With Love Dad, Today and Always
At the time of my Dad’s passing, a year ago today, I didn’t share anything about it. I’m private that way. In this age of social media, I might be in the minority on that. No judgement on those that choose to do otherwise. A year later, I still mourn every day for his loss yet it also feels right to celebrate his life and share what he meant to me.
This change in sentiment started about a month ago when I came to the end of a thirty-three day running streak. I had updated my progress daily with a Facebook running group I’m part of. I hadn’t let others know why I was going for that streak. By day 33, I had to own up to the fact that my body needed a break.
I posted a note to the many kind folks that had been so supportive of my efforts letting them know my streak was over. This time I decided to let them know that I had taken on this challenge to honor my Dad’s memory. I was beyond touched by the many kind words that were offered. My father had always been incredibly supportive of my commitment to running races such as marathons. A visit or call with Dad typically ended with him asking “When’s the next race?” I still hear those words in his caring voice on days when it might be easier to stay in bed or lighten up on my discipline.
I have so many wonderful memories of my father that it would be impossible to chronicle every one of them here. But here are a few I hope will give you a sense of who he was to me and the impact he had on my life.
I often reflect on my Dad encouraging me to learn to skate when I was just 7 or 8 because he knew how much I loved hockey. “Keep your tongue in your mouth” he would say as he skated backwards in an effort to get me to skate forward. I had this habit of letting my tongue hang out when I skated… My father introduced me to hockey when my family had season tickets for the Philadelphia Flyers in the early 70’s — just before they became champions.
My love of the game became a lifelong obsession which morphed into me playing and being a forever fan no matter what city I’ve lived in. I always get a laugh when I remember that he sold off those season tickets the year before the Flyers won the Stanley Cup. That sense of timing (or lack thereof) mirrored his attempts at real estate investing. As he often joked, “when I’m buying, you should be selling.”
I have some of my happiest memories from when he and my mom separated for the first time. I know that sounds kind of odd. It doesn’t seem right to relish the fact that my parents’ marriage wasn’t a happy one yet that time with Dad was a gift. Saturdays with Dad meant lunch out (usually at Hardee’s — I coveted fast food back then), a movie and then a special treat.
I saw my first James Bond movie with my Dad. It was Live and Let Die. Much like hockey, these movies — their fantasy and escapism — became a shared source of fun and connection between the two of us. I always enjoyed shopping for clothes with Dad. Whenever he put on a suit and couldn’t stop smiling, he would jokingly remind me of the similarities between his looks and that of Roger Moore. And when I bought a Sunbeam Alpine, technically the first James Bond car (featured prominently in Dr. No), he understood how uniquely cool the car was beyond it’s good looks.
One other gift that’s had a lifelong impact on me is my Dad both helping me acquire my first guitar and then serving as my first guitar teacher. When I was thirteen and became obsessed with the band Yes and their musicianship, I decided air guitar wasn’t good enough. Dad got a friend to loan me a guitar and then taught me the basics. My first experience of “jamming” was he and I playing Aura Lee (a.k.a. Love Me Tender), Hang Down Your Head Tom Dooley and a few other favorites in an old songbook he had. I then went on to teach myself Roundabout, Starship Trooper and even write my own songs. I still love playing as much as ever and I thank him for that.
Probably the period that cemented our bond — where we became friends as well as father and son — was when I lived with my Dad in my last year of high school. For that year, we were like two happy bachelors. While he was on the cusp of a romance, he still always had time for me. We hung out, watched movies and had our meals together. Most importantly, we talked. I learned about him and I let him know what was on my eighteen year old teenage mind. I’m sure you can guess what the primary content was. But getting to know him in an unfiltered, father to son and friend to friend way was something I’ll cherish forever.
My Dad was a model of how you can’t take life too seriously. It was around the time I described above that my Dad first uttered what was to become his favorite phrase “If it can be handled with money, it can be handled with money.” I wasn’t wise enough to understand it then but I do now. There are so many things that we let ourselves get bent out of shape about. Yet, most of the time, they can be handled with money. A flat tire. A flooding sink. Home repairs. The list goes on. They can be managed with money. Even if on occasion you might need the installment plan, they’re manageable.
It’s the stuff that can’t be handled with money that deserves our attention. Those challenges need our care, love, compassion and more. That’s what Dad was trying to teach me when he said that back then. He even said it in his final few years. I find myself grateful on a daily basis for his reminder that “if it can be handled with money, it can be handled with money.”
I could go on and on but apparently, the average attention span for readers is about four minutes. So, before you jump to the next article that will transform your life, get you a better job or whatever, I thought I’d tell you the three most important things I learned from my father, David Grabel:
How to be the father I want to be: I never had to question my Dad’s love. My father’s relationship with my mother was flawed for many reasons. I’ll probably never fully understand that. But that never negated who he strived to be to me and my brother, his sons. He was there for us fully. I’m lucky to have a daughter that I cherish. I do my best to be there in the same way for her.
How to be my own person: My Grandmother was a driven business woman and was focused on Dad being a “professional,” He struggled with that identity in the early years of his career. As a CPA, he went to work for one of the Big 8 Accounting Firms. Yet, he often said he’d have been happy being a fireman! For several years, he went back and forth between larger, more corporate roles and running his own business. But that’s where he eventually landed. He was most happy with his small but loyal group of clients, servicing them without having to answer to a more structured organization. But beyond work, he thrived on being authentic, doing those things that he loved and mattered to him. He was less concerned with fitting in, doing what was expected, choosing instead to set his own standards. I’ve followed a similar path.
How to enjoy life and make the most of every moment: I believe the following quote is attributable to Hunter Thompson:
Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn-out and loudly proclaiming “Wow, what a ride!”
Not surprisingly, a sign with that quotation hangs in the entranceway of the home my Dad shared with Judy, his wonderful and caring partner for life. Thinking of the way my Father lived his life, even with his many health challenges in his final years, this quote fits him like a glove.
I love you Dad, today and always -
Robert
