Opinions Matter: May 2015

Just the other day I took part in a somber and enlightening experience. My wife's paternal grandfather passed away. It was interesting to witness the different range of emotions. Most people were quieter than they usually were, others were withdrawn and some full of tears. There were a few who were pleased to see Jim/Grandpa Mac be in a better place.

How often do we have an opportunity to tell people how we really feel about them? I watched my father-in-law and his brother talk about their father. With all that they went through, because they grew up in the same house during different eras, they had a much different view of their father from one another. Actually, I know when I heard about the special relationship Jim and Jimmy (son and father) had with each other it made me think the relationship that I have with my own father.

The good thing was thinking of my father brought a smile to my face along with uplifting kick start to my mood. As I looked in front of me I saw my parents who'd gone to the funeral although they had only met Jim less than a handful of times. It got me thinking, what did the brothers say to their father before he passed away? Did they ever get a chance to say everything they wanted? Did their dad know and acknowledge what their feelings were? Would I have the opportunity to tell my father how I felt about him? Had I ever told my dad all the things I appreciated about him?

Now some of those questions aren't ever going to be answered but I have realized that even if the brothers never got a chance to say all they wanted to to their father, they haven't truly missed out on the opportunity yet. Just because Jim is gone, he isn't forgotten. I don't remember where I heard this, but I do think it is very fitting. You live on forever through the impact you've left on others.

The brothers who spoke during the funeral service have passed on what they could to their own children about their father. In fact, they passed on a ton of stuff to me about Jim, too. But I couldn't help but think, what did my father pass on to me?

Longwindedness.

As a teacher, I know that longwindedness ain't a word, yet I find myself always telling some long winded story to my students. It usually ends up with me learning something the hard way. All I can think about it when I tell the story is how my father helped me, punished me or supported me through my ordeal. It goes without saying, I feel like I've never had a chance to accurately tell him about the impact he's made on me that I relate to countless others.

I know how and why these parables come to be. It is because I see my father everywhere. In the Jaguar driving down the street I can see my father saying, "Now that is my dream car," in his Jamaican accent. Boy, do I wish I was there the day he got his first Jag. I can see him saying, "If my grandfather where here to see what I've become today, he'd be proud."

I hear him, too."If I had known how much this Jaguar would have costed, I would have gotten the X-J8." That's what he told me when I asked him if he was going to buy or return the Jag because the lease was almost up. I've had to explain to my students that I grew up in a house where your best wasn't good enough yesterday and expected tomorrow, but in the moment it falls short of the mark.

I feel the presence of my father when I pick up my son and daughter and hold them tight when they aren't feeling well. Being in a house with my dad and having a sniff, cough, runny nose, itchy eyes and any symptom of ailing health could become a berating death sentence where you felt it was your own fault for getting sick (Did you see how long winded that sentence was?). "Put something on your feet or you'll catch a cold." "Take something for your cough." "Blow your nose." "Did you take something yet?"

Looking back, I think I purposely didn't take anything because I knew I could always count on my dad when the chips fell. In the middle of the night, regardless if my father had to wake up before the birds to get to work on time, my father was there. He never gave me the Monday Morning Quarterback comments of, "I told you so," or "You should have dried your hair before you went outside without a hat on to shovel the snow from the neighbors yard." Instead, he was patient, kind and a stable rock one could only hope was their father. So he saved those comments for the next time I was showing sign of being sick because he was the elephant who never forgot anything that happened under his watch.

When my kids aren't feeling up to par, I can only hope to emulate what my father was to me. I hope my kids will know that I love them and I'd do anything to help them get better. But my true hope is that they feel, see and hear their grandfather the way I do. It'll be impossible for me to know if they will or not. In fact, it would be unreasonable for me to expect them to have the same memories that I had. After all, there won't be too many instances where grandpa will be able to nurse them back to health like he did for me, show up to games in the midst of a snow storm or clap the loudest at a band performance (even when I didn't practice as much as he told me I should have). But what will continue to live is my father's impact.

I know that this is more of a long winded rambling more than it is one cohesive piece with a message in mind. It sounds a lot like my father. And you know what, that is something that I hope you take with you.