Deserving Dads

Sooner or later, usually later, dads do something deserving of praise.

We're usually busy, and we're usually doing, but the doing is not always redeemable for praise. More often it's not. Unfortunately.

eg: San Francisco's airport terminals are art galleries. Plus, there's the Sports Hall of Fame which displays plaques of local stars, many of whom are, or were, dads.

There's Joe DiMaggio. Dom DiMaggio, too. John Madden, and others.

Which is to suggest that as airport waiting experiences are concerned San Francisco can be entertaining and informative. But, then there's the dads. Maybe it was just one dad that soured me on the whole SFO experience?

Man, he was ruthless. Berating. Cutting her down. He was righter than right, and so she must have been wrong. But not that wrong.

"What the hell?"

Since I was two seats away that's what I said, a bit too loud to get his and her attentions. I lifted up my laptop and looked beneath it for the explanation of my faux-confusion. "Damnit!" I said, even louder. Then lifted my laptop, peering at its underside, turning it over, opening and closing it for effect. Rolling my eyes. The very picture of exasperation.

He stopped. Maybe he looked at me, but I never made contact. Later his wife glanced in my direction, I shrugged still in my exasperated mode. We weren't on the same page, but at least I wasn't listening to him anymore. Neither was she.

Come on, dads. We deserve the praise.

Some Dads Do...Some Don't

My dad did. As his did before him.

They did what they had to do.

My grandfather was a stretcher-bearer in WWI because he refused to carry a weapon. He was the guy running around the battlefield without a weapon, dodging bullets while trying to help the wounded.

My dad's eyesight was terrible, he was essentially blind, so for WWII they gave him a rifle, but told him not to shoot anybody because he couldn't tell who was what or what was who. In addition to his rifle they gave him a typewriter. His main task from the Philippines was to write the report sent to families about their loved one: "...we regret to inform you...with bombs exploding and bullets winging past he was able to hold off an entire battalion as his unit reached safety..." Everyone was a hero in his world. Well, not the officers. His world was the enlisted ranks.

He was captured and imprisoned when he drifted from camp. Three days later he reappeared. There had been hand-to-hand combat, and he later told me, "We looked at each other and we both realized one of us was going to die." Really? Really.

When Vietnam rolled around I was 2S; a student deferment, and he suggested, "If your status ever changes, if I were you, I wouldn't go. This war, any war, isn't worth what the politicians say it's worth. Go 'CO', or go to Canada, but you'll decide for yourself." 100 days later he died of a heartattack and my draft classification shifted to 1A when I dropped out of Long Beach State to run his company and finish the contract with the USIA.

There was work to do.

I went down to Westwood to appeal my 1A, claiming 'sole-surviving son.' "Boy, we changed that, you may be the sole-surviving son, but your daddy didn't die in combat, so you're 1A and you're gonna stay 1A, and you can look for something in the mail from us real soon."

Been looking ever since. And for more than 40 years I've been doing what I had to do.

Working. Paying the rent. Paying the bills. Grindstone. Uphill.

Doing what has to be done.

Dad returns (comeback, Dad!)

Ah, baby.

Come home, baby. Homecoming.

Where is that home? That place within our realm we can actually think of as home?

40 years of home-ing with Frances.

40 years ago our home was in Lahaina, Maui--A box-like condo apartment on the beach. We went to work every day with Geraldine Chaplin and Charlton Heston under the direction of Tommy Gries. Should we get married? Lois Sloan sent Frances the dress and the rest was history. My best man, Bob Feigel, was in jail on the other side of the Banyan Tree. John Wittenburgh stood in. Alice was there, Cathy, too.

So, 40 years later to celebrate we went to another island. British Isles. Scotland. Speyside. River Spey. Inverness to Elgin to Buckie, and from Buckie it was walking up the Spey...Fochabers; Craigellachie; Dufftown; Aberlour; Ballindalloch; Grantown-on-Spey; Nethy Bridge; Boat of Garten; Aviemore.

You can't make this stuff up.

These towns and the walk in between are now part of our 'home.'

"Whisky Walk." Which distilleries did we visit/see? Uh...Balvenie, Glenfiddich, Glenlivet; Cragganmore, Macallan, Aberlour, Dewars, Carron, Tomintoul, Knockando...

Home.

Where the heart is, baby. For 40 years. Where has that heart been?

Topanga Beach. Lahaina, Maui. Hollywood. Malibu. Bergamo, Italy. San Francisco. Venice. Sleepy Hollow. La Jolla. Santa Barbara. Sausalito.

Home.

I'm going home.

Travel Time

Dads travel.

Sometimes dads don't even leave where they are and they're busy traveling. 

But actual travel suggests movement. Here to there. Hey! Where are you going?

It's your move. Travel. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

186,000mps. Light travels 186,000 miles in one second. As the earth travels around the sun while spinning on its axis how fast are we traveling? How fast does the entire solar system move as it travels through our MilkyWayed galaxy?

Successful travel has much to do with preparation.

Being ready, like a good ol' Boy Scout.

Being able to orient oneself. Which direction to take. When to go, and why.

Travelers. Not passengers and not tourists; travelers.

Some travelers end up being pioneers because of their timing.

Here's to traveling. Dads.

Responsibility

Responsibility; the ability to respond.

But it goes beyond just responding, doesn't it?

Dads can't just respond...their response needs to be perfect.

Appropriate, timely, pointed, and informative, but always guiding toward a greater understanding.

Dads define responsibility, otherwise they'd rely upon someone else to guide and inform their family?

Responsibility.

Every day.

Every opportunity.

Big challenge, but we dads, we can respond.

Flew into Boston yesterday on Virgin America. Flew FIRST CLASS on Virgin America. First Class wasn't the result of big bucks, more the impact of "knowledge." Not always who you know, sometimes it's what you know. Other times it's just accepting what we're told. First Class is so expensive. That's what they tell you. First Class doesn't have to be expensive.

Why is there First Class?

Steerage?

Why not First Class service for everyone? Why limit it to just those in First Class?

It's what we as dads need to aspire to. Right? Provide a First Class experience for ours.

First Class for our everyone, all the time. Every flight. Ever walk. Everything we do.

First Class, baby!

Premiere Class. The Best. The best we can be. What? Settle for less? Expect less?

That's what we want our families to think? Yeah! Come on, try! Give it your sort of!

Your Grandchild's Child

Poseurs abound, don't they? Pretenders. 

"Strike a pose." (flash)

Men who strike a "dad" pose may find short-term solutions, but in the long haul the image, the pose of the successful 'dad,' is the summation of all of the experiences, not just one 'pose.' Not just one 'photo op.'

The success of a 'dad' is reflected in his great grandchildren.

It's the long running full-length feature, and the feature's sequel, and its sequel, that reflect a "dad's" success, not one still image.

Live streaming reality, moment to moment, connecting and reconnecting and developing and manifesting and realizing...if you're a dad what are your children like when they're parents? When they're moms and dads?

How do they define their children, your grandchildren?

How often have you been able to witness the pride in a grandchild as they present their child to their grandparent?

Now that's a photo op!

Graduation

It's June.
Celebrations abound.
Riding on the shoulders of giants Sir Isaac Newton changes the world in his time. Riding on the shoulders of giants, recognizing how we get to where we're going, sometimes involves recognizing our parents. Moms and dads.
My dad was a giant, for sure.
Rickets whacked his legs when he was boy. Prison camp in WWII.
Malaria. Dude!
Giant shoulders in development.
Giant shoulders brought crashing to the ground by mycardial infarction. Heart attack? More like a heart explosion. 44 years old. That was 40 years ago. Damn, that's long ago, isn't it?!? Lots of memories built in those 40 years.
Exercise, baby!
Low fats. Monitor the cholesterol.
Be well, because if you're not well, if you're not alive, you're not a dad, anymore. You're just a memory.

Dads are careful.

I still remember the feeling of holding our first child, Aran Brady Fitzpatrick. And second, Allwyn Gallagher Fitzpatrick, and third, too, Colin Gavin Seamus Fitzpatrick. (There's been a James Fitzpatrick in this clan for every generation I've been able to trace, so Seamus found his way in there).

Holding Aran. New child. New dad. Giving her a bath in the sink on the avenues in San Francisco. She's sort of sprawled on my fore arm, head in my hand, face up, watching--always watching! Towel wrapped around her torso. It's 1973 and I haven't cut my hair yet, and I glance in the mirror and turn to leave for the adjacent bedroom and the never to be forgotten sound of her head hitting the doorjamb.

Sort of hollow, sort of. Which makes it a clunk, sort of, but there's some whack in there too. Holy shit!

And the explosive reaction takes a moment. It's as if she actually took the time to think, 'What the hell?' and then she let it go.

Standing at her wedding and the celebrant asks, "Who is it that gives this woman to this man?" We do. I do, the guy who cracked her head on the doorjamb more than 20 years ago, I do.

Dads dare.
Dads do. Consider how brave it is to be a good dad. What it takes. What the 'man' has to give up to be a good dad. Damn. It's a lot. Man stuff. Give it up, you're a dad, now. Be proud. It's the best, most challenging, most-in-your-face role you'll ever have. Dad. Congratulations, dad. Not too many are going to thank you, yet.

Dads are heroes for all of the right reasons.

Dads aren't nerds. Dads do nerdishness, just as they do great things, but by definition dads aren't nerds because dads have the ultimate purpose. To carry forth. To take forth; to be the future by helping children be prepared for the challenges they will face.

Ha. The future. Ten years ago? Find an iPod ad from the 90s. The future is not ours, it's theirs. My dad didn't blink, but he was random as a dad, too. Was he as responsible as he could have been? No. But he provided the freedom that built me.

I am my dad's extension. As are my children, and my grandchildren, and each of the 1000s of children I've worked with over the past 37 years.

Dads laugh.
They cry, too, but dads laugh, and more dads that can laugh with children then the better those children will be.
Laugh dad, laugh.
That's funny. Dad. Proudly. Laugh proudly, dad.

Doing includes not doing. There's some things dads don't do. Dads don't hurt children. Dads help children.

I was up for jury duty in Santa Barbara last year and the case involved domestic violence. The question from the attorney screening potential jurors, "When is violence toward a spouse justifiable?" How about never! "Pick me! Ask me! NEVER!" Not ever. He figured it out, his client had beat up his wife, and he was looking for someone other than me.

What say ye? I say 'Men' get angry, dads don't. Dads are better than that.

I say dads do not get angry at their children or the mother, because if they do they know they can't. Dads don't do anger, they figure out something else, because they know it's them, or the situation, but certainly not the child.

A dad who gets angry at a child knows its the dad, not the child. Otherwise that dad's not a dad, he's just a 'man.'

Because really, if violence is your last resort, then what are you doing in that resort? Go somewhere else. Get a new travel agent!

Dads don't do violence. They don't hit, strike, spank, threaten, intimidate, humilate, or in any shape or form attack their children, or their spouse. Dads don't do that. Dads do some things, but they don't do that.

Dads discover. Dads dig into situations and realize they have more to learn. Dads delve into the unknown and realize there's an alternative to hitting children. Dads do things but they don't strike children. Right, dad?

Dads. Dads do and they don't, and sometimes they should and others they shouldn't.

This is about what to do and why, and when, and not.

My dad did and didn't, and I have done and do, and now as a grandparent and lifetime educator with thousands of dads asking my advice I've decided to do this.

So, if you're a dad, or not, this could help. Or not.

Importantly, choosing to not do something is still doing something. It's still choosing, so it's more likely that other choices might be considered, too. Right?

This is about doing something. Doing, and hopefully it's the right thing to do, and often times the right thing to do ISN'T about or for the Dad, it's for others, especially for your children. Right, Dad?