A Lesson for Fathers
It was just a few weeks into my senior year in high school. I was sitting in Advanced Math class when the door opened and the school secretary motioned for me to come out for a minute. Oh, of course, that form, I thought. “Sorry, I totally forgot about that form! I’ll bring it tomorrow, I promise.” She shook her head as she again motioned for me to come out in the hall. “It’s not the form.” I got up and left, a little embarrassed in front of all my classmates and wondering what kind of trouble I was in—it was still pretty early in the school year for anything major.
Crossing the threshold from the classroom into the hallway, I saw my dad standing there. And as soon as I saw my dad, I knew I wasn’t in trouble. Yet I suddenly, sincerely wished I were, because the look on his face told me that whatever had prompted this visit was much worse than any trouble I could’ve been in. Today, I can’t remember exactly what he said, but I think it might simply have been, “Poppie’s gone.”
Respect earned
We had been quite a threesome, Poppie, my dad and I. Hunting, fishing, cookouts, football games—you name it. No grandfather was in better shape than mine. He was tough as nails. Exercised every day. Not afraid to stand up to anyone, in the right way—like the time he stood toe-to-toe with a man twice his size who had a reputation of being less-than-nice to his wife. No blows were struck, but none were needed. He knew the difference between a real man and a coward, and the coward backed down. His leaving us in his mid-sixties was a completely unexpected shock to everyone who knew him.read more
