Although it’s sometimes painfully obvious that blood is thicker than water, some folks only think of that in the chemical and physical qualities of those precious substances. In the days before the diversions of television, video games and the internet, families actually spent time together conversing and learning about each other’s experiences, problems and dreams.
Sitting at the dinner table we were more conversant and a great deal closer than most families in the current high-speed electronic age. While I’m taking full advantage of all the modern
conveniences that make my life easier, I’m careful to retain those practices that allow us to remain a close-knit family unit and not one that merely nods and grunts when a more personal
response is required.
I look around me and see families who don’t know, or care, where or what their children are doing. They excuse this behavior by saying that they didn’t have enough privacy or space when they were young, and they don’t want their children to experience the same treatment. That is nothing more than a cop-out with a generous topping of balderdash!
Some of my friends tried to be their children’s best friends or put their children on an equal plane as heads of households and that was a formula for disaster. We are not supposed to be our children’s best friends, we are their parents. For those of you who don’t think that is true, just ask some teens whose parents have been so busy with their own lives they have not paid enough attention to the wants and needs of their children.
During the past several years (before the COVID-19 pandemic), I’ve seen too many elders staring blankly out nursing home windows waiting for visitors that never arrive. The nurses and
attendants inform me these lonely people have families, but they are too busy or detached to visit. The thought of living that long and not having the love or companionship of family and friends is a very painful one. No, this is not a sermon (at least it didn’t start out to be) but a fond recollection and desire that the importance of the traditional family values never diminishes.
While there is ample room for doom and gloom, there are bright spots and those glimmering rays of hope that keep us going and that is our intention and the focus of this discussion.
Many of my fondest childhood memories were of dad and the time we spent after our evening meals. He would take my hand and walk me down to the Brightman Street, where we met friends and shop owners along the way.
Our destination was the Bridge, where many of the working men gathered to fish and enjoy the breeze on a hot summer night. We didn’t bring rod or reel because we didn’t own one but in visiting with the anglers on the bridge I learned a great deal from my observations and the conversations.
On some evenings we’d descend the steep wooden stairs to the Weetamoe Yacht Club where boat builders, sailors, dock builders and fishermen gathered after their day's labor. I recall the stories and information obtained from those visits, which have served me well to this very day. There wasn’t much time for recreation for a man who worked six days a week and took his family to church on Sundays, but dad always seemed to find time for me.
He answered every question, provided understanding and love and tried his best to satisfy my needs. My dad answered a very early call, but fond memories of our time together have endured over the years. They live on every time I see a father and son sharing or participating in some activity, whenever I drive over the Brightman Street Bridge or see the remnants of the wharf of the old Weetamoe Yacht Club.
My friend Al has his memories and the good fortune to have his dad to share them with. We often talk about our childhood and he relates instances that have kept he and his father close.
When you are an impressionable five-year-old, there are things about your childhood you just don’t forget. Having your dad carry you on his shoulders across a boulder-strewn shoreline out to an island is one of them.
Al senior negotiated the rocks and carried the tackle while my friend clutched the paper bag filled with Twinkies and soft drinks to be shared once they reached the shore of Conspiracy Island. There they would fish for white perch, flounder and school stripers that worked the rips around the boulder field on the island's southern point. In later years it was Al who took his dad fishing, returning the favor and sharing their mutual love of fishing and each other.
When we think of Father’s Day we tend to be gender biased and think of fathers and sons. Today that is not the case. More and more women are being won over to the sport of fishing,
hunting and an appreciation of the outdoors. The reason is more daughters and mothers are being invited to participate in these healthy and rewarding activities, which they find wholesome and enjoyable.
Myron and Amy are a case in point. Myron and Pat did not have a son, but their daughter Amy not only followed her father into his line of business, she became his fishing partner. I can’t say for sure, but it would be difficult to tell who was the more enthusiastic angler. It’s been my pleasure to have fished with them and shared and observed the affection and good times they experience.
Remember, it’s never too late to embrace a son or daughter and participate in some form of activity that will bring you closer together. Whether it’s fishing, hunting, golf, tennis or spectator sports, sharing makes the experience more memorable.
The best father’s day presents I’ll receive are the phone calls from my sons in New Jersey and California, asking how the fishing has been and explaining how much they miss sharing a deck with their father.
Don’t wait until you are alone in a nursing home looking out the window, hoping someone will come to visit. Spend quality time with your children and you’ll never be alone.