My father was an elegant man, some people thought him distant, condescending, but I always knew better. He was quiet. As the war had interrupted his education, he felt insecure among my more educated uncles. He read the paper, watched news show and could explain the most complex aspects of politic science better than most of my teachers. I think, perhaps, he was the reason I became a teacher. The love of history, culture and customs was born with the many discussions we shared. He had a wealth of stored knowledge that was awesome in its depth, but I don't think he ever realized it.
I have several memories of my Dad that stand out like color pictures among a lifetime of black and white stills. Seemingly meaningless snippets of events that pop up now and then to remind me that all I am and have today is because of his influence.
My very first memory of my father is so old, that some would think it's a piece of imagination, but I remember so clearly. I was still in my crib and needed to go to the bathroom. Calling out urgently, I can hear his voice first, "Hold your horses..." he kept repeating. He arrived in the nick of time, saved me from disappointment and embarrassment and began a lifetime of trust that he would always be there for me, no matter what the circumstances.
He was not a Dad who played games, or even read with us. An avid sports fan, we watched television together, and he laughed with genuine tears when I parroted back every beer commercial ditty at three years old. He worked so hard, traveling to cities in the most remote parts of the country to return exhausted that all he could do was watch his sports every weekend. It was our time, my mother and grandmother were in the kitchen preparing food, or chatting. Stretching out his legs, my brothers and I would hold on to them as he moved them, pretending to be pirate's hanging from the masts. His very round head made a perfect steering wheel, and I recall using his ears to steer our course on wind swept seas. Perhaps Captain No Beard was born then, to be called back into into action with my own grandchildren from the dim recess of my childhood memories.
The night before I married, we sat together watching "All in the Family", Gloria, Archie Bunker's daughter was about to leave the nest and marry as well. I don't remember what Archie said, something about this will always be your home, it was sentimental, but I can see my Dad's blue eyes look at me and nod telling me what his words couldn't.
My father was a hard working, moral and kind man. He never set a standard for his children that he didn't do first. Dependable, honorable, and honest, I am richer for having been his daughter as well as his friend.
Happy Father's Day!
Love,
Carole P. Roman
