Remembering Dad

In honor of Fathers' Day, I am reposting this blog. All of the important fathers in my life are in heaven. My heavenly Father, my earthly father, and the father of my son.

I haven't sent a Father's Day card in a long time. My Dad died in 1994. At his funeral, somebody read a kind of eulogy for him. He said my dad was a security guard. . . . I wanted to shout, "No. My Dad was an engineer!" I don't remember anything else that was said, and didn't have an opportunity to tell those people what an amazing man my father was. I'm going to do that now.

Dad. Circa 1971.

My Dad, christened Robert Emanuel Volpe, was born on July 20, 1922, in Brooklyn, NY, and died on Dec. 3, 1994, in Nashville, TN. Seventy-two years old . . . young by today's standards.

The only story I remember him telling me about his childhood involved a bully who chased him home from school one day. Robbie (as his mother called him) ran into his backyard and picked up a two-by-four. When the bully rounded the corner of the house, he got smacked in the head, which--as you might imagine--put an end to his obnoxious behavior. What do you suppose Dad was trying to tell me?

According to his junior high school autograph book, his game was baseball, his hero Errol Flynn, and his motto, "Think of today, not yesterday." He loved airplanes, and attended the Manhattan High School of Aviation Trades, from 1939 - 1942, majoring in aircraft mechanics and engineering. The school,which opened in 1936, is still operating in Queens today.

Because he suffered a punctured eardrum as a child, Dad could not become a pilot, so he did the next best thing. He worked in the aircraft industry. He devoted almost 40 years to that vocation. His resume says he started as an assembler and riveter at Grumman Aviation in the early forties. Fairchild, Northrop, Republic Aviation--he worked for them all as tool planning, methods, field service or manufacturing Engineer. He helped build some of the most formidable war planes of the era. I was particularly impressed by the fact that he worked for the guided missile divisions of Northrop and Fairchild between 1945 and 1952. Woohoo, Dad!

After a brief hiatus from aerospace, when he worked for American Motors, Dad obtained employment with The Sikorsky Aircraft Corp., where he was the West Coast Representative inspecting product for the company.

My dad loved hunting (bow and rifle),skiing, bowling (boasted a 169 average), 
woodworking, model airplane building and flying, and (later in life) cooking.

He was multilingual, speaking fluent Spanish, and good French and Italian, too. He was a card-carrying member of the NRA, and had an extensive gun collection which included a beautiful pearl handled western-style revolver.

Dad loved dogs. Clown, the beagle, lived with him in Vermont. This is the pup he'd take on hunting trips on his acreage north of Burlington when the snow would fall and they'd sleep snuggled in a sleeping bag under a pine tree.

All the time he lived in New York, Dad was a Yankee fan through and through. But when he moved to California, he embraced the Dodgers. He said you had to pull for the "home team." Not so with me. I'm still a "Bronx Bomber" fan. I believe he would've loved watching Derek Jeter.

When I was growing up, my father was closer to my brother and managed Little League teams on which my very talented brother played. We spent little time together, but I admired him, thought he was smart and strong. My parents divorced around 1965, and although I missed him terribly, I couldn't talk about it with my Mom. I missed the rare quiet times we had. I remember him as a mostly quiet man, a thinker. Conservative in many ways, low key.

<-- Dad at Jones Beach, circa 1955.



[Side Bar]

I Remember Dad (10/73)

I remember you in the morning over coffee and buttered bagels
that you bought at the bakery bright and early
And you would sit quietly in your breakfast ritual,
the purr of the radio barely impinging upon your solitary meal,
as I would sometimes,
When the slamming of the medicine cabinet
would awaken me.
And I would scurry down to sit by you and talk softly
of things I cannot remember.
But I remember you,
thoughtful and quiet, and somewhat happy to be alone.

[End Side Bar]

Dad loved his grandchildren, but he had a special connection to Joe, who, by the way, said he could see the love in Grandpa's eyes, too. Joe visited him in Mission Viejo when he was about ten years old. They went everywhere, Disneyland, Knotts Berry Farm. But his favorite time was working on model airplanes with his Grandpa in the garage.

What have I learned from him? To enjoy life, take an interest in people and places. I inherited his sense of humor, as well as his zest for travel and languages, although I never achieved his fluency. I learned to count the cost before beginning a project and to follow it through to completion, to do my best, no matter what.

I learned that babies cry because they need something.

I learned that if you can hit the fast ball it will go farther.

He taught me that good photographs include a person, and one wearing a red jacket is more interesting. He showed me how to get the best out of a Brownie Hawkeye.

I learned to drink my coffee with cream, my scotch on the rocks (long time ago), and my wine slowly. He passed on his appreciation for Frank Sinatra, Marilyn Monroe, and Sophia Loren. He flattered me by calling me "his little Sophia."

Dad & George. Mission Viejo.
1985

I learned that love is often hard to express, but if you look in someone's eyes, you will see it. It was like that with him. I knew he loved me because I could see it in his eyes, his smile. Later in life, he told me often, especially in cards and letters. Which I saved.

In my yearbook, Dad wrote,"You can move heaven and earth, but you'll never find a man who will love you more than me." Beautiful. But George proved him wrong. Lucky me, being loved so much by two wonderful men.

George and Dad had a real affection for each other.

I also learned that people can change. My father wasn't a perfect man. He wasn't always honest and faithful. But in the middle 80's he opened his heart to Christ at my dining room table on an Easter Sunday. And he truly became a New Man. He displayed real love, fidelity, compassion, and selflessness for the remainder of his life.

His favorite hymn: Amazing Grace.

After my marriage and move to California, Dad and I grew closer. George, Joe and I spent every holiday with Dad and Lois, either at their home or ours. The last time I spoke on the phone with him was only a few days before his stroke. We talked politics of all things!

This morning at church we sang a song that for me celebrated both my earthly and heavenly Fathers.

I have a Father

He calls me His own

He'll never leave me

No matter where I go

Thanks, Dad.