After my father died, I took on the melancholy responsibility of organizing the objects he left behind. I dreaded the moment, but it proved to be a much simpler job than I expected. My dad, as it turned out, owned almost nothing...
I have thought similarly about dad many times. He really was completely in the moment, and took everything in a literal way. Our sister is the most like him in that regard of any of the four of us.
Beyond a lack of irony, or even a seeming understanding of it, he seemed also incapable of deceit. I never once heard him lie to anyone about anything. If he was late, I never heard him make up an excuse. If he made a mistake, I never heard him deny it, or try to blame anyone else. He was the most straight-forward, honest person I've ever known.
My father was the opposite, but also a wonderful man. He was larger than life, although small in stature. He had a booming bass voice that could strike fear into a misbehaving child or adult alike. He had the. most bizarre sense of humour and a laser sharp wit. My dad was a symphony bass player. He had 11 children, migrating from Croatia back in the day when that meant literally escaping, with 7 of them in tow. The next 4 he had in Australia. I'm one of those 4. I still remember him working like a slave to feed us all, driving to people's houses to give music lessons between orchestra calls, teaching from home on his off days, and still managing to get up early every morning and clothe and feed all of us in the morning so my mum could sleep in 'til 8 am. He shared in the cleaning and hung out as many loads of washing and changed as many nappies as my mum did. He was a man ahead of his time. Very few husbands of the 1950s and 60s would have been doing that. Despite all the stress and time it took to provide and care for us, he always made time for the family. He gave me the happiest day of my life. I was 5 years old and I was home from school because I was ill. I was on the improve and my dad was home in the morning and was making something with wood on the back porch. I asked him if I could help and he gave me a block of wood, a hammer and some nails. It was a sunny autumn morning and I remember happily hammering nails into that board. My visual memory tells me I did about 30 of them. Every one I did I remember saying "is that a good one?" and my dad giving his approval. I think I've been chasing that quiet warmth in the glow of the autumn sun and my father's approval ever since.
Ted - Thank you very much for this wonderfully enlightening lesson. I, too, own a similar timepiece which I will pass along to my son. This one, alas, was purchased for my own pleasure.
My dad would have fit the description you have given your own father. He, too, was a WWII veteran, commissioned in the 5h Army Air Corps to serve in the Pacific theater. I believe many of his generation who served in combat returned home somewhat stoic or without guile in personality, likely owing to their wartime experience.
My son in S. California is celebrating his 49th birthday today. I just spoke with him and wished him a truly great day of rest and relaxation while sightseeing up the coast with his friend. You and I and many of us are truly blessed to have had good fathers and sons. Kent H
Jun 28, 2023·edited Jun 28, 2023Liked by Dan Stone
Thank you for this lovely and thought provoking remembrance.
I never before connected authenticity with an absence of irony or sarcasm. Much humor seems to thrive on the ironic or the sarcastic or the exaggerated, so I'm curious what sort of sense of humor your father had.
Also, I enjoyed your Steely Dan article.
A modest post of my own below about my obsession with Deacon Blues and the misuse in other contexts of "winners and losers:"
Pleasure to see you two together, still collaborating, and learn of your acquaintance through Thanksgiving hospitality. A true “guest” post, rich with gratitude.
Freaking gorgeous, maybe me fave piece from Ted Gioia and that's saying a lot since there's so many to choose from.
My immigrant parents are similar - both accountants by trade and come from the same barrio, but my mom taught a bunch of high school subjects early in her career including English. So she did love literature and writing, thus knew her way around turning a phrase or impressing family members and friends with a witty quip or pun from time to time, not to mention showing off her knowledge of Rudyard Kipling epic poems and suchlike.
My dad though, absolutely zilch in that department! Also, I do know for a fact, he plans on leaving my kids each a Rolex, which I don't remember him ever wearing 😊
The last few ten years of my Father's life were an illumination to me. He seemed determined to pass along wisdom and a way of living and treating others to my son. He opened up about his life--which included losing his Mother at six, spending half of his teen years in an orphanage, the rest in a private school, and then being basically rescued by WWII. Afterwards he went on to create an incredible life for himself, much of which I was learning about as he told story after story to my son. His life was so authentic, so focused, void of excess, built on friendships, and so proud of his kids. I think about him every day, and his lessons live on in me, and my now 22 year old; we talk frequently about "Granddad".
For as long as I can remember he had a framed slogan in his office or home. It reads "Slow to Anger. Rich in Courtesy, Consideration and Understanding." It is now mine but will pass onto my son (as well as my Rolex datejust) as a tenant of what it means to be part of the family.
ted - you are a wonderful writer full of brilliant observations! i love this article and how you have portrayed your dad from your vantage point later in life... great article with so much insight!
Also, if I'm not mistaken, there is more to the story of the gold watch than you shared. I won't say anymore, as perhaps you don't want to share it, but I always found it a very touching and inspirational story.
Ted, I often wonder whether that authenticity has been totally lost on our culture. My granndfather was much like your father but I struggle to think of many that wear that Truly Authentic label comfortably in these times.
Still learning to navigate Substack--uncertain whether it's more effective to share the following via Hey Pop or Letter in the Ether--by crosspost, Restack, or Notes.
But for those in the community who haven't read it, find the following meditation on paternal memory and loss, by Greil Marcus. Short sad and beautiful.
I will have to hunt that one down. It started out simple enough. We had identical shoes in the same size. But then I read something about ritualization as a way to address grief. It really helped me. (until my chiropodist stepped in)
I have thought similarly about dad many times. He really was completely in the moment, and took everything in a literal way. Our sister is the most like him in that regard of any of the four of us.
Beyond a lack of irony, or even a seeming understanding of it, he seemed also incapable of deceit. I never once heard him lie to anyone about anything. If he was late, I never heard him make up an excuse. If he made a mistake, I never heard him deny it, or try to blame anyone else. He was the most straight-forward, honest person I've ever known.
My father was the opposite, but also a wonderful man. He was larger than life, although small in stature. He had a booming bass voice that could strike fear into a misbehaving child or adult alike. He had the. most bizarre sense of humour and a laser sharp wit. My dad was a symphony bass player. He had 11 children, migrating from Croatia back in the day when that meant literally escaping, with 7 of them in tow. The next 4 he had in Australia. I'm one of those 4. I still remember him working like a slave to feed us all, driving to people's houses to give music lessons between orchestra calls, teaching from home on his off days, and still managing to get up early every morning and clothe and feed all of us in the morning so my mum could sleep in 'til 8 am. He shared in the cleaning and hung out as many loads of washing and changed as many nappies as my mum did. He was a man ahead of his time. Very few husbands of the 1950s and 60s would have been doing that. Despite all the stress and time it took to provide and care for us, he always made time for the family. He gave me the happiest day of my life. I was 5 years old and I was home from school because I was ill. I was on the improve and my dad was home in the morning and was making something with wood on the back porch. I asked him if I could help and he gave me a block of wood, a hammer and some nails. It was a sunny autumn morning and I remember happily hammering nails into that board. My visual memory tells me I did about 30 of them. Every one I did I remember saying "is that a good one?" and my dad giving his approval. I think I've been chasing that quiet warmth in the glow of the autumn sun and my father's approval ever since.
Ted - Thank you very much for this wonderfully enlightening lesson. I, too, own a similar timepiece which I will pass along to my son. This one, alas, was purchased for my own pleasure.
My dad would have fit the description you have given your own father. He, too, was a WWII veteran, commissioned in the 5h Army Air Corps to serve in the Pacific theater. I believe many of his generation who served in combat returned home somewhat stoic or without guile in personality, likely owing to their wartime experience.
My son in S. California is celebrating his 49th birthday today. I just spoke with him and wished him a truly great day of rest and relaxation while sightseeing up the coast with his friend. You and I and many of us are truly blessed to have had good fathers and sons. Kent H
Thanks for the essay Ted
My dad (Ted the 2nd) passed away in 2020
I think of him often. After he died I wore his shoes for almost a year. His character was authentic as well.
Ted Vaillant (the 3rd)
Canada
Thank you for this lovely and thought provoking remembrance.
I never before connected authenticity with an absence of irony or sarcasm. Much humor seems to thrive on the ironic or the sarcastic or the exaggerated, so I'm curious what sort of sense of humor your father had.
Also, I enjoyed your Steely Dan article.
A modest post of my own below about my obsession with Deacon Blues and the misuse in other contexts of "winners and losers:"
https://robertsdavidn.substack.com/p/steely-dans-deacon-blues-winners
Beautiful!
Pleasure to see you two together, still collaborating, and learn of your acquaintance through Thanksgiving hospitality. A true “guest” post, rich with gratitude.
This is beautiful Ted. Thank you for sharing it.
My father is 85. He is a complicated and very well loved man.
Freaking gorgeous, maybe me fave piece from Ted Gioia and that's saying a lot since there's so many to choose from.
My immigrant parents are similar - both accountants by trade and come from the same barrio, but my mom taught a bunch of high school subjects early in her career including English. So she did love literature and writing, thus knew her way around turning a phrase or impressing family members and friends with a witty quip or pun from time to time, not to mention showing off her knowledge of Rudyard Kipling epic poems and suchlike.
My dad though, absolutely zilch in that department! Also, I do know for a fact, he plans on leaving my kids each a Rolex, which I don't remember him ever wearing 😊
The last few ten years of my Father's life were an illumination to me. He seemed determined to pass along wisdom and a way of living and treating others to my son. He opened up about his life--which included losing his Mother at six, spending half of his teen years in an orphanage, the rest in a private school, and then being basically rescued by WWII. Afterwards he went on to create an incredible life for himself, much of which I was learning about as he told story after story to my son. His life was so authentic, so focused, void of excess, built on friendships, and so proud of his kids. I think about him every day, and his lessons live on in me, and my now 22 year old; we talk frequently about "Granddad".
For as long as I can remember he had a framed slogan in his office or home. It reads "Slow to Anger. Rich in Courtesy, Consideration and Understanding." It is now mine but will pass onto my son (as well as my Rolex datejust) as a tenant of what it means to be part of the family.
ted - you are a wonderful writer full of brilliant observations! i love this article and how you have portrayed your dad from your vantage point later in life... great article with so much insight!
Also, if I'm not mistaken, there is more to the story of the gold watch than you shared. I won't say anymore, as perhaps you don't want to share it, but I always found it a very touching and inspirational story.
Very touching Ted.
Ted, I often wonder whether that authenticity has been totally lost on our culture. My granndfather was much like your father but I struggle to think of many that wear that Truly Authentic label comfortably in these times.
Still learning to navigate Substack--uncertain whether it's more effective to share the following via Hey Pop or Letter in the Ether--by crosspost, Restack, or Notes.
But for those in the community who haven't read it, find the following meditation on paternal memory and loss, by Greil Marcus. Short sad and beautiful.
https://open.substack.com/pub/greilmarcus/p/tied-to-history?r=kuzs2&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web
I will have to hunt that one down. It started out simple enough. We had identical shoes in the same size. But then I read something about ritualization as a way to address grief. It really helped me. (until my chiropodist stepped in)