wordsimageslife
an exploration of life as a parent & designer

A Tribute to My Father

It's been about a month and half since my father passed away. That's given me some time to do some thinking about our relationship, which I can only describe as complicated and sometimes strained. Despite our differences, and shared uncomfortabliities, I am proud to say that my father was his own man.

Born on April 8, 1937 my father was the second child of Irving and Beatrice Bennett. At the time they lived on Riverside Drive (I think) on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. My grandfather, a somewhat gruff and mean-spirited man owned his own chemical company and was very hard on my father. His mother, Beatrice, was a strong-willed, respectful woman who worked as a model, assistant and various other positions in the NYC fashion industry. My grandmother was always fondly known as "the Director" for her innate ability to manage the lives of all around her. As far as siblings go, my father had one older sister, Barbara, who still lives in Rome, Italy.

Having had a difficult relationship with his father—my father had a much easier time raising my two sisters—than the slightly foreign and frightening object that I was. For as mean and rough as my grandfather was, my father was gentle. He was a very sweet man who functioned in the tough world of business without the ability to play the politics because he really didn't see them. He was a graduate of Tufts and I guess business politics wasn't something they taught in the chemistry curriculum. His career always centered around sales and relationships. My father's first job was with Dutch Boy paints, I'm not sure if he did sales or what, in New York. Then he was transferred or took a job in Philly where I was born, and then onto Boston. Finally my father went to work for Borg-Warner in Marietta, Ohio and moved his young family to Parkersburg, WV—right across the river from Marietta.

Once my father started working for Borg-Warner his seemingly frequent business trips became an occasion for celebration. When he came home Dad would always bring some sort of trinket, usually some giveaway from a trade show, for us kids. I still have two of my favorites. A small white model of a Concorde and a series of small trains, about N scale, on a small piece of track, set on a small wood block. Why I've treasured those two items over all these years I'm not sure, but I always associate them with my Dad and his trips.

The was one more thing I always remember, and was so typical of him trying to fit-in, was this picture he had taken with the tattoo lady from a trade show. I swear my Mother gasped when she saw the picture and was none to thrilled with it, but it was always up in Dad's office in the house. The funny thing about the picture, besides it was so not my Dad's style, was the silly, uncomfortable grin he had on his face.

Besides the gifts and pics, I remember my Father as a very giving person. He was eager to join a mental health helpline that my Mom worked with for some time. He was Mr. Super volunteer for public radio and television in Huntington. And if a friend needed a hand, Dad would be there. For his friends, Dad was someone who truly could be depended on to help out in times of need. And he was so loyal. No one can deny his true love for Marshall University football even though he was not a graduate of the university and only one of his kids graduated from there, my oldest sister Deb in 1984. It was just his passion and he honestly bled green. (I recently sent a request to Marshall to see if they could do a short memorial announcement on my father's behalf at their first home game this coming season).

During my father's funeral service, it was with a bit of bittersweet pleasure that I discovered a side of him that I hadn't really known all that well. Most of that history and those stories came from his friends and my step-brothers and sisters. For them, my father through his gentleness was a strong father figure that they really hadn't had with their biological father. And as I've mentioned, he was a good friend to those around him. Most importantly, is what he was able to give to me, and considering the circumstances, it's almost suprising.

One of the last things I said to my father, that I knew he heard and understood, was the following: "Thanks Dad for making me such a good father." It was his gift to me that I'm not even sure he knew he had given me. To me it's worth more than all the money in the world and certainly something that I will be able to share forever with my children and honor his memory with. I have my father's gentleness and sensitivity—most of the time—but also through his own insecurities, I am able to see mine more clearly and work to resolve them. This is not a chance that he ever had. Sure, it's a struggle for me as most of us struggle on some level with life in general. But that gift he gave me is such a wonderful thing that it makes the struggle that much easier. More importantly I am able to give so much back to my kids and family and I not sure I would be able to do that as much if my Dad had been some kind of super-businessman. You know the absent father type who leaves all the raising of the children to Mom. I have to thank someone that my father wasn't that type of person despite my own immature desires for him to be someone he never was. For that Dad, posthumously, I apologize. I guess that's the one thing I did forget to do before you died. But it seemed more important to tell you what I was grateful for rather than that which I was just stupid about.

While there are many other stories to share, some I know and others I don't, now is not the time or place for those. This is my way of sharing with the world that a man most people didn't know but would have been proud to has gone but left value behind. And that is the ultimate blessing. God bless you Dad, God bless you.

Posted by robdesign at June 3, 2004 09:18 AM