Three years ago today, my dad died of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), better known as Lou Gehrig’s disease.
Dad at age 18 or so, I believe.
Dad was a scholar and an athlete. After graduating from Princeton (Phi Beta Kappa), he attended Harvard Law School. Over the years – particularly after he retired to his home state of Vermont and ensconced himself in a big house – he amassed more books than anyone I’ve ever met. As far as the ALS goes, he first realized that he had a problem when – at the age of nearly 69 – he noticed he had trouble benching his customary 250 pounds. Six months later he was dead.
my big brother, dad, me, my big sister.
By the time I was five, Dad taught me…
1. how to carry scissors and knives: loosely, pointed down.
2. how to throw a punch: keep your thumb outside your clenched fist.
3. how to shake hands: firmly, and make eye contact.
4. how to sneeze: explosively. Let it out. Raise the roof.
In middle childhood, Dad showed us that…
5. you're never too old to laugh your ass off at Inspector Clouseau.
6. you can never have too many books.
7. there is no such thing as a too-large serving of ice cream.
8. exercise feels good.
me my sister in a rare moment of mirth.
me, dad, my sister, three months before he died, at his wedding to (literally) the girl next door.
11. it's cool to reconnect with old classmates.
This one came as a surprise to me, because my father suffered from the unfortunate combination of a natural reticence, and bouts of clinical depression, exacerbated by a spiritually annihilating job as a corporate attorney. When we were growing up, my mom (a natural-born leader and truly social being) “owned” the friendships. Dad was more of a loner. But after he retired, he methodically – pre-Internet – tracked down summer camp friends, elementary school classmates, and long lost family members. He attended every high school and college reunion possible. Dad was an only child, but he had a slew of first- and second- cousins whose company – indeed, whose very existence (for reasons we’ll never understand) – was denied to him. Those messes didn’t get cleaned up until after he retired, but once they did, he visited with everyone he could get his hands on. He would have loved Facebook.
12. the main point is to enjoy life – not to please other people.
Ahhhh, the biggie. It’s possible Dad may not have explicitly intended to teach us this lesson, but he sure did. I see it in how my siblings and I have each taken – more than once, apiece – these massive leaps of faith in the directions of our dreams. I don’t think my dad felt, as the sole bread winner for a family of five – that he had that luxury.
the bread winner, thanksgiving, 1983
Rest in peace, Dads.