The Leader of the Clan

Yes, another re-run. I hope to have time to be original very soon. But these were original once, and like I've said before, if you haven't seen it, it's new to you.....

On October 25, my Father will celebrate his 75th birthday.

He is, quite possibly, the strongest man I have ever known.

He taught me how to play the trumpet, which I wanted to learn because he played it. He played for a while in the Rochester Symphony, and those concerts helped me to develop a "taste" for classical music; in fact, his record collection gave me an appreciation for big band, and modern jazz; and Sunday afternoons when there was no game on the television, it was the Metropolitan Opera on the radio....that, I never really got the hang of.

My Father has plenty of stories to embarrass me with, and is more than willing, at the drop of a hat, to pull them out and tell them to whoever is around. To tell the truth, I deserve it....apparently, I was an idiot as a boy, a young man, and indeed, I am STILL an idiot, and he can prove it. Just ask him about the various times I destroyed an automobile. Or tried to burn the house down. Or completely failed to grasp the concepts of anything he was the master at: mathematics, science, mechanics....the list goes on and on.

He tells the story of the first time he knew that I was going to be an actor. I had done a small part in a middle school play, and even though it was safe that day, he would walk the short distance from home to the school to see that I got home safely. As we were walking back home, I was jabbering about what fun it was, yadda yadda, and he thought to himself, "Oh, CHRIST. I'm going to be supporting him for the rest of my life."

As a father, he had an obligation to at least TRY to steer me in a direction that would get me out of the house and off his payroll. He always mentioned teaching, and was relieved when I went into it.....and not so happy when I left it to go back into acting. When I told him I was leaving the college to take a job with a touring company in the spring of '97, this was his only comment: "Let me get this straight.....you're giving up a career for a job?"

Even then, whenever he could, he would attend one of my productions.

We didn't always get along, but what father and son does? I can recall a time when he grounded me "for life." And then, forgot he had done it. I stayed grounded for two months before I asked if I could be let up off the mat. His response? "When did I ground you?"

To quote Mark Twain: "When I left home, I though my father was the biggest idiot in Christendom. When I returned, I was shocked to find out how much he had learned when I was away."

His retirement wasn't all he had hoped it would be; my Mother took ill, and he spent the first years of that illness being her caregiver, and although I know his heart was heavy, he never EVER let me see it. Even now, he spends a large portion of his days visiting my mother, talking to her, walking with her, and we should all be so lucky to be loved and to love so completely.

So, to my Father on his birthday, I say thank you for teaching me pretty much everything that is worth knowing, for giving me enough rope to hang myself when the occasion warranted it, for treating my cuts and bruises, and for giving me a home to which I can always return.

I also thank him for my distaste for carrots and spinach, but if you want that story, you're going to have to ask him.