My Dad (1)

My father is turning 90 on January 9th. I just received an invitation to his birthday party in Philadelphia at my sister's house (one of seven sisters). Now I am musing about whether just to jump on a plane and attend. My life is crazy busy at this point, but I will do what I can to get there. Also the family is creating a book of vignettes- our memories of his place in our lives. My Dad was an important person in my life- really this statement is understating his influence on me. An overwhelming feature of my Dad is that he is so self conscious of his own fallibility. Yet he has more integrity that any human being that I have ever met on the earth. So I have decided to take the next few blogs just to write some of my old memories of him.

I remember dad told us that he had a stint as a substitute teacher in some poorer school- in North Philadelphia, I think. He said that he use to pair the smart kids with the slower students and how well it worked. It was an early foray into cooperative learning.

He would tell a story about when I was, maybe 1 and a half and Jane was 2 years, the four of us were on the boardwalk in Atlantic City. A well dressed man came up to them and said, "I'll give you a million dollars for that boy." My dad refused. He always said that it was proof that I was worth more than a million dollars.

When I was about 9 years old, my dad used to take me to art classes with him in center city Philadelphia. I remember feeling really privileged to be able to go. I was probably the youngest person in a class of young people and the teacher was very kind. I remember one day that I drew a tree and when I showed it to him, he was very proud about what a good job that I had done. We went home and showed it to my mom. They discussed together how much talent I had. For a child who was not successful in school it really boosted my ego.

When I was eleven, I almost drown in a small reservoir at Immaculata, Pennsylvania while visiting my Aunt. (I tell that story somewhere else in my blog.) I remember feeling worried that I would be in trouble for going someplace that I shouldn't have, for getting my new shoes wet and for causing such great commotion and worry on a day that should have been celebratory. I remember my dad sitting on the bed next to me at the end of the day. I was reaching into my pockets and seeing what I may have lost in my watery brush with death. My dad had given me a little army helmet earlier in the day. I said to him, "I lost the army helmet." "I thought that I lost you." He said. That simple comment brought me to a realization of how much he loved me.

In seventh grade I had decided that I wanted to be a priest. My dad took me to see different minor seminaries to see which I might like. I remember taking an entrance test for one and not doing so well. Then he said, "I think that I'll take you where I know some of the priests." In fact he had gone school there when he was in college. By the time I was in eighth grade the girls had started to get my attention. I said something like, "Dad, I think that I'd like to wait until I graduate from high school before I go into the seminary." He replied, "It doesn't so much matter whether you become a priest on not. I think that by entering the seminary now, these priests can help you learn how to study."

Even though my first year at the seminary was difficult, indeed I did learn how to study. Almost flunking out my first year, I graduated from Niagara University Magna Cum Laude.