Sunday Story...My Father

Sunday Story…My Father

This is an ode to my Father, who reads these stories each Sunday. My mother prints them out (using larger typeface, I suspect) and he reads them at his leisure. He has health and physical challenges that break my heart as he lives through the twilight of his life. As I look at his life through the lens of my own I want to honor him and let him know, just a little bit, the impact his life has had on mine. So Dad, this one’s for you.

My father was first and foremost a teacher. He taught school for most of the years that I was growing up. But mostly he taught me and my brothers what it means to be a man and how to walk in the world.

I learned many important lessons…how to pluck and dress a bird after you have killed it, and how to gut a fish. Checking the oil and fluids in the car every time you fill it up with gas and how to drive a nail. Mowing the lawn and cleaning the pool, reading, writing and arithmetic. But these lessons could have been gotten almost anywhere.

No, the education my father really taught me was much more important than those day to day things. Little things like empathy and compassion. The power of a promise and keeping your word. Knowing the difference between commitment and involvement. Holding your center and staying the course. Doing well by doing good and taking care of the least among us.

When I was very young, maybe 5 or 6, my father used to fish for catfish with a man who, I believe, was the janitor at one of the schools he worked at. Now remember this was the early 60’s and this man was black. And when I asked my father why he went fishing with that “nigger” the look of sadness that came upon him was palpable. He asked why I would use that word and where I had heard it. In that day and age that word was common in the school yards and many other places. I had no good answer, not knowing the various meanings and import of that particular word. He gently explained to me that this man was a good fisherman and a good man and the color of his skin had no bearing upon his abilities, or his character. He considered this man his friend and as such was my friend as well. This man was a man who deserved respect and honor. He raised his family and worked hard and was honest and loved. He was the same as I was, the same as my father. Thanks Dad.

Apparently I didn’t quite get it because several years later my father was teaching special ed in a little town in central Washington. No in those days special ed was much different than today. Most of these children had noticeable and severe challenges, ranging from Down’s syndrome to developmentally disabled as well as physically disabled. And I asked why he was teaching those “retards”. This time the anger that arose was truly frightening. To this day I consider myself lucky to have gotten the answer instead of a smack upside the head (which if I got I have forgotten). I still remember her answer…”those children deserve our love and care. They didn’t ask to be this way and there is very little reason you or I aren’t the same way. They are some of the most precious souls on the planet and they teach me something every day. Maybe you should spend some time with them and find out who they really are.” Today every time I hear the word retard I visibly cringe and correct the speaker…and it seems that it is a common insult on today’s playgrounds. I tell this story every time I hear it. And I have learned more about love and happiness from the time I have spent with those wonderful people than anywhere else. I highly recommend it as a lesson in humility and unconditional love. Thanks Dad

There were the coaching moments and the ball games and many many more. There was the lesson in allowing me to go my own way and ignore his very good advice…several times. And when I parented my own children I would often ask myself what would my dad would do or say.

When my brother died some time ago I learned one of the most important things…to allow yourself to be moved, to feel. My brother, Jay, was a hellion. Yet in his 30’s he had settled down into family life like many of us. His passing was sudden and accidental in many ways. When I hugged my father after the service he broke down and cried. In that moment I learned that a real man can feel and show emotion and still walk as a man. There was no weakness in loss and no escape from the depth of sadness necessary. It was, in fact, the best example of manhood in the world…Strength fashioned from core values of love and respect and honor and compassion and love. We cried together and in that moment I understood once and for all what this thing of being a man was all about. Thanks Dad.

I struggle every day to live into my Father’s legacy. He wasn’t perfect but he left me with the pillars of who I am today. I often am asked why I do the things I do…the community garden, the commitment to change and transformation, the desire to help those who struggle, the need to constantly be looking to evolve and grow. The answer is simple…My Father expects it of me.

Namaste
John
“Teaching Focus, Inspiring Transformation”
www.martialartsnevada.com

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