With Father’s Day on the horizon, my thoughts sometimes drift to stuff my Dad told me. So much of it was great advice, and still is.
While I was learning to drive, Dad would say, “Always expect that the other guy will do something stupid.” If he were to witness the driving in Clearfield today, he would be so vindicated.
Since he did almost all of the maintenance on his vehicles, that carried over to me. I learned how to change my own oil, and gap and install new spark plugs. His famous words were, “You don’t just put gas into it.” I do remember his fondness for manual-transmission vehicles. “They’re better on gas,” he would say. He would have to battle with Mom on that issue, so the family Pontiac was usually an automatic. No power steering or brakes, though. “Just two more things to go wrong,” was his comment. I’d like to think that he would approve of my fondness for sticks today, just as I am hoping that he liked that I pararelled-parked that Pontiac on my first try during my driver’s test.
He never, ever borrowed money. He built our home with the help of some uncles, and I love that I have the receipt for the materials used. Cars–always cash. I don’t think that he knew there was such a thing as a credit card. Gambling–nope. Other than signing the book at the local Legion/VFW lodge, and a few bucks into a Super Bowl pool, that wasn’t a thing. He always said, “You work too hard to make it.” I am sure that all the skills machines around today would shock him.
Not that there weren’t some fun times. He loved Archie Bunker, so we often watched “All In The Family” together. Ditto for Redd Foxx, and “Sanford and Son.” He took me to some high school and Penn State football games, as well as a few trips to Forbes Field to watch the Pirates.
When it was time for me to go to college, commuting from home in Bellefonte to Penn State made the most sense; tuition at PSU was very reasonable then. We took turns paying the tuition bill. I’m sure that it was important to him that I used my part-time job to help out. Though I missed out on some social activities on campus, I will tell you that the less college debt, the better. No debt, in my case, was the best. It enabled me to buy a new, though sensible, car as soon as I started teaching.
Joe Sciabica worked at one of the limestone plants in Bellefonte. For many years, he worked “swing shift,” meaning that he changed shifts every couple of days. And, he never, ever turned down overtime. I don’t know how he did that; I don’t know how anyone does it.
So, I never complained when he didn’t attend my high school basketball games (not that I played much). I understood. Even when I took up tennis, as did my brother, he never watched us play in a tournament. Again, I understood.
Back in those days, the Parks and Rec Department held an annual summer tennis tournament at the local tennis courts. Since back in the ‘70s we had quite a number of tennis players around, it was a pretty competitive event.
One year, my brother and I decided to play doubles together in that tournament. We made our way to the doubles final, on a warm August Sunday morning.
While we were warming up for the match, I glanced up at the parking lot, on a small hill overlooking the courts. I saw Dad’s Pontiac sitting there. He didn’t get out of the car; he just sat inside, and watched.
We won. I’ve played some tough matches, a few against people who had been on tour, and have had a few good wins over the years. But that Sunday morning, with Dad watching, is at the top of the list.
Sadly, Dad died a few years later, during my second year of teaching. It robbed me of the ability to pick up some more “dad wisdom.” I’m hoping that I learned enough to carry me through life. And, when my son was born, we named him “Joe.” In my mind, no other name would do. I am thrilled that my son took one of Dad’s Army photos, and colorized it for me. I framed that one.
With Father’s Day on the horizon, it is a great time to think about your own Dad. If yours is still around, be sure to go and pick up some more “dad knowledge.” You will be grateful that you did.
