For me, September 11, 2001 changed my life forever. An infantry company commander at the time, I deployed for Operation Noble Eagle less than a month later, and just over two years later, deployed to Iraq. But September 11, 2014 changed all that. As I left the middle school where I was teaching, I perused my gmail, and found a note from my sister. My father had received the results from an x-ray. His cancer had spread through his blood stream to his lungs. A previous x-ray hadn't caught the spots, and he was at Stage 4. My father has less than six months to live.
This isn't a eulogy; after all, my Dad is still alive.
My Dad is not unlike many of his generation. At 95 years young, he's largely anonymous. His generation was born after World War I, lived through the depression, fought in World War II, and led the nation in the Korean War, Vietnam War, and Cold War. He smoked for probably 50 years. He can still get behind the wheel of a car, has all of his faculties in tact, and can mow the grass if it comes right down to it. For the first time ever, he marched as a Veteran in 4th of July Parade this last summer.
Dad was a career Naval officer. A three year graduate of the Naval Academy, he went straight to the fleet and Tokyo Bay as a submariner where he served under the command of Medal of Honor recipient then Capt. Eugene Fluckey. Fluckey later brought Dad to the Naval Academy to teach tactics to the Midshipmen. When he left the Navy, he and my mother had eight sons and daughters. One year after he left the Navy, I was born, number nine, and soon followed another three, bringing our family to 12. I think we lived what would be considered normal lives. On our street were two other families with 12 and 13 kids. We went to church as a family, sat 14 at a table for dinner, made our beds before breakfast, and cleaned up our rooms before we went anywhere. He was a strict disciplinarian. We said yes sir, no sir, yes ma'am, no ma'am. If our mother called out to us, and we answered "what" we could expect corporal punishment for showing a lack of respect for our parents, let alone an adult. We were well behaved, and well mannered.
My older brothers often ran afoul of Dad. I recall that in his early 60's, one of my brothers challenged him, and ended up on the floor with the old man, and in a head lock. Later, in his early 70's, another brother challenged my Dad, as teenagers do, to a fight. My Dad jumped off the porch, and dropped him with one punch. I learned an important lesson from my older brothers: don't mess with Dad. Dad worked hard. Following his Navy career he road the crest of the military industrial complex, working on the design of jet fighters, the Space Shuttle, and the M1 Tank. We had a boat, and he taught us to water ski. He taught us to fish, taking us on trips to Lake Erie. We learned to build airplane models, pick the pee vines out of hedges, and experienced the right of passage of having your Dad give us a crew cut. Old scrapbooks at home feature pictures of Dad cutting the heads of seven boys, all with tears in their eyes!
He had the foresight, in the 60's, of purchasing a video camera. He captured the most important moments of our lives; birthdays, haircuts, parties, holidays. Our Christmas videos are infamous; 12 kids streaming down the stairs to a bevy of Christmas presents and joy. They are amazing treasures. We couldn't talk at the table until we were 13. After dinner, Dad encouraged us to "plug in" and we sang songs much to the delight of our siblings and mother. Dad was strict, and loathed mental errors and not doing the little things. But when we made big mistakes, errors in judgement, he was disappointed but calm, reassuring in love, offering wisdom and lessons learned.
My Dad raised us well as young men. My sisters were given no less quarter than us boys. Their suitors were scrutinized, but welcomed. When my late sister decided not to marry on her wedding day, we celebrated nonetheless and enjoyed a memorable day and evening of singing and dancing, with my Dad leading the way. It was up to us to learn the lessons, to remember our faith, to live a moral life, and to raise our families as we'd been raised. Some of us fell short. But Dad has never judged us. At times he's been frustrated by our choices, saddened by our failures, happy with our joys, proud in our achievements.
Me? I haven't finished learning from Dad. He taught me lessons I failed to heed. I've stumbled often without his guiding hand. I failed to seek out the wisdom and guidance I needed from Dad. I tried to go it alone, forgetting the tie that binds a father and son. There is a tendency to try to race the clock in times like these. I won't. Dad has his mind on a few bottles of the best scotch money can buy. He'd like to parachute, and I'll try to find a few paratrooper friends of mine and a Navy Seal and together we'll make the jump with him. And I'll continue to learn from him, from afar, and not race the clock. He'll be taking his time. He's got nothing to lose. He's lived a good life. And I'll miss him. I've still got lessons to learn. I'll take my time right along beside him.
