respond. It’s true he had a sounding room where he wouldn’t hear criticism, but he actually let his opponents speak. (Looking at you, Kennedy, looking at you)
Hello! Are you there, caller?
You’re right about how he ran his show. These shows where they just shout at each other are pointless.
My dad also fucking hated Donohue.
When we lived in Manhattan, he’d get yelled at by people driving by “FUCK YOU PHIL”. He would wave.
To be honest, he looks more like John McLaughlin (this guy, not the jazz guitarist) now. He’s @#*(& old.
So he knows no Mahavishnu Orchestra songs? Disappoint.
+7 Dance of Maya
My old man: Like many others said a complicated relationship.
He grew up in a poor, poor family of eight. Water came from a pump, clothes were from Salvation Army, and his first car was a 20yo Model A. My grandfather was an interesting chap – amateur geologist and collector of books – but that’s another story. Anyway, my father started work at age 11, busy selling ice cream from a bicycle/cart. He was in choir too – and still sings 60+ years later. He went to college for one year, where he met my mother. Pregnancy/Marriage ensued – so my dad dropped out of school to start a career as a shoe salesman.
A few years later and he’s working – as a shoe department manager – at a local chain store. Soon he’s managing the whole store… and later on he was a “Hardline Specialist” – which consisted of visiting the stores throughout Michigan and making sure everything was up to snuff. He started making good money doing this. He went from lower class to upper middle class in the span of few years. But there was a price to pay for this new-found income. He worked 60-70 hours a week, with only Sundays off. That meant he was never around when I was growing up. He was more of a stranger, one I didn’t feel particularly close to. And his management “style” pretty much translated to the type of father he was – bossy and he didn’t like to argue. Luckily my older brother was there to fill that role.
But I was still spoiled by my old man – he went out of his way to get me Playmobil toys, an Atari 2600, and some other really cool toys – often stuff that wasn’t even on the market yet. Maybe he was feeling guilty.
As I got older, I realized that my dad was also an alcoholic. The stress of his job was getting to him – so he self-medicated through vodka. By the time I was a teenager, he and I would fight like cats and dogs; with me losing respect for him. And his drunkenness didn’t help either, as he started to get more forgetful, and even dangerous when driving. Not many good memories there.
And then one day – when I was in my twenties – my dad just went cold turkey with drinking. He had retired from his job and moved up to our second home, a cottage on Lake Michigan. He finally mellowed out, “found himself”, and started to become a father again. He’s been a rock ever since – providing me with support and help as needed. He and I are like best friends now – and I often find myself talking to him about a lot of things that I never could before. So yes, there are happy endings in life.
He’s a self-made man – overcame his poverty and his addictions. That’s something I can respect.
Random dad memory.
I’m about 8 years old. My dad is building a pool in the backyard. There are piles of dirt with a few twigs sticking out of them. I trip and fall onto a pile of dirt where a twig pierces the eyelid of my left eye. My dad hears me scream, runs over to see what’s happening. I’m cupping my eye and screaming in pain. He pulls back my hand and sees nothing but blood.
“I’m going to the hopital!” he shouts at my mom with no further explanation. And he tosses me into my mom’s 73 Malibu. And – according to him – buries the speedometer getting to the hospital ten miles away.
By lucky fortune, the stick went over my eye with no damage. I needed to get surgery to repair the eyelid. I barely remember any of this, but can still see the surgeons bending over me before I was knocked out. I also got to wear an eyepatch for a few weeks – just like a pirate!
oh – and in the 70s, my dad look liked Keith Carridine
My dad disowned me a few years ago (and my mom could only fo along with that). He has some good qualities, but he let his biggest flaws: ego, pride and believing he is never wrong drive a wedge between us add in some not thinking before speaking and I have trouble seeing us ever coming to speaking terms.
My in laws have tried to step into the void that my parents left, and they’ve done a rather good job if it.
I’m at my in-laws as I type this. Love my FIL.
My birthday is next week. My in laws got me 2 pounds of chicharron for a birthday present. It’s a happy Fathers Day!
They give me Receses and beer when they see me.
Sorry.
Thanks. The first year was difficult. It was confusing and always on my mind.
That’s rough. Maybe one day he’ll come around. You never know.
Reading through all these comments is … not easy. My Dad passed away about six weeks ago (hence why I haven’t been reading/commenting much), and I’m still very much coming to grips with it. In a lot of ways I grew up to be a very different person from hi. – we had very different politics, he was very devoutly religious, and we had very different views on the role of work in life – but he was a very kind, very peaceful, and very intelligent man, and a major source of strength and stability for my mother (who is just lost without him). He had a deeply unhappy childhood – an angry, alcoholic father, a mother who died very young – and probably the finest compliment I can give him is that he grew up to be a far better man than his father was, and left nothing but good will and good memories behind.
* him
My grandfather- “It dont mean shit who your father was. The only thing that counts is what you do.”
I am sorry that you lost your father. I sincerely am.
Go and be the man he wanted you to be. That’s how you honor him.
Sorry for your loss. I can relate. My politics are very different from my parents for the same reasons. They are very religious as well. We are civil about it all these days though.
Sorry.
Sorry for your loss, GSL. Death is the enemy, no doubt in my mind.
Sorry for your loss
missed most of the day
hate that i missed SP food and now this.
how many “my grandfather” stories have i told over the years?
dammit
I had lunch with my Dad today, It was good. Grilled rib eye, salad, beans, fries, and finished with some watermelon as we watched Team USA lose another race to the damn Kiwis. My parents eat far healthier than I do. I have not a doubt they will outlive me. My Dad was raised in poverty, was successful and smart and semi-retired before he was fifty. He has always given more to others than he asked of anybody.
Sounds great. Tried calling dad a while ago before wifey whooped on me for putting if off, and they didn’t answer. Trying again soon. Haven’t seen mom and dad since last year. We’re planning on going out again Thanksgiving, that’s becoming a tradition. Dad is 86 and mum is 80. Nice that they love my wife and she loves them too. I really feel nice about that, since I never had it with my awful ex.
My father died three and a half years ago. Sorry for your loss, Pie. I can’t claim that it gets better.
Sorry for your loss also, TR.
Well, I’m having a nice father’s day. Get off my lawn! Losing track of the beer I have drank so far. Wife made something with chicken that was amazing and I made salad and boiled some white corn that I just bought.
I tried reading through this thread. I cant. It’s just too tough.
I still have my father but I have lost so many. Two fathers in law, two grandfathers and one Ggrandfather. All of them were men I can only aspire to be. What I’d do to have them back.
I will be back tomorrow.
I hear that. I’ll check this out on another day.
My father has a bizarre sense of humor, which is probably why I fit in halfway well here. Many years ago he gave all of us (and I still have mine in my wallet) a small laminated card with a large “6th” on it, and the following:
Dad’s politics wouldn’t fit in here, however; he like Cops. We went out to dinner today, which wasn’t great since it was so crowded. I would rather have bought some steaks and let him do them the way he likes them on the grill, but this was partly for my birthday earlier in the week as much as for Father’s Day.
It wasn’t always easy growing up with him, in part because his father was a stereotypically hard German immigrant and in part because of the difficult reationship we all had with Mom, but I get along with him reasonably well now, and he’s doing great for 79; he just went down to Texas for a week to visit my sister and he’s hoping to go out to Minnesota next spring to visit my other sister.
Happy belated birthday. My birthday was this week too.
They say one day you look in the mirror and find your dad looking back at you. Which is fine with me, because my dad is a studly dad.
What’s also awesome is how much I find myself acting like him. Every time I drive by a pallet that someone is throwing away, I stop and get it. My dad always wanted more pallets to stack shit on, so clearly I need pallets too. Similarly, every time I drive by a downed tree on the side of the road, I start making mental plans to come by and saw it up for firewood, because that’s what my dad always did, so that’s what you do. Something’s fucked up on one of the cars? Fuck, I guess I’m going to waste a Saturday fixing it, because I’ll be damned if I pay someone to fix my shit, cause that ain’t how my daddy done did raised me. And so on.
I respect my dad a lot. He was the middle son of a DuPont chemical engineer, but for whatever reason decided to go out west without taking (or being offered) help from my grandfather, to make his own way. We lived in a series of shitty apartments, and then upgraded to trailer parks when I was a kid. Eventually my dad got a job in the mail room at a major law firm and eventually worked his way up to a paralegal position. I remember him trying to build a prototype stator-rotor with stationary magnets, balsa wood, and ball bearings one time when I was 10. He never fucked around, and always came home every day.
My parents were divorced when i was 13, I moved with my mother out east, and my dad tried his best for a few months to find a paralegal job out here, but ultimately failed and had to return to live with my grandfather in the mid-Adlantic when his savings dwindled. He worked selling mattresses, pizza delivery, surveyor assistant, all kinds of shit, before he got another paralegal job. He got interested in mutual funds and stocks shortly afterward and has since built a nice retirement portfolio from his background investing activities.
Recently he partnered 50/50% with me on a condo to house his ex-wife and my stepdad after they lost all their assets. I takes a lot of heart for someone to help bail out their ex.
I will be sad when he is gone.
My dad is a great goddamned man. He was born as poor as a white person could be in America in 1935, which was pretty fucking poor. His parents were sharecroppers in West Texas. I was raised middle class because he busted his ass to get there. My older sisters all grew up much poorer than I did, while he worked full time and went to night school, finally getting his degree at age 40, right when I was born (I was the youngest and only boy). When i was 8 years old, we moved from California back to his home state of Texas. A month after we got there, I came home from school and he sat me and two of my sisters (the older ones were out of the house already) down and calmly told us that our mom had decided to leave us and move back to California. My other two sisters moved out soon after and from then on it was just me and dad against the world. We lived and ate like bachelors and it was the greatest childhood a kid who was abandoned by one parent could ever have. He’s 81, still handsome and healthy as fuck and I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s gone. Reading the stories about you guys losing your dads is breaking my heart. My father-in-law was right up there with my dad in the greatness category and he missed meeting our oldest by one year.
Awesome story time: my dad’s dad was right up there too. When I was 13, he took me to his favorite coffee shop in Phoenix. On the way out, he threw me his keys and said, “You’re driving home.” It was about a half mile back to his house and we spent about half the drive with two tires up on the sidewalk. He was just laughing and dragging on his cigarette the whole time. We made it back in one piece and I loved every second of it.
Hope that was coherent, It’s Father’s Day and I’ve been drinking. 🙂