Today, June 18, 2017, is Father's Day, at least in the United States. In Brazil, it will be celebrated on August 13 this year. But as I have no father nor children in Brazil, I will celebrate today.
When I was a child, Father's Day meant my father, Harry Lasky, born September 7, 1901 in Troy, New York, the seventh of eight children in a family of first generation Jewish-Americans whose parents had emigrated from eastern Europe. My father believed, as many of his generation believed, that being a father meant being a "bread winner." That's it. Mother did the rest. He was a good bread winner.
At home, my father was quiet, mostly uncommunicative. I don't remember him talking to me before departing in the mornings for his office at the Netherland Dairy near the western edge of town. When he would return at the end of the day, my mother would warn me not to bother him because he would be very tired from work. So, I didn't. My father would either go to his office, watch TV or read the newspaper, in silence. When my mother announced dinner (always meat and potatoes plus a lettuce and tomato salad) was ready, he would join the rest of us and eat mostly in silence. He would usually spend the rest of the day watching TV in silence.
Days would come and go without my having any conversations with my father. And often, such conversations would be negative, as in I had done something wrong that would upset him. He appeared to me as an intimidating person, not approachable nor benevolent (like Robert Young in Father Knows Best).
I remember some days, such as when I was alone watching sports on TV, that my father would enter the room and sit and watch as well. He would try to make small talk, but I would be on edge that this would evolve negatively leading him to shout at and/or threaten me with corporal punishment (he never hit me). Typically, after some minutes of silently watching sports on TV together, he would leave and I could relax.
From age 10 to 12, I played Little League baseball on a team sponsored by the local Police Department. My father never came to see me play. When I was a teenager, I remember a few occasions when my father sought me out to tell me certain things, such as what to do after being with a woman or negative facts about my mother's family. When I went away to college, I had to discuss finances with my father, as this was outside my mother's purview. I finally found him to be approachable and accommodating.
My father had a pet name for me which he used on rare occasions, The Duke of Devonshire. Why? I don't know.
My father did serve as a role model in some ways. He always supported my mother, thus presenting a united front to us children. When we went out to eat, I paid attention to what my father ordered and did like he did. At Whalen's Drug Store on Saturday mornings, he ordered bacon (not kosher) and eggs. At Vince's, an Italian restaurant, he ordered shrimp cocktail (not kosher) and steak (never their Italian specialties).
My fondest memory of my father was one day in 1977 when, as an adult, I was visiting my parents in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. He was showing signs of dementia. I suggested that we go to a nearby spring training baseball game between the two New York teams, the Yankees and the Mets. Twice when I was a child, my father turned down opportunities to take me to a football game. It turns out the love of baseball was something we had in common, as he enjoyed playing as a child, as did I. However, this time it was as if I were the father and he was the child. I took him to our seats and bought us some hot dogs. He died four years later.
On December 7, 1975 (Rachel) and August 15, 1985 (Bret), I became a father. As a result, Father's Day took on a new meaning.
When I was on the verge of fatherhood, I saw it as an opportunity to be the father I never had. I would be more than just a bread winner to my children. I would be totally involved in raising them, along with their mother, Bonita, to be happy, well-adjusted, self-confident human beings.
When my children were born, I felt an immediate bonding with them, something I had never experienced before. I felt that I would sacrifice anything for them, without question. Raising my children became my #1 priority. I also discovered that I totally enjoyed the experience of being their father, which has been the greatest pleasure of my productive life.
I know I made mistakes. Nobody is perfect. However, I did not repeat what I consider to be the mistakes of my parents. I took what I thought they did well and rejected what I disagreed with, such as corporal punishment. I also learned from Bonita's counsel and from reading about early childhood education.
As part of raising my children, I wanted Rachel and Bret to know me, warts and all. This was important because my father and I missed the golden opportunity we had to know each other.
It's impossible to choose my favorite moment with my children because there were so many memorable ones.
My children are grown now and I am very proud of them. I consider Rachel and Bret to be the greatest successes of my life. They are also how I measure that my life has been a success.
Happy Father's Day!
__________
I will be on vacation until Sunday, July 16
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