An Open Letter to Dad on Father’s Day

Dear Dad,

For as long as I can remember, I have tried to emulate you. Perhaps my motivation resides in the fact that, as your namesake, I consider it my duty to match your achievements, or perhaps I am driven by the same ambition that influences all sons who love their fathers. Whatever the origin, I have devoted myself to emerging from your large shadow to establish an impressive reputation and a level of success that would enable you to be proud of me. However, in recent years I have wondered whether I am up to this challenge.

After all, you have always been an imposing presence in my life. I could never match your physical stature, but it never stopped me from making an honest attempt. For years, I religiously committed myself to a weightlifting program in the hope that I could look like you, a muscular fellow with whom one should not trifle. I never quite accomplished the goal, which frustrated me. I wanted to play football like you; I had to settle for rugby.      

Growing up in a neighborhood in which my peers seemed fixated on creating an ethos of “toughness”, you instructed me to appreciate the work of the pen and shun the destructive power of the punch. You taught me how to read and write and instilled in me an enduring love of knowledge. You made incredible financial sacrifices to ensure that money would never emerge as an obstacle in my quest to attend the best schools. Often, you would take on several odd jobs to make ends meet; you officiated track meets, operated the scoreboard at basketball games, and conducted SAT tutoring sessions. I’m sure you loathed these endless workdays, but you assumed the responsibility anyway in order to improve the lives of your children.

Your altruism has not been confined to the immediate family. You have offered free SAT instruction to high school students in the neighborhood for years. Also, you continue to coach CYO baseball, even though all of your children have grown up and moved on from the program. You are what the Jesuits would describe as a “man for others.” Moreover, you are not content to express your Catholicism by simply attending weekly Church services; you live your faith.

I guess I should not be surprised by these displays of selflessness from a man who selected education as his profession. Over the course of a career that has spanned four decades, you have molded the malleable minds of high school students. Whether you are deciphering for your pupils the nuances of English grammar or you are explaining iambic pentameter to teenagers encountering Shakespeare for the first time, you are always in command of the material and work very hard to relate your lessons to a younger generation. Furthermore, your commitment to your school extends beyond the classroom. For thirty years, you have coached football, imparting your wisdom to star running backs and special teamers alike.    

As anyone can see, there is so much to admire about you, Dad. On some level, my quest to live up to your legacy influenced my decision to become a teacher. Unfortunately, things did not work out very well on this front. I remember walking through the snow with you on the way to Mass one Sunday evening, crushed by the knowledge that I was about to lose my job and burdened by the weight of failure. I informed you of my fate and anticipated a harsh condemnation. Instead, you told me that everything would be okay. That is what I love most about you, Dad: when I fell down, you always greeted me with an extended hand rather than a shaking fist. You would rebuke me not for failing, but for failing to try.

Recently, I was presented with an opportunity to watch you in action as you taught a class. I observed from outside the door as you controlled the room and executed your lesson plan. The confidence you exuded reflected your strong grasp of the subject matter, which caused your students to remain respectful and attentive throughout the period. You truly are a master of your craft. As I observed you, an important realization dawned on me. It is something every son who reveres his father must discover at some point: while I should continue striving to be like you, I should cease trying to be you.

So, in lieu of a new tie or a box of golf balls, on this Father’s Day I would like to offer you a simple “thank you”. Thank you, Dad, for everything you have done for me. And even though I know I must discover my own path as I navigate through life, thank you for pointing me in the right direction.  


Love,
Tim


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