First let me say, looking at the picture of Cheney is very frightening to me because it reminds me of my dad.Ana Menendez wrote a good column in the Miami Herald celebrating father's day: Dad's lessons, wisdom help shape our lives. She interviewed Miami people about their fathers and they gave some great answers. I especially like what Donna Shalala's dad told her (are you listening Manny Diaz?):
"If you get into a ditch, don't keep digging."
Menendez column got me thinking about my father. I did not like him, however, I think we all are left with lessons -- no matter how we feel about our father.
My dad:
The good advice: "Watch what they do, not what they say." and "Put it in writing."
Undecided whether this was good or bad advice: "You don't have to read the newspaper, if it is important you'll hear about it."
The bad advice: "Buy a pound of ham and 6 pork chops." (sending me into a kosher butcher at 9 years old).
Bad habit I am left with from him: My clocks are always set wrong.
Good habit I am left with from him: I always put it in writing.
Good habit I am left with from watching him in action: Don't take his word for anything, research the answer.
Let's hear about your dad readers!
P.S. Yes, the kosher butchers yelled at me but good as I ran out of the store and my father was already hysterically laughing when I approached the car.
6 comments:
Best advice: One time, coming home late at night, my father stopped to help out a stranded motorist by siphoning gas into his empty tank. One mile later, we ran out of gas, and I was furious. My father noted that the man was from out of state, and that he needed the gas more than we did.
Worst advice: The same lesson counts as his worst advice. Years later, I told my dad how much his generosity meant. He was horrified, and told me to take much better care of myself than we had that night!
Beyond Kosher….
A Father’s Day homily by Fr. Robert Vallee, prof. of philosophy, St. John Vianney Seminary, Miami
(not possible to link, it’s from an email)
“I. The Gospel, ethics, Maritain
The Gospel today makes Christian ethics so painfully and obviously clear that it is very difficult to understand how we so often get it so wrong. Being ethical in the Christian sense, the sense intended by Jesus Christ, does not mean being absolutely pure or does it mean the obsessive avoidance of any sort of transgression. Being ethical means loving with a big and passionate love. The great French Catholic philosopher, Jacques Maritain, once said, “when I die and stand before my God, I would prefer to say, ‘Lord, I always tried to love and sometimes sinned,’ rather than have to say, ‘Lord. I was afraid to sin, so I did not love.’”
II. The scandalous woman
In the Gospel today, the sinful, scandalous woman performs a big and excessive gesture. She bursts into a party and anoints Jesus’ feet. She washes his feet with her tears and dries them with her hair. Imagine if you were giving a dinner party today and the exact same thing happened. Don’t be so hard on the Pharisee in the story. We would do well to react as well as him. We would probably be calling the police. In any event, the words of Jesus make who we are and what we are supposed to be about painfully, terribly clear: “She has sinned much, but she has loved much. I forgive her everything. The ones who have loved little will be forgiven little.” These are sobering words but make no mistake: this is precisely the criteria upon which each one of us will be judged. The last Judgement will not matters. Christianity is not a negative ethic of prescription. Christianity is a positive ethic of love.
III. Fathers’ Day
This weekend we celebrate Fathers’ Day. I think that, for Dads especially, this Gospel is particularly good news. The bottom line is that you don‘t have to be perfect, you only have to love. I remember when I was little. The fathers you saw on TV were all these perfect good guys: Ozzie Nelson and Ward Cleaver and Mike Brady. They never got mad and were always wise and kind and patient. Real Dads, of course, are a little different. No doubt, whole generations of men ended up on psychiatric couches trying to live up to impossible expectations. Nowadays, our TV Dads have, perhaps, gone too far the other way. Now, the Dads on TV fall somewhere between Tony Soprano and Homer Simpson, with the occasional Al Bundy thrown in for good measure. No longer are we presented with God-like, benevolent patriarchs but with real men who have real human weaknesses and flaws. While I know that most dads do not go to the extremes of being either a cartoon character or a mafia boss, I think it good that we no longer, as a culture anyway, expect perfection of our fathers. Homer and Tony, for all their faults, do love their children. Homer even loves Marge, though I am not so sure that Tony loves Carmela but let us not get too far lost in psychoanalysis of fictional characters. All we should expect of our Dads is that they should love us. They will make mistakes. They will embarrass us and disappoint us and frustrate us at times, as we will them. But none of that matters too much, none of that matters at all.
IV. Conclusion
All that does matter is this, that we try to love one another. The one who loves much will be forgiven much; the one who loves little will be forgiven little. As you know, my father died recently. He was neither as perfect as Mike Brady, nor as imperfect as Tony Soprano. But he tried, with all his struggles, to love us and that is all that counts. That is all that he was judged on in heaven. And therefore, I do not fear the verdict he received. Only love matters. Only tears will be weighed at the last judgement. St. Joseph, pray for us!”
Susan
Go Jesus...
however, I am not a christian this year.
thanks Susan and anon 1. liked the stories so far.
Beyond Kosher II
or, my father’s blessing pt 1 and 2
Shortly before a recent trip to Israel I bought my first ever digital camera at Circuit City, still learning how to use it. I initially demurred giving my data for warranty purposes but went ahead. Up popped my father's name, left there no doubt from when he got his last Christmas gift for me (a portable CD player).... more than ten years ago! I took that to be a travel blessing from beyond.
We move along, to Bethlehem, scene of a complicated, and if you believe, divine birth. Complicated was indeed the feel as we left our bus, Israeli driver and tour guide and headed off through the check point Charlie scenario which is the modern walled in city. Arriving at the Church of the Nativity the Palestinian authorities hassle our Arab guide “are there any Israelis?" "No, no." We wait to get in the church, many covered Muslim women coming out of the narrowed hole of a door. The doors have been narrowed through the ages to prevent robbery and attack (didn't help them in 2002). We got inside. I passed on the candle when the price went from 1 to 2 dollars. Henry, the very Jewish head of our group, walked up a few minutes later and handed one to me. I lit mine by the manger site, reflecting on my own birth, parents, parenthood...We got the tour, the Ethiopian side, the Armenian side, they have dibs to key spots as the originals (to the chagrin of various Protestants...) but theirs are poorer, unkempt spots. I sat a moment on a ledge to rest, unthinkingly crossing my ankles. Out came the Palestinian authorities to chastise me, me, who had been wearing hats, longs sleeves and generally longish skirts for days (I had run out). The tour guide was apologetic. But then I remembered...my first communion, before which we had been instructed in proper comportment ("what's that?" the kids might ask as they go up to communion cracking gum), no leg crossing! (I was told recently that's considered making the sign of the cross in vain, never heard that). So instructed I was keen to point this out to my father as I waited, white dress, veil, new white purse, prayer book and all. He was not amused, annoyed frankly. (Shortly after my first communion he dropped any pretense of being a practicing Catholic and it wasn't long before he was passing on the Nietzsche to me.) It was other wise a great day. He took me to the florist for my bouquet, there was the gift of a watch at Howard Johnson's, my choice of any restaurant I wanted, lots of photos... As the Palestinian guard walked away I thought...ah, there's daddy, having a little fun with me.
Major lightening...don’t think there's a problem with this story? No, Daddy doesn't do lightening.
Susan
Great story....
I went to Howard Johnson's with my father too.
Truly Blue
My dad always took me to vote with him on election day. I remember the old machines with the levers. Sometimes I got to turn them for him and I thought that was sooooo cool!
Thanks to him, I've only missed one election since turning eighteen, and that was one of those special elections in the middle of the summer. I was in Wisconsin.
Dad also sent me to the car after I beat him in tennis for the first time and celebrated wildly. I learned my lesson about being a good sport, especially with ones own parents.
Happy Father's Day pop.
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