On the way to work this morning I was listening to my usual radio station. Typically, the two disc jockeys joke around and give the audience a few chuckles. It is a great way to drive to work for me, because it sets the tone for the day.
This morning one of the guys asked the other one if he felt as though he was as good a man as his father was. Immediately the other jock said that he wasn't 1/10th the man his dad was. The first jock replied that he too felt that he did not measure up to his dad. He then went on to tell how the day before as he was driving home in the rain, he passed a woman who was walking. His first instinct was to stop and ask her if she would like a ride, but quickly resisted because he did not want to be accused of any wrongdoing. As he drove down the road away from the woman, he thought about how sad it is that in today's world we cannot do a simple kindness for a stranger without fear of retribution. All it would take would be for the woman to accuse him of trying to do something nefarious, and he would be questioned by the police. Further, as a semi-public personality, just the accusation could have severe ramifications for him, his job, and his family.
He then thought about his father, and how twenty or thirty years ago his father would not have hesitated at all to offer a stranger a ride. He then proceeded to ask himself if he was as good a man as his dad.
I enjoyed this story, and the self opinion of the second disc jockey as well because I can very much relate to the question, and the opinion of myself. Just a couple of weeks ago, we had a small gathering of friends at my house, and for some reason my brother and I started telling funny stories about our father. We went on for over an hour, and each story was funnier than the last. Our friends who knew my Dad, Frank, related to the stories, and friends that did not have the pleasure of ever meeting him were laughing just as hard. One such friend told me days later that is face still hurt from laughing, and said that he wished he had gotten to know Frank.
As we were telling the stories, I could not help but wonder if after I have been gone for twenty years, as my Dad has been, will my kids remember me as fondly. I know that they won't have as many funny stories to tell because I am nowhere near the hoot my Dad was, but will they have fond memories.
My Dad was 41 years old when I was born, and I only got to share 31 years with him. I don't ever remember playing ball with him, he did not coach my soccer team, nor did he ever really help me build anything. My Dad never helped me fix my car, never golfed with me since he did not golf, nor did drive me to college every year since we never had money for any of us to go to college. All of the above things I have done for my daughters, but somehow I still do not think that I am half the father that my Dad was. Fatherhood does not come with a book, and I have always tried to do what is best for my kids. I try to measure up to the man that always gave me his time, his best advice, and made me see the funny things in life.
Hearing the disc jockeys say that they felt the same way about their fathers kind of gave me more of a boost than any of the jokes they usually tell. Men do not typically share such feelings, and sometimes we think that we are unique in our thoughts. Hearing that other guys share this same sense about themselves kind of lets me know that I am ok. To my disc jockeys, Kevin and Pete, I am sure that you are too.
Sure, my girls are never going to laugh about how I got the neighbor to cut up a downed tree in my backyard and haul it away while I sipped on a cold beer, but they will remember that I cared about them and did the very best I could to give them all that they needed.
My Dad did the same for me, and although my time with him was way too short, he lives on inside of me and I still love him like crazy. And my girls love me too.
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