Father's Day 2013

Today's effort consists of some information that I've previously passed along, but on this of all day's I believe that they are worth sharing again ...

In remembering Father's Day, I must painfully recall that in 2007 my own father passed away. His health had been failing for some time; but in spite of the difficulty in attempting to doing so, one of the things he still liked to take part (or at least to feel that he was taking part) in the maintenance of his home and yard. Such care had always been a source of great joy and pride for him, and on which he simply refused give up the his interest in it.

When his medical condition had finally reached a point that he was tethered to an oxygen system full time, he was (however reluctantly) forced to surrender some level of control in this process. By then such care involved my mother trimming the edges of the yard with a self-driven push mower. My nephew Patrick had acquired the requisite skills for operation of the riding mower some time since, took on the responsibilities for the bulk of the yard. This system of lawn care had been going on for a couple of years and was by now a well established routine, with my father still participating in a limited supervisory and equipment maintenance role.

In the spring following his passing, the lawn, unaware and uncaring of the changes in the household, did what it was supposed to do and grew quickly. Before anyone had quite realized it, this grass was in terrible need of a trim. Taking the bull by the horns, my mother stepped forward to perform her part of the required labors by trimming around the edges of the yard. Patrick likewise soon appeared to take on his well-rehearsed role in lawn care. This is where the real story begins.

Now the riding mower had not been run since the leaf pick up of that previous fall, and Patrick was unsure of the proper procedures to get it started after its abbreviated winter slumber, as his grandfather had normally instructed him in such situations. Stymied, he questioned my mother for potential answers to his problem with a potentially stubborn piece of lawn care equipment. Now my mother is a talented women, but basic lawn mower mechanics has never been a part of them. The riding mower had in fact always intimidated her, and she had long ago made it quite clear that she wanted nothing to do with it (hence Patrick's responsibilities). It was therefore not surprising that she had no advice to offer him.

In an amazingly short period of time however, the full-throated roar of that mower was heard from the garage, and Patrick was soon after making his way around the yard. He completed his work on the yard that day with remarkable alacrity and departed immediately afterward, without a word to his grandmother before leaving. His hasty departure and lack of communication went without comment at the time. They were however, duly explained a couple of days later when my sister called to fill my mother in on the "rest of the story".

It seems that as Patrick stood in the garage, scratching his head over a solution to his dilemma and completely at a loss as to how to proceed, clearly heard the voice my father from right next to him say, "Pull the choke out and start the mower".

Never questioning it for a moment, he simply did as he was told, and the mower immediately caught. Though a suitable resolution to his problem had been achieved, Patrick was more than a little distressed over how he had reached it. Worried that he might be asked for an explanation and fearing my mother's sensitivity to the issue, he kept silent, working with dispatch and departing as quickly as he was able. It was only some time later in the comfort of home and parents, that he was finally able to relate what had occurred.

Now anyone who knew my father knew that he was never a terribly spiritual person publicly, and was normally unresponsive when questioned about his thoughts on such things. He was however a good husband, a loving parent and grandparent, and most importantly ... a well recognized master of all things technical. There were very few things that he set his mind to repairing or improving in which he was not capable of achieving success (as his many years and recognized expertise in the printing industry showed).

He was also someone who was never afraid to share that mastery of all things mechanical with his spouse and offspring of every generation at every available opportunity (many times without even being asked). It therefore seems only fitting (and hardly surprising), that he should find a way to make his presence felt in such a situation when the need arose.

As for my personal take on the story, knowing my nephew Patrick to be a young gentleman of quality and good character, I choose simply take him at his word. If he believes that it happened this way, then I believe it as well. I am also quite happy and relieved to believe that my father is out there somewhere keeping an eye on the family that he so loved (not that I ever really doubted it).

I for one, can use all of the help that I can get...

Speaking of which, while I've never been able to claim anything in the way of parental skills myself, I'd like to think that I've at least been able to pass on to the three I call my own children something of the wisdom that was given to me.  I've shared it here before, and my hope is that I will continue to pass it on where it can do the most good until the day I achieve room temperature: 

*  Honesty is the best policy, even if your only reward is that of self-respect.
*  Your word is your bond and everything else is just society's crap.
*  Your reputation is the only thing that you truly possess in life, so make sure you protect it fiercely and every time it's challenged. 
*  If you work hard it will be rewarded, even if that reward is nothing more that knowing that you did your best.
*  You will, if you're lucky, make mistakes in life that will provide important lessons.  They are rarely permanent however; and it's usually easier to fix them than to admit to them.

Happy Father's Day!

 

 

Father's Day 2011

Since this weekend is when Father's Day is celebrated, and since I am both a father and a grandfather, I decided to take a bit of the weekend off. Now some may say that this is because in spite of all that's going on in the world, I could come up with nothing worthy of a weekend post or was simply too damn lazy to write one (and there could be a kernel of truth in such an accusation). I would say however, that in looking back in the Just Blowing Smoke archives, I discovered a post from 2008 on this same holiday that bears some repeating. Though the statistics cited are now three years out of date, I suspect that I would be safe in saying that things have only gotten worse in the intervening period. So without further comment, I present it and them for your edification.

---------------------------------

I didn't want to do a post on this subject for a variety of reasons, but it seems that everything that I see and everything that I am reading leads me back to the subject. Bowing therefore, to the apparent inevitability and karma of the situation I will touch on the subject of Fathers. This will not be however, one of those sappy, sentimental postings that call for tissues and a Hallmark card. Nor will I be regaling you with tales of my own father and what he meant to me. That particular wound is still healing and I refuse to pick at the scab too often. I will instead drop a little cold, hard truth on you about fathers (or the lack thereof).

• 50% of children born to married parents will suffer through their parents’ divorce by age 18.
• Almost 60% of black children, 32% of Hispanic children and 21% of white children are living in single-parent homes
• Children who live apart from their fathers will account for 40% of incarcerated adults, 63% of teen suicides, 70% of juveniles in state-operated institutions, 71% of high-school dropouts, 75% of children in chemical-abuse centers, 80% of rapists, 85% of youths in prison, 85% of children who exhibit behavioral disorders, and 90% of homeless and runaway children.
• About 8% of children in married-couple homes live at or below poverty level, while almost 40% of children in homes without fathers live below poverty level. The latter group risks a much higher incidence of serious child abuse or neglect.

And if that isn't enough to scare the bejeezus out of you, let me tell you that some of my recent reading tells me that it wasn't half as bad as this 10-15 years ago and that the situation seems to be getting worse almost exponentially. This dissolution of the basic family unit appears to be causing problems at every level of society. 


The education system, welfare system, and even the police departments of the US are being impacted directly by the lack of a father in far too many American families. This is no indictment of single mothers, who often operate in some of the most trying of circumstances; but more of the fathers who fail to care for the offspring that they produce. 


Now I have to tell you that I don't consider myself to be one of the best male parental units to have hit the planet. Like far too many fathers in society today, I was too wrapped up in the career that I was pursuing to have been there as much as I should have been. Even today, and though I have a very good relationship with my 3 children, I wish that I was able to spend more time with them. 


Fortunately for me, there were two very good women involved with their lives (their mother, and in case of the children from my first marriage their step-mother), and they were able to take up the slack from my slacking.



Something must have worked however, because I couldn't be happier or more proud about the way that the three of them turned out. On top of what their moms were able to do, maybe I was able to pass on some of what my father taught me:

• That honesty is the best policy, even if your only reward is that of self-respect.
• That your word is your bond and everything else is just society's nonsense.
• That if you work hard it will be rewarded, even if that reward is nothing more that knowing that you did your best.
• That you will make mistakes in life, but they are rarely permanent and that it's usually easier to fix them than to admit to them.

OK, enough already. I said that this wasn't going to be one of those sappy Hallmark postings and I meant it. Go call your Dad and wish him a Happy Father's Day!


Note: Thanks to the Patriot Post for the startling statistics on this issue.

Someone To Watch Over Me (Revisited)

The following is a re-edited and expanded version of a post that I did back in April of 2008. On this, the second anniversary of my father's passing, I decided that the subject was well worth revisiting. I submit it once more for your consideration.

We sometimes discover faith and inspiration in our lives in the strangest of places. I discovered it once again in my life during a conversation with my mother on nothing initially more interesting or important than lawn care.

Now in order to understand what must seem to you a rather bizarre connection, I must first explain to you that it was on this day in 2007 that my father passed away. His health had been failing for some time; but in spite of the difficulty in attempting to doing so, he liked to take part (or at least to feel that he was taking part) in the maintenance of his home and yard. Such care had always been a source of great joy and pride for him, and he simply refused give up the his interest in it.

When his medical condition had finally reached a point that he was tethered to an oxygen system full time, he was (however reluctantly) forced to surrender some level of control in this process. By then such care involved my mtierh trimming the edges of the yard with a self-driven push mower. My nephew Patrick, who had required the requisite skills for operation of the riding mower some time since, took on the responsibilities for the bulk of the yard. This system of lawn care had been going on for a couple of years and was by now a well established routine, with my father still participating in a limited supervisory and equipment maintenance role.

Spring followed fall and winter, but came early to Kansas City in the year following his passing; and what had once been the dry and dormant lawns of my parent's neighborhood were quickly blessed with warm weather and rain in 2008. The lawn, unaware and uncaring of the changes in the household, did what it was supposed to do and grew both quickly and luxuriously. Before anyone had quite realized it, this grass was in terrible need of a trim.

Taking the bull by the horns, my mother stepped forward to perform her part of the required labors by trimming around the edges of the yard. Patrick likewise soon appeared to take on his already well-rehearsed role in lawn care. This is where the real story begins.

Now the riding mower had not been run since the leaf pick up of that previous fall, and Patrick was unsure of the proper procedures to get it started after its abbreviated winter slumber, as his grandfather had normally instructed him in such situations. Stymied, he questioned my mother for potential answers to his problem with a potentially stubborn piece of lawn care equipment.

Now my mother is a talented women, but basic lawn mower mechanics has never been a part of those many abilities. The riding mower had in fact always intimidated her, and she had long ago made it quite clear that she wanted nothing to do with it (hence Patrick's responsibilities). It was therefore not surprising that she had no advice to offer him.

In an amazingly short period of time however, the full-throated roar of that mower was heard from the garage, and Patrick was soon after making his way around the yard. He completed his work on the yard that day with remarkable alacrity and departed immediately afterward, without a word to his grandmother before leaving. His hasty departure and lack of communication went without comment at the time. They were however, duly explained a couple of days later when my sister called to fill my mother in on the "rest of the story".

It seems that as Patrick stood in the garage, scratching his head over a solution to his dilemma and completely at a loss as to how to proceed, clearly heard the voice my father from right next to him say, "Pull the choke out and start the mower".

Never questioning it for a moment, he simply did as he was told, and the mower immediately caught. Though a suitable resolution to his problem had been achieved, Patrick was more than a little distressed over how he had reached it. Worried that he might be asked for an explanation and fearing my mother's sensitivity to the issue, he kept silent, working with dispatch and departing as quickly as he was able. It was only some time later in the comfort of home and parents, that he was finally able to relate what had occurred.

Now anyone who knew my father knew that he was never a terribly spiritual person publicly, and was normally unresponsive when questioned about his thoughts on such things. He was however a good husband, a loving parent and grandparent, and most importantly ... a well recognized master of all things technical. There were very few things that he set his mind to repairing or improving in which he was not capable of achieving success (as his many years and recognized expertise in the printing industry showed).

He was also someone who was never afraid to share that mastery of all things mechanical with his spouse and offspring of every generation at every available opportunity (many times without even being asked). It therefore seems only fitting (and hardly surprising), that he should find a way to make his presence felt in such a situation when the need arose.

As for my personal take on the story, knowing my nephew Patrick to be a young gentleman of quality and good character, I choose simply take him at his word. If he believes that it happened this way, then I believe it as well. I am also quite happy and relieved to believe that my father is out there somewhere keeping an eye on the family that he so loved (not that I ever really doubted it).

I for one, can use all of the help that I can get...

Father's Day

I didn't want to do a post on this subject for a variety of reasons, but it seems that everything that I see and everything that I am reading leads me back to the subject. Bowing therefore, to the apparent inevitability and karma of the situation I will touch on the subject of Fathers. This will not be however, one of those sappy, sentimental postings that call for tissues and a Hallmark card. Nor will I be regaling you with tales of my own father and what he meant to me. That particular wound is still healing and I refuse to pick at the scab too often. I will instead drop a little cold, hard truth on you about fathers (or the lack thereof). 
 

• 50% of children born to married parents will suffer through their parents’ divorce by age 18.
• Almost 60% of black children, 32% of Hispanic children and 21% of white children are living in single-parent homes
• Children who live apart from their fathers will account for 40% of incarcerated adults, 63% of teen suicides, 70% of juveniles in state-operated institutions, 71% of high-school dropouts, 75% of children in chemical-abuse centers, 80% of rapists, 85% of youths in prison, 85% of children who exhibit behavioral disorders, and 90% of homeless and runaway children.
• About 8% of children in married-couple homes live at or below poverty level, while almost 40% of children in homes without fathers live below poverty level. The latter group risks a much higher incidence of serious child abuse or neglect.

And if that isn't enough to scare the bejeezus out of you, let me tell you that some of my recent reading tells me that it wasn't half as bad as this 10-15 years ago and that the situation seems to be getting worse almost exponentially. This dissolution of the basic family unit appears to be causing problems at every level of society. The education system, welfare system, and even the police departments of the US are being impacted directly by the lack of a father in far too many American families. This is no indictment of single mothers, who often operate in some of the most trying of circumstances; but more of the fathers who fail to care for the offspring that they produce.

Now I have to tell you that I don't consider myself to be one of the best male parental units to have hit the planet. Like far too many fathers in society today, I was too wrapped up in the career that I was pursuing to have been there as much as I should have been. Even today, and though I have a very good relationship with my 3 children, I wish that I was able to spend more time with them. Fortunately for me, there were two very good women involved with their lives (their mother, and in case of the children from my first marriage their step-mother), and they were able to take up the slack from my slacking.
Something must have worked however, because I couldn't be happier or more proud about the way that the three of them turned out. On top of what their moms were able to do, maybe I was able to pass on some of what my father taught me:
 

• That honesty is the best policy, even if your only reward is that of self-respect.
• That your word is your bond and everything else is just society's nonsense.
• That if you work hard it will be rewarded, even if that reward is nothing more that knowing that you did your best.
• That you will make mistakes in life, but they are rarely permanent and that it's usually easier to fix them than to admit to them.

OK, enough already. I said that this wasn't going to be one of those sappy Hallmark postings and I meant it. Go call your Dad and wish him a Happy Father's Day!
 
Note: Thanks to the Patriot Post for the startling statistics on this issue.

Special Posting: Happy Birthday Dad

Today would have been my father's 82nd birthday, and I can't think of a more fitting way to celebrate it than to speak a little bit in celebration of his life. Now I'm not sure that doing so would entirely meet with my father's approval, as he was never much of a one to have any fuss made over him and normally dismissed such efforts with a wave and a growl; but I'm going to go ahead and chance it.

The unpretentious and unflappable exterior of George Higgins was something that he wore like a comfortable suit of clothes, but was quite frankly, a facade. His love and affection for his wife of 57 years was readily apparent and was often a source of friendly kidding by family and friends. He and his bride more often called each other by pet names throughout their marriage, and the use of their actual names usually denoted a level of temporary tension in the air. He was also a soft touch for his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Eben the charade of a tough exterior melted away in their presence, especially around the second and third generations; and he would readily accede to their every request.

Perhaps the real key to understanding the man however might be to recognize what a fiercely ethical person he was and that he possessed a moral compass that always pointed true. He always felt that his word was his bond in all things and that any paperwork required to formalize that bond was simply superfluous. He held the rest of the world to that same rigid standard, and had no respect for anyone who felt or acted differently. This quiet sense of honor was the rock on which he was built; and was something that anyone who knew him felt, respected, and often commented on out of his presence. 

He was also fiercely independent, though he would be the first to tell you that he would never had made it without my mother. He had little respect for any authority that attempted to get in the way of that independence, and was infamous for getting into difficulty years ago during a hospital visit for slinging an IV bottle over one arm in order to use the bathroom instead of a bedpan. When confronted with these episodes, he responded with the wave and growl that ended the discussion, and proved at least in his case that it was easier to get forgiveness than permission.

His career and industry was a big part of his life, and an endless source of interest to him, even long after he retired. It was with a great deal of respect and fear that I attempted to follow him in his chosen profession, a task so daunting that even after over 30 years of effort I have barely made a dent in the process. For 28 years, he worked as a saddle-stitch machine operator (machines that put magazines together with staples) and a supervisor, becoming a recognized expert at what was then the largest printing company in the world, R R Donnelley and Sons. 

He was often asked to travel abroad to solve problems that no one else seemed to be able to solve and he never left a job undone. And it was during this period of his life that he began creating technology to improve his chosen industry. Though not an engineer by education or special training, his designs were patented both during that time at Donnelley, and later in his career. 

When Life magazine closed (the first time), he went to work for one of the equipment manufacturers, re-inventing himself as a sales representative. Again his success was incredible, not only in winning sales awards; but also continuing the process of design improvements and industry consultation that were becoming part of his legacy. This success on multiple levels led that organization to promote him to the level of Vice President and allowed him to perform what may have been his most difficult selling opportunity, that of convincing his employer to let his son replace him in his sales territory. No one who has never worked with or for their father can understand the joy and pain of such an experience. 

First in the field of production, and later in sales, no more difficult a taskmaster ever existed; but no better training or inspiration could have been given. As someone who accepted being known as "George's kid" for much of his early career, the mixed blessing of following someone you so admire and who has set the bar so high makes the task so much harder, but the goals so much more desirable. All achievement is measured to an impossible standard, and ultimately no degree of success or industry recognition can equal his approbation. 

But just so you don't think that I am putting the man up for sainthood, he did have his weaknesses. J and B Scotch whiskey was one of them for many years, and the man was well known for being able to put a serious dent in the level of a bottle from time to time. Later in life, he found equal satisfaction in a glass of wine or two, and wasn't particularly interested in its pedigree. Towards the end however, he favored a Bloody Mary (or two), right up until the day the day he left us. The legendary capacity may have diminished over the years, but never his ability to talk the world into allowing him one more adult beverage before the end of the evening. 

He also smoked like a chimney for most of his life, and was known for many years of his career as "the human nightlight". Those who shared a room with him at business conferences often commented on waking up in the middle of the night, only to find him sitting up in bed smoking a cigarette. It was also jokingly commented that he would never win a company marathon, as the time that he would lose while stopping to light cigarettes would easily cost him the race. 

He was a lovable contradiction of a man, with a sometimes guff exterior balanced by passions for fishing and growing roses. His favorite times as we were growing up were the family fishing trips to Wisconsin and Minnesota. He especially loved being able to be out on a lake with his wife, attempting to bring bass, walleye, northern pike, and crappie to the table from early morning fishing trips; with evenings being taken up with the hunt for bullheads. This should not be considered unusual, as my parents honeymoon was in fact a fishing trip to Superior National Forest. 

As for the roses, these were planted at every house that they ever lived at, though he was especially proud of climbing roses that he had at an earlier home in Kansas City. They were 15 ft high if they were an inch, and trained onto trellises that he specifically built for them. This wall of blooms received special love, care, and attention every weekend; even when he traveled the other 5 days of almost every week. 

A giant of a man in his family eyes, he was far from physically imposing. In fact he was considered undersized when trying to enter the Marine Corp, and had to convince them to even take him. This stature led to the nickname "Shorty" or "Short", which was used only by his family in Iowa, often leading to considerable confusion amongst the rest of us. In fact, when my mother was brought up to meet his family, she was asked if she was with "Shorty"; to which she replied, "No, I'm with George". 

But enough. As I said earlier, my father had no time for anyone making a fuss over him and I respect the man enough to bow to his wishes even now. I will simply add Happy Birthday Dad. We love you and miss you, but will carry you with us as long as we are here. 

For those of you who interested in a bit more insight into an incredible individual, one of my siblings (yes blogging appears to be a family thing) has put together something well worth the effort of reading. http://theirishtwin.blogspot.com/2007/11/heroes.html Keep the tissues handy though, as it is highly likely that this one will get to you. It does me every time.