What My Father Taught Me
And what I remember 50 years later and will never forget.
My father died more than 50 years ago and still I recall the stories he told me and the advice he gave me. His picture is with me on my dresser at home when I was 10 years old and my sister 7 years old. That picture reminds me of him every day. Here is but a sample of what he taught me.
When I was about 6 years old, I lived in Connecticut, and during a snowy, cold winter I went sled riding down a very large hill for several hundred yards. One day, my father joined me on the hill, and on my small sled we flew down the hill with me on top of my father. It was breathtaking and I insisted on going back up the hill for another ride. My father said to me, “The hill is too much for me. You are better at this than I am. You’ll have to go up the hill by yourself. I can’t do this again.” At my tender age, my father gave me confidence that I could do something better than my father. Of course, that is a 6-year-old’s mental conversation, but that confidence helped a very shy young boy, and that confidence is what I have passed on to my children.
The other day at lunch, we had a discussion about security for our homes. We have a security system, as do other families in our neighborhood, but it reminded me of what my father said about his home that was not nearly as nice as the ones in our neighborhood. He said, “I don’t expect a burglar to break into my home, and if he did, he won’t find anything of value. When he’s done, he will probably leave me $5.” I laugh every time I tell that story for it reminds me of the optimistic spirit my father had about life. I try not to worry about things that are unimportant.
My father worked for U.S. Bronze Sign Company, and he would install the yahrzeit plaques in synagogues and bronze signs outside a bank for the letters of the banks. One time, without any help, he fell off a ladder and broke his pelvis and shattered the bones in his left wrist. He was laid up in a hospital for weeks and never complained. After he recovered almost completely, for the rest of his life he never felt regret about what happened. He merely said it was his fault for not having a helper to support his ladder, and he lived and accepted his mistake. He just moved on. Years later, he settled his monthly disability insurance for a lump sum and it was enough to buy his one and only home. He saw his accident as an event that had a positive result. When something bad happens, it might just turn out to be more valuable down the road than you think.
My father was always available to drive someone who needed a ride to go somewhere, or to take my mother wherever she needed to go. My mother never drove, and my father never said “no” to these requests. It taught me to do the same for my family.
One time on a Sunday, my family took an hour subway ride to Central Park in Manhattan. My father was wearing a suit and tie, nice shoes, and his watch. As we walked past a small pond, I saw a woman with her very young child near the edge of the pond. The young boy slipped and fell into the pond and could not swim. The woman did not move to help her son and only yelled, “Save my boy. Save my boy!” There was no one else around, so, without thinking, my father jumped into the pond up to his chest and hauled the boy to safety. He didn’t ask the woman for anything, although she offered to pay to dry clean his clothes. He went home in his wet clothes, and from that day on my father was my hero, and he remains my hero still. He taught me that if there are no men around, be that man.
I was in shul this Shabbos, and I was given an Aliyah because my father’s yahrzeit occurs soon. When someone asked me about it, we both remarked that the memory of our fathers is as if they were here a few days ago. May you feel that way about a loved one no longer with you.
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