Fathers
10/19/07 15:22
One of my oldest friends lost his father last week.
Don was a good guy, anyone who knew him would tell
you so. I attended the memorial where a nice young
preacher, who didn't really know him, stood
behind an urn holding his cremains and declared Don
saved. And then preached him on in to heaven,
assuring his widow that she would one day meet up
with him there, and they would both be young
and vital and together again. For
her sake, for her health and well-being, I hope she
believes that fully.
I sat in the back to draw lightning away from the women and children and old folks, and thought about death. Around the neck of the urn was a little placard with Don's name and the dates of his birth and death. I noticed he was born the same year as my own father, and even though he outlived my father by 7 years, he still only made it to 65. Retirement age.
With average life expectancy in the US approaching 80, it's easy to feel like both Don and my father got cheated somehow by the vagaries of math, like it's just bad luck that they are part of the half of our population that falls below the average. But the truth is they belonged to the generation of men who pretty much define the lower half of that average. Men of limited education—maybe finished high school—who spent their lives working with their hands and their back, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer and eating fried everything. When I was growing up, all my friend's dads were just like them.
Most of them never thought much past next week's paycheck and the kids need shoes and the fridge is on it's last legs. Their goals were simple; get the house paid for, get the kids through school and maybe collect a pension someday if you don't get laid off.
They say we become our parents, and I guess they wouldn't say it if it wasn't mostly true. At the memorial I noticed my friend is as much like his father as I am mine and I was reminded of a line from a John Hiatt song: "It's an old man's dreams that a young man fears." It's true. But we inherit those dreams nonetheless.
I sat in the back to draw lightning away from the women and children and old folks, and thought about death. Around the neck of the urn was a little placard with Don's name and the dates of his birth and death. I noticed he was born the same year as my own father, and even though he outlived my father by 7 years, he still only made it to 65. Retirement age.
With average life expectancy in the US approaching 80, it's easy to feel like both Don and my father got cheated somehow by the vagaries of math, like it's just bad luck that they are part of the half of our population that falls below the average. But the truth is they belonged to the generation of men who pretty much define the lower half of that average. Men of limited education—maybe finished high school—who spent their lives working with their hands and their back, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer and eating fried everything. When I was growing up, all my friend's dads were just like them.
Most of them never thought much past next week's paycheck and the kids need shoes and the fridge is on it's last legs. Their goals were simple; get the house paid for, get the kids through school and maybe collect a pension someday if you don't get laid off.
They say we become our parents, and I guess they wouldn't say it if it wasn't mostly true. At the memorial I noticed my friend is as much like his father as I am mine and I was reminded of a line from a John Hiatt song: "It's an old man's dreams that a young man fears." It's true. But we inherit those dreams nonetheless.
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