On two ways to go

Good parents rear good sons and daughters. We’ve always known that. We’ve always said that. We always say that on Mothers’ Day and Fathers’ Day and on the Feast of the Holy family. What we have not always known, and have not always said, is that good kids rear good mothers and fathers. It’s a delightful twist that I stumbled upon Christmas Day 2001.

As usual I headed for Chicago to celebrate Christmas with relatives. The house is packed with fathers and mothers and with many many kids. We celebrate Eucharist. We eat a good Italian pranzo. The kids are all over the place with half-eaten meals on their plates and Simeon cleaning them all up. There’s so much going on in the house that there isn’t too much chance for real sharing. But after Eucharist one of the fathers (a second cousin) shared with me a paper his son had written for school. It impressed me.

I never stay long; they’re used to that. I always head back to Milwaukee as soon as I can, talking all the way home with my dog about how lucky we are to get out of all that bedlam, and to be able to head for home with all its peace and quiet. I think that’s what that bumper-sticker “Escape to Wisconsin” means.

Back home, working again at the homily for Holy Family Sunday, the son’s paper came to mind. By Friday I was really wishing I had a copy of it. So I called the father early Saturday morning before he went to the Loop, where their meat business is. He faxed his son’s paper to me immediately. It’s title is in two big bold lettered words:

My Dad

And this is how it reads:

At first glance, my father appears quite professional. Almost always with a briefcase in hand and a sweater on his body, he means business. He secures a beeper and cell phone securely around his belt, preparing himself for any situation. His hair is perfectly trimmed and jet-black, rests neatly on his head. He is a perfectionist. His spotless car and condo indicate an obsession with cleanliness and the feeling of newness. His perfection shocks people and makes them think he is a cold and powerful man. A façade, however, is what the world really sees. My dad really is one of the most caring and joyous person that I know. Through all the perfection, the man is always smiling. But recently I made a huge mistake by wronging my dad.

The other night, an event occurred that made me completely change my view of my father. After a long and tiring wrestling practice, I showered and hustled to my dad’s car where he and my sister were waiting for me. I needed sleep. Frustrated with having to go to yet another time-wasting football practice, I was in a bad mood. I jumped into the car and sat down for the first time in three hours. My dad and sister knew that I needed to hurry so they agreed on McDonald’s for dinner. As my dad pulled out of the parking lot, I realized that he was driving in the direction of the McDonald’s

fifteen minutes away from the school. For as long as I can remember, me dad has had disgust for any restaurant that has ever made a mistake on his order. The McDonald’s closest to Prospect, the restaurant that if we went to would save me a huge amount of time, was out of the question because it had given him the wrong order before. Right before my dad made the irreversible turn toward the distant restaurant, I exploded. Wasting time combined with needing sleep and having a stupid football meeting proved too much for me to handle.

“Dad, what are you doing? Every restaurant can make a mistake. Why do you have to be so stubborn?” I do not have time for this!” I felt that I had stood correct in my statement. My dad, being the type of person that he was, changed the direction of the car to the McDonald’s that I wanted to go to. A great feeling passed over me. I loved the fact that I was right. A part of him must have thought that I did have a point in my yelling. Silently we drove on. The three of us got out of the car, ordered, and sat down at the table. My father brought the food over to the table and passed my sister and me our meals. Upon receiving his own food, my dad noticed something unexpected. The server had given my dad the wrong sandwich. Instead of rubbing my mistake in my face, as I would have done to him, my dad simply stated, “They gave me the wrong food.” He ate the wrong food anyway. I never felt worse.

I really learned something about my father that night. Instead of acting immature as I had acted, he proved to be bigger than I am. I also learned that I can be a real jerk, when I am tired and frustrated. I need to learn to control my feeling. It does not make sense to take my anger out on family.

Conclusion

This son was raising an already good father into an even better father yet. The father who was so affirmed and rewarded by a good son’s paper had framed it! And on Saturday morning it didn’t take him one second to remove it from the frame so he could fax it to me, so proud was he of his son’s words. What a delightful twist, I thought, not to be neglected on a feast dedicated to family: Good kids rear good mothers and fathers.