I sometimes wonder if my father knew what he was doing when
he sat at the dinner table together with me after dinner, discussing the world
news and debating with me about different topics of interest. I was a teenager
at that time, in high school, and we did much of the same in our history and
sociology classes. So it only felt natural to extend this behavior to the home
arena. It was considered a sign of intelligence to be interested in society, in
politics, in the life around you. It was considered a sign of intelligence to
have a reasoned opinion about some of the important events that were happening
around us, and important to impart that opinion in a reasonable manner. I credit
my father with teaching me that it was important to use your brain, to use
logic, to use reason, in order to argue and debate with others. He was no fan
of the bully approach, and would probably have coined the phrase ‘the pen is
mightier than the sword’ if it hadn’t already been coined before him. He was a
great reader, as I’ve written about in this blog before. An intelligent man, an
intellectual, a peace-loving man who was uncomfortable with raw conflict. He
had served in WWII and lived to tell about it. I know he was proud to have
served his country, but he was no war-monger. When the Watergate scandal broke,
he and I watched the drama unfold on TV and watched the Watergate hearings (1973-74)
together. We discussed it all, from all sides. His requirement for discussions
and debates was that we used logic and reason, not just feelings, to present
our opinions. He was not the kind of man that tolerated utterances such as ‘he’s
an asshole’ or ‘what a jerk’ as interesting contributions to a discussion, even
though we both might have felt that way about certain politicians at the time.
And so I learned from him that discussion, debate and even arguments had their
place in daily life. Conflict and differences of opinion were part of life; it
was how you handled them that mattered. He was not perfect, and even he at
times could opine about his feelings rather than his thoughts on certain
matters. Then I reminded him of what he had taught us. He was not afraid to
tell me when my arguments didn’t hold water, and that infuriated me, enough so
that I could storm away from the dining room table, but I retreated and did my
homework and came back stronger the next time. He wanted facts, logic, reason
and a civil manner on top of it all. God love him for it. He helped to create
strong, independent-thinking, and rational women (me and my sister) who are
proud of their intelligence and talents. I think he did that because he knew
what we would face in the world. I wish he was still alive, because I know he
would have discussed the role of women with me now, in 2017, and how terrible
it is that the current president and his cronies want to return women to a time
when their opinions and wishes did not matter. He would have been appalled at
the language that the president uses about women, and appalled that the world
had come to this point where women were reduced to objects, to be abused and
attacked, bullied and mocked. He would have deplored the state of the world in
2017.
I bring up my father because I believe the world needs more
men like him. He was ahead of his time, in so many ways. He was one of the
first men I knew who would absolutely have preferred to spend more time with his
children and less time at the office. He had a good career as chief technical
librarian for a number of companies, but he never brought his work home with
him. He never spent evenings immersed in work projects that could wait until the
next day. He never complained about how busy he was or how little time he had
for everything. He was a family man and he made time for his family. His
evenings were spent talking to us about the world, helping us with homework, and
testing us in preparation for exams the next day. He and my mother bought me my
first microscope set at one of the science fairs in our local grammar school.
My father would patiently sit with me as we looked at slides of amoebas and
diatoms together. He was as interested as I was in the natural world, but he
could not keep up with me once I immersed myself in science as a career. But he
was proud of me and proud of my endeavors. He called me at work once to tell me
that he loved me, and I never forgot that. He would clip out articles from the
newspaper and send them to me (my mother did the same)—science-related and literature-related.
Because after science, it is world literature that interests me. That is in my
genes from both my parents. My father was interested and involved in our lives
and God bless him for it. If your father is the first man who teaches you about
men, I’m glad that he was the man who taught me what a good man is. I used
to tell him he was cute, and that made him happy—he would smile that little
smile he had (my mother said he had a particular way of pursing his lips). I
never left my parents’ house without telling them that I loved them. Because I
knew that my father could disappear from my life at any moment due to his poor
health. Unfortunately, I made my mistakes when it came to choosing men to share
my life with, as have many others. A failed first marriage was the result. Even
then, my father was supportive. I remember walking around our neighborhood, he
with his cane to steady himself after a stroke he had had, and we talked about
my unhappy marriage and what to do about it. He and I both knew that it would
never improve. He understood what it would cost me to divorce my first husband,
and he understood that my life would never be the same. Sadly, he didn’t live
to witness my divorce nor did he get the chance to meet my current husband. But
I know that he wished (and wishes) me well, in that universe of parallel lives
where he lives now, perhaps as a healthy man. I hope so. I do know that he is
still a loving one.
