The Last Word on ..................…Father’s Day

With father’s day approaching this month and mothers day already in the can I thought it might be a good time to address some family stuff. Of course, I can’t speak for everyone’s family, all I can do is relate some of my experiences growing up, and what my parents taught me.

My father, Angelo, was born the oldest of eight children on a small farm in New Jersey. He went to an electrician trade school where he would graduate at the top of his class--which is why it is so amazing that the man had no idea how to operate anything electrical. He used the clothes dryer as a storage bin, the toaster as a paperweight and every time he turned on the kitchen ceiling fan he installed I was ready for the theme from MASH to follow. The beauty of dad’s schooling was his belief that, since he knew all about electricity, he was not subject to any of its laws. I honestly watched my father stick a fork into the toaster while it was still plugged in on countless occasions all the while mumbling "lousy paperweight." Mom would simply smile at my brother and me while cooing "stay in school".

My brother looks and acts exactly like dad and it’s nice to be able to see my father whenever I want. By the way, dad never became an electrician; he took over the family farm when his father passed away. Dad would never be defined by his job as his true passion lie within his families-- the one that raised him and the one that he was to raise. That silly thing called work that people love to worry about just fell in between all that other good stuff for him.

Dad was never one to waste countless hours drinking at bars, he drank to kill the boredom of the work at hand. He was the only guy to walk into the John Deere dealership every year and ask to see the models that had cup holders. He once drank an entire bottle of wine while repairing the roof on our house, (in the middle of an electrical storm, of course). Hell, dad could knock back three whiskeys at breakfast…man, could mom take a punch.

My mother was named Genoveffa, Jennie to her friends, and my father never hit her, of course. My mother was quite smitten with my father, probably because he never took himself too seriously, definitely because he was so fond of her. Go waste money on that "Men are from Mars…" crap if you wanna, but here’s some cute stuff I learned just by watching my folks.

Mom never let dad talk. She would have let him if he wanted to, but what she was really doing was speaking on his behalf so that he could sleep. He loved to sleep; at meals, in church, while driving. One time dad fell asleep while a waiter read him the dinner specials. Save your energy dad, you’ll need it to chew. Amazing he couldn’t muster the energy to make it through a two minute entrée list but he could farm for 12 straight hours and still come home to play baseball with his two kids and take his wife out to the casino. The great ones choose their spots, I guess. He patented the "red light power nap." Often my father would doze off at a red light awakening at my mother yelling "green Light, go". Off we went. The light could have been red, purple, or we could have been on the edge of a cliff, he would have gone, he trusted his wife. My brother and I used to try to wake dad with the same trick, but dad would only respond to mom’s voice; that’s my favorite part of that story.

I look and act exactly like my mother (goatee and all), which may be the only reason my brother ever listens to anything I say, but I like that too. Mom, by the way was a teacher. She taught for 43 years and loved it. To say that means nothing, to see her come home everyday from work singing says more than any words I could write here. I realize now that that’s all any of us can really aim for, to work at a job that sends you home singing to a family that you love, everything in between is just some great adventure to be enjoyed, and that is what my parents showed me.

We can’t go back and change the times growing up that shaped our lives and who we are. I just know I’m one of the lucky ones that would never want to. But regardless of where we’ve come from, good or bad, we can use this past to make our families as great as ours were or we wanted them to be. Happy fathers day to fathers of the past, present, and future. And a special one to my father, Angelo. He never said much, he just did so much.

By the way, my brother is the one who became a teacher. Me? I’m thinking of going to electrical school—just as soon as I get my bagel out of this paperweight.

xoxo
.....-g

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