A Father's Day Tribute

Let me tell you a little about my dad. 

My dad was a man who liked to live large, taking every opportunity to extract whatever fun or advantage he could from every situation.  He didn’t much care whether you agreed with him or not; he was a man of deep conviction.  He and I rarely agreed on anything, from education to curfew to politics to parenting.  And although he frequently angered or frustrated me, I always felt he deserved respect for knowing his mind and for being able to argue his point of view so meticulously.

When he wasn’t pulling rank in father-daughter terms, my father was a hoot.  Being in his presence was an advanced tutorial on living large. He loved to laugh, and he especially loved being able to get the last laugh.  He didn’t much care whether he was making the joke or was the butt of the joke—as long as laughter was the outcome.  He liked to say that he was an “equal opportunity asshole;” everyone was fair game, including himself.   Laughter was his currency.  He was never a wealthy man, but he was rich with friends and love and humor.  He was not scholarly, but he spun his own brand of street-smart wisdom.  He was not born to privilege, but he was thankful every day for the people with whom he shared his life.

My father was a gifted violinist; it was his musicianship that sparked the flame in me at an early age.  Although I played many venues in my musical career, there was none as special as the living room where we played together.  Here, we met as equals, blending our sounds and our love for music on a plane that we alone inhabited.  Many people would look on, talking and clapping occasionally, but we were oblivious.  No one could speak our secret language.  Together we closed our eyes and followed the phrases, feeling each pull of the bow and musical gesture in perfect unison.

Later in my life I became an executive in a large corporation.  My father loved the art of the deal, having spent his career as an electrical-engineer-turned-sales-exec.  He loved to listen while I conducted business over the phone, taking special pleasure in seeing a bit of himself in me.  He took great pride in having taught me mental toughness.  As a child, he would admonish me for “acting like a girl” while coaching me to be more “like a man.”  Although this political incorrectness makes me bristle today, I credit him with much of my resolve to break stereotypical barriers and glass ceilings.  Until life taught me otherwise, I entered the business world with a true belief that I could do anything.

I am always honest when I talk about my dad.  Although we had a tumultuous relationship, we always dealt honestly with each other about our likes and dislikes.  He was well aware that we did not see eye-to-eye, but it didn’t really matter.  We had the ability to shout it out one moment and then break into laughter the next.  The thing about my dad is that his beliefs were his beliefs, but his love was unconditional.  I could disagree vehemently with his rationales, his points of view, and especially his methods, but in spite of what came out of his mouth, I never for a moment doubted what was in his heart. 

It has been two and a half years since I lost my father.  The evening before his final slumber, we were on the phone laughing together.  There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of him, and the way his infectious laughter could fill any room.   

Tomorrow's blog:  Life's Most  Embarrassing Moments--Part One