Fathers

I listen to Good Morning America radio on XMRadio as I drive in each morning. This morning, with Father's Day around the corner, Hilarie Barsky was talking about fathers. The questions she was posing to listeners were:

• When you were a kid and were mad at your dad, what television father did you wish was your dad?


• What celebrity or famous person does your dad most remind you of?

I thought first about the television dad and then about being mad at my dad. Here's the thing — I can't remember ever being mad at my dad. My mom? Absolutely. On a daily basis. She regularly made me feel horrible and worthless and inept, and my response was to not like her at all. But Daddy? Ah, my hero, my best friend, my staunchest proponent. I adored him.

And all my friends loved him, and he adopted all my friends.

Gail, whose parents had divorced when she was eight, prompting the move to Florida and the beginning of our lifelong friendship, considered him her surrogate dad. Gail stayed with us frequently when we were in late elementary school and in high school. Her mother had back problems requiring hospitalizations; Gail would move in for the duration. As teenaged girls do, we argued. One night after dinner — probably a Wednesday night, as Daddy was home for dinner — Mother told Gail and me to do the dishes. We were in the kitchen arguing about who would wash and who would dry, and Daddy was out in his garage workshop, tinkering with one of his beloved antique cars. He heard us arguing clear out in the garage. He came in, separated us and sent us to separate rooms, and washed and dried the dishes himself. A harsher punishment was never devised. Gail and I still talk about this incident every time we're together, and still feel remorse for our behavior, which occurred a mere 40+ years ago!

Once when I was in college at UCF, he was at a medical convention when I had a sorority party at the house. He called home during the party, just to say hello to my girlfriends. He knew how to make people feel special.

PianoLady reminds me that she once went to him to have a mole removed. After applying the bandage, he gave her a $20 bill and told us to go out to lunch.

Polly, my college roommate who is now a USAF general, called him "Doctor Daddy Doodle", a take-off on the nickname my brothers had for him, "Doodle." (If you're shaking your heads, it must be a Southern thing.)

And what kind of grandfather was he? The best. The ideal. When Scott and then Tyler were born, he was in his element. When Tyler had some health problems during his first month of life, Daddy was there, helping me understand what to do, where to turn. For months afterwards, he would stop by the house three afternoons a week to rock Tyler and read to Scott. One of my favorite memories, a vision lodged in my brain, is Daddy sitting in the wicker rocker in the playroom, Tyler in his arms, Scott on the spring horse, riding for all he was worth. Even though he died very early in their lives, he gave them many wonderful memories of fishing trips and trips to the barber and rides on the "buddy seat" in the Blazer.

Once Tyler was climbing down from his highchair, face forward rather than turning around as on a ladder. He fell forward and slit open his right eyebrow on the edge of a playtable. After racing Tyler to Daddy's office, I worked with Daddy's nurse to immobilize the all-muscle, flailing Tyler while Daddy calmly and coolly sewed up the gash.

I'm generous with my children and I'm generous with charitable organizations. I learned it by watching my dad. My daddy gave me a great deal of material goods, as well as money, but never expected anything in return. He expected me to do unto others as he had done unto me. I'm proud that he was my father.

One of the most powerful lessons I learned from him was that you don't always have to be right. If he was in a conversation and the other party was expressing views contra to his, he wouldn't argue. He would make his point, then when the other party persisted with the opposing view, Daddy would say, "You may be right."

I use that to this day. Of course, when I remember to say it to the argumentative person, I'm thinking "You're full of beans" and I'm only saying it to shut him or her up. I'm sure Daddy never said it with that little tinge of attitude.

At Daddy's memorial service in December of 1984, his associate of many years, Dr. Tellefsen, told the story of their being at the hospital and someone asking Daddy, "Dr. Crews, isn't one of your children adopted?" Daddy's response? "Yes, but I can't remember which one."

He knew how to make people feel special.