Father's Day

It's difficult these days to watch the news without hearing of the latest hate crime. It seems that everyday we're hearing about another boy that was beaten to death for being gay or a black man that was taken out for being in a white neighborhood. Americans like to label themselves as being “The Melting Pot”, the country comprised of all races and religions; the land of tolerance. The simple fact is that we are anything but.

I remember when I was a boy in school that there were times where a group of kids would join together in ridiculing someone for being different. One time stands out in my mind when a couple of kids were teasing a girl for being Jewish. To this very day, I feal a pain in my stomach when the memory returns of me joining in with them for the sole reason of fitting in. It felt wrong when I did it, but I did it. I knew I was doing something against my upbringing and my very nature, but I still did it. Was I that weak? I think there are people out there that really believe what they are selling, but also that there are many more that don't, but simply get swept away with the tide in order to fit it. It's harder to swim against the current.

Late in the last presidential election, I was visiting my father in the nursing home when he pointed to the television news coverage of Senator John McCain's campaign.

“There he is. There's the guy you want to vote for.”

Now, there's a point to this other than political, so please bare with me.

At the time, even though I was brought up to be a steadfast Republican, I was unhappy with the party and open to an alternative idea.

“How can you say that?” I argued. “Where have you been for the past eight years? You must be joking!”


I went off on the subject for some time, quite honestly believing that the Republican party should simply crawl under the table and lick their wounds and let the Democrats take a stab at things for a while. I failed to see anyone strong enough for my vote in the GOP, as much as it pained me to admit it.

“I want you to do me a favor,” I continued. “The next time Obama gives a speech, I want you to listen to the man. Just listen. Please. I'm only asking you to listen. You're a smart man. Just listen to what he has to say. I'll be back here to see you next week and we'll talk then, OK?”

He promised he would. The week went by and I returned to the nursing home for a visit with Dad. When I entered the room, he was watching the TV. After exchanging greetings, he told me that he'd been listening to Barack Obama since my last visit.

“He's a good man; a real smart guy” my father said.

“He's a very good man, Dad.” I answered.

“Well he's got my vote.” he said sincerely.

I was shocked. My father was in some ways the very definition of “Old School” and grew up in Newark during a time when racial prejudice among white men toward blacks was practically socially acceptable. And while not in any way is this to be considered acceptable behavior, well, that's just the way it was.

But I learned early on that my father didn't believe that way at all. I remember both my parents pointing out a song from “South Pacific”, titled “You Have to be Carefully Taught” and explaining what the song was all about. The lesson was important to them. There were still times where my father would gather down at the club with his friends and I would overhear him use the N word with his buddies – fitting in just like I did when I was in school, but I knew him better.

My father died on the first of October and never got the chance to cast his vote and see the day that President Obama won the election. After a brief service at the church, we held a gathering at the Breton Woods Club House, my father's stomping ground ever since he was a boy. I'd been milling around the room accepting condolences and chatting with everyone when I overheard a few of my father's close friends talking in a tight circle.

“It will be a cold day in hell when I vote for a N___ger,” one of them said.

I wanted nothing more than to politely – strike that... RUDELY ask them to take that attitude outside, but opted to ignore it for the sake of my father and the other guests. But it was that very moment that I realized just what a hurdle my father had overcome. Eighty four years of being “carefully taught” and yet my father was able to rise above it all. I was never more proud of my him than at that moment. And I strongly believe that if he was there, he would have put his buddies straight right then and there – no doubt what so ever.

So, when it comes down to it, maybe all it takes is for one person... one person to stand out and say, “No. This is just unacceptable.” Just maybe there would be enough people in that crowd that don't really believe what they were selling. Just maybe if one person starts it, they could all start swimming against the tide and actually reverse it.

One could only hope, Americans.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. I'm so proud of you.