My father didn’t tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it. — Clarence Budington Kelland
My dad ... a very active, involved dad, even when starting/running a business in the 1950's; loved me, loved my mom, he was great, I never knew how great/'smart' he truly was till later when others began telling me stories of him & then I also learned what a remarkable humble person he was. He valued education. He taught me independence - never gave advice. We once discussed that; I said 'you never gave me advice', he said 'you never asked' 😜
My father was a sleepy working-man who supported a family of seven working rotating shifts in a chemical plant. But he was not unconscious. He was a very effective one man nuclear activist who managed to defeat the building of a nuclear power plant on the Delaware River in the metropolitan Philadelphia area (operating as the Delaware Valley Committee for the protection of the Environment). He was not popular for his constant editorial letters to the Philadelphia newspapers. But when the Three Mile Island nuclear accident happened a few years later he was finally acknowledged in print for the work he had done to protect the community. From him I learned that one person working quietly can make a considerable difference. —Meredith Mustard
My Dad was a busy fellow . . . a reader, a listener of opera broadcasts… and he’d been brought up by his parents as a European gentleman. That’s hard to shed, folks. When he was introduced to a woman, Dad stood, bowed from the waist, and clicked his heels together. He wore a suit and tie and sometimes a vest to school every day, always with a starched, white shirt. For the trip to school or anywhere, for that matter, he wore a grey felt fedora. Men who wore suits didn’t wear colored shirts, or plaid, or checkered or striped. Suit colors ran the gamut all the way from dark grey to dark brown to dark blue. I can remember the smell of his eight or nine suits as I opened and stood in front of his closet. There was an odor of cigarette smoke and I think, a bit of sweat. It was Dad’s smell. To this day, when I think back on it, it comforts me. Dad wasn’t authoritarian; he was, well . . . Dad. He was a close approximation of what I think he wanted his father to be. To others, it might have looked funny when Dad played catch with nerdy little me. He’d still be in his suit. He never rolled his white shirt sleeves up, and he'd loosen his tie only sometimes. Dad even wore a suit to the grocery store, and would not ever be caught “out” without his suit jacket on, and buttoned. I loved Dad, and it was certain that he loved me, but it was a bit less than physical. I could instigate a hug, but I don’t recall him ever initiating one of those. Also, if it were a serious enough offense as judged by my Mom, he’d be the dispenser of a good whack, or a loud (and I mean LOUD) admonition when he got home from work. Dad had what could be called a "teacher voice." He also gave pronouncements as advice when I was young. “Work hard at school today.” And “Don’t tell lies.” These were meant to stick in my mind and to ultimately teach. But mostly, because they were always said the same way, I stopped internalizing them. Dad taught high school. As I look back, I think he saw me as a mini-him. He talked mostly at me; not to me – although it was always known that these pronouncements were for me, and they meant he loved me. I knew that. I don’t know just how, but I always knew it, in my heart of hearts.
Great stories below. I am hoping that more young men have the opportunity to be a little more in touch with themselves. Not really sure how to put it in words. To start we need more male role models in our schools to show how men can be caring and "manly" at the same time.
My father was from a poor, London East End family, one of 13 children, piloted landing craft full of soldiers to the Normandy beaches on D Day and fought his way through Europe to Germany. He always wanted a son but he had 2 daughters. My sister and I became teachers and made him proud. At least he had sons in law.
the quote that stood out to me was:
My father didn’t tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it. — Clarence Budington Kelland
My dad ... a very active, involved dad, even when starting/running a business in the 1950's; loved me, loved my mom, he was great, I never knew how great/'smart' he truly was till later when others began telling me stories of him & then I also learned what a remarkable humble person he was. He valued education. He taught me independence - never gave advice. We once discussed that; I said 'you never gave me advice', he said 'you never asked' 😜
Made me think of how I would describe my father:
My father was a sleepy working-man who supported a family of seven working rotating shifts in a chemical plant. But he was not unconscious. He was a very effective one man nuclear activist who managed to defeat the building of a nuclear power plant on the Delaware River in the metropolitan Philadelphia area (operating as the Delaware Valley Committee for the protection of the Environment). He was not popular for his constant editorial letters to the Philadelphia newspapers. But when the Three Mile Island nuclear accident happened a few years later he was finally acknowledged in print for the work he had done to protect the community. From him I learned that one person working quietly can make a considerable difference. —Meredith Mustard
Thanks Meredith. What a lovely tribute to your father. How very fortunate you are to have had such a conscientious and courageous man as your dad.
My Dad was a busy fellow . . . a reader, a listener of opera broadcasts… and he’d been brought up by his parents as a European gentleman. That’s hard to shed, folks. When he was introduced to a woman, Dad stood, bowed from the waist, and clicked his heels together. He wore a suit and tie and sometimes a vest to school every day, always with a starched, white shirt. For the trip to school or anywhere, for that matter, he wore a grey felt fedora. Men who wore suits didn’t wear colored shirts, or plaid, or checkered or striped. Suit colors ran the gamut all the way from dark grey to dark brown to dark blue. I can remember the smell of his eight or nine suits as I opened and stood in front of his closet. There was an odor of cigarette smoke and I think, a bit of sweat. It was Dad’s smell. To this day, when I think back on it, it comforts me. Dad wasn’t authoritarian; he was, well . . . Dad. He was a close approximation of what I think he wanted his father to be. To others, it might have looked funny when Dad played catch with nerdy little me. He’d still be in his suit. He never rolled his white shirt sleeves up, and he'd loosen his tie only sometimes. Dad even wore a suit to the grocery store, and would not ever be caught “out” without his suit jacket on, and buttoned. I loved Dad, and it was certain that he loved me, but it was a bit less than physical. I could instigate a hug, but I don’t recall him ever initiating one of those. Also, if it were a serious enough offense as judged by my Mom, he’d be the dispenser of a good whack, or a loud (and I mean LOUD) admonition when he got home from work. Dad had what could be called a "teacher voice." He also gave pronouncements as advice when I was young. “Work hard at school today.” And “Don’t tell lies.” These were meant to stick in my mind and to ultimately teach. But mostly, because they were always said the same way, I stopped internalizing them. Dad taught high school. As I look back, I think he saw me as a mini-him. He talked mostly at me; not to me – although it was always known that these pronouncements were for me, and they meant he loved me. I knew that. I don’t know just how, but I always knew it, in my heart of hearts.
From "Stumbling Forward - A Life"
Great stories below. I am hoping that more young men have the opportunity to be a little more in touch with themselves. Not really sure how to put it in words. To start we need more male role models in our schools to show how men can be caring and "manly" at the same time.
My father was from a poor, London East End family, one of 13 children, piloted landing craft full of soldiers to the Normandy beaches on D Day and fought his way through Europe to Germany. He always wanted a son but he had 2 daughters. My sister and I became teachers and made him proud. At least he had sons in law.