Remembering Dad

If ever a kind soul walked this earth, it was Dad. He has been gone for over 6 years but I still think of him nearly every day. He preferred a kind word rather than railing on about the negative things that inevitably arise in one's life. And whenever we were together, his smile would always brush away any ill feelings one might have. I have this picture of him standing, smiling, relaxed in his naval uniform, hat in hand, on the day I was born. He was far away but had his buddies take his picture that day. The note on the back simply states "RBH (his initials) in Naples, Italy October 7, 1947 - day that message came to U.S.S. Leyte, CV-22, of Lee's birth."

He became a teacher. And he taught well. He cared about his students - not just when they were juniors   in high school but throughout their lives. Over the years, we heard many stories from students about how much they enjoyed being in his class. At reunions they made a point of saying hello and thanking him for his guidance and the passion he put into the art of teaching. Interestingly enough many of those were the same students that he failed and yet somehow managed to instill the importance of learning along with their self worth regardless of class grade. A true gift.

He also taught my brothers and me as well. I would not consider him a strict disciplinarian but when needed he got his message across in a way that showed us what was "right" and that he had faith in us to do better the next time. He was a very intelligent and thoughtful man. Yes, he was an academic but he conveyed what he learned both in books and in life in a way we could all understand and appreciate. That's probably why his students thought so highly of him as well. He was an amazing communicator, both verbally and in writing. He (like my Mother, still) was a letter writer par excellence. He would never write an email (even if he had a computer - which he didn't). That would simply be too impersonal. We all loved receiving notes, gift cards or letters from Dad. Maybe that is where I received my love of poetry. One of his many gifts to me. His writing was so lyrical and carefully crafted. Our daughter attributes much of her love of writing (in addition to her gift) to her Grandpa H. He had a wonderful sense of humor - Laurel and Hardy and Sid Caesar were his favorites. We treasure any of his writings we still have, especially the serendipitous ones. For instance:

We used to check on my parents house when they were out of town and he would set up the kitchen table to make any would-be burglar think twice about entering the house - cereal bowls, plates, coffee cups and ash tray with fake cigarette (he used to smoke) all displayed with precision. When we went over their one time to check on the house he had also added the following note in his distinctive handwriting - "He finished his cereal, had a cup of coffee, smoked a cigarette and then he disappeared..."     What?

On another occasion, they stopped by to take our dog for a walk while we were gone. The following note was on our counter -  "I took Molly out for a walk. She dug a hole on the edge of the street and buried 2 snausages; but we filled it in with crushed rock. See ya later."

We couldn't wait for the next gem.

He was a gifted storyteller as well. We all remember the escapades of Dr. Hugo Von Eckner, Mr. Murdock (who lived under the bed), Erma Pilcher and the fiery Faruzzio Mazzioli. You had to be there.

He was all a child, young man and adult could want for a father - kind, caring, intelligent, humerous, devoted and loving. It is all I can do to try and be as good a father as he was to me. Still working on that.

Thank you Dad.