THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, June 16, 1996 TAG: 9606120077
SECTION: REAL LIFE PAGE: K1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Comment
SOURCE: BY JASPER SHORT JR.
LENGTH: 75 lines
AS HARD AS it is for me to believe, Dad wasn't a scientist, doctor or lawyer. He didn't have degrees pinned to his wall at home. But though he didn't come along at a time when he had the luxury of going to college, he gave me that luxury and nearly everything else that I would ever need.
I recall being 6 years old as my father and I sat down one night in our living room. He took out several pieces of paper, drawing the face of a clock on each one, with the hands indicating different times. After an hour and a half of going over the duties of the long hand and the short hand, Dad and I got up from the card table that doubled as a desk.
I could tell time.
Walking to school the next morning with friends, I looked at the Mickey Mouse watch that had been merely decoration on my wrist since I'd got ten it the week before. Looking into the face of ol' Mickey, I said, with a knowing nod, ``We'd better hurry, it's ten till eight.''
In class, I remember the math homework my teacher would assign. Dad, as always, rose to the occasion. With flash cards that he bought, he'd go over every equation with me until I understood. I believe that it was nights like those that led me to major in math in college.
You'd have thought he was well educated. But that wasn't the case. He grew up at a time when you went to school until your parents needed your help. For some kids, it wasn't until after high school, but for most, it was well before.
Although I assumed Dad finished high school, I never asked - primarily because he did as much for my education as a doctor or engineer could have done for their sons. Regardless of the homework, Dad was right there, staying up late into the night until he felt that I understood what it was I needed to know.
Entering Norfolk State University, I desperately wanted to share my experiences with my parents. The environment, the teachers, the schoolwork and the friendships that I encountered belonged to them as well. Dad thirsted for the knowledge I was gaining. This was why I felt I had to perform up to my capabilities. I couldn't permit all the hours that we'd spent sitting at that old card table to be in vain.
Only once did I hear my father make a statement that lacked self-assurance. As he and my mother looked over family documents, I remember him saying that he wanted my opinion, since I was smarter than they were. Hearing those words disturbed me because I never thought of myself in that light and never expected to hear him say such.
According to him, since I had gone to college, it was only natural that I knew more. I told him that going to college wasn't necessarily an indicator of one's intelligence.
As early as I can recall, it wasn't unusual to find Dad engrossed in the morning newspaper before work. He knew more about politics and law than I'll ever know.
After graduating and beginning my career, I remember the bank notifying Dad that it was time to pay on my college loan. Because I was working and living at home, I felt it was my responsibility. But he wouldn't hear of it. He told me that I had made him proud, and it was his job as a father to pay back the loan. ``Isn't that something,'' I thought. ``I make him proud.''
Two years ago as Dad lay in a hospital bed battling lung and brain cancer, I started asking him the multiplication tables to get an idea of the condition of his mind. When he was unable to answer my routine equations, I knew he was losing his battle. Just the thought of his absence was nearly inconceivable.
Now, as I watch my daughter in her developmental years, I pray that I can be the father to her that Dad was to me. Two years after his death, there's not a day that passes that I don't think of him. I find that it's not just his presence or his kind face that I miss, but his lessons on life.
I need his wisdom and experience. As extensive as his ``handbook on life'' was, he omitted the most important lesson.
He forgot to tell me how to make it for the rest of my life without the smartest man I ever knew. MEMO: Jasper Short is a frequent contributor to the Virginian-Pilot. He
lives in Portsmouth with his wife and daughter.
KEYWORDS: FATHER'S DAY by CNB