I would like to remember my father in quiet times, when he would
sit in serenity, a man at peace with the world around him.
Say what? Are you kidding? My old man was a rocket ready to be
launched. Forget the roosters or alarm clock. When he woke up in
the morning, the bugle that started the race sounded. And he’s
off…
I would like to remember my father in quiet times, when he would sit in serenity, a man at peace with the world around him.
Say what? Are you kidding? My old man was a rocket ready to be launched. Forget the roosters or alarm clock. When he woke up in the morning, the bugle that started the race sounded. And he’s off…
Even being hooked up to an oxygen tank 24 hours a day for the last few years of his life didn’t slow this guy down.
“These damn things,” he would say, trying to untangle the plastic hoses that he had quickly turned into spaghetti.
Get this: Despite being on full oxygen and a fistful of daily pills, he played 18 holes of golf at least once a week in the heat and humidity of the Midwest or Florida, right up until the day he died at the age of 72.
He was a great guy and a terrific father. He was also “a piece of work” as they like to say in our hometown of Chicago.
There are enough “Mister Fitz” stories to fill volumes. I broke out the photos of him last night and they made me laugh and cry.
– Marching in the St. Patrick’s Day parade in his bright green coat and hat with his shillelagh. Afterward he would dance an Irish jig, always a hilarious sight.
– On the sidelines coaching his fifth-grade football team. He loved coaching kids’ sports – Little League, football and basketball – even after his two sons had moved on to older programs.
– Throwing a party in our back yard. He loved to host a barbecue or holiday gathering.
– Holding me and my brother when we were very young. Despite working as a pipecoverer in the steel mills or power plants for more than 40 years, he rarely drank alcohol and always kept us comfortable and safe, even while growing up on the tough South Side.
– The three of us at a White Sox game at the old Comiskey Park. They were his team, along with Notre Dame and the Bears.
– Riding on a bouncing inner tube behind my brother’s powerboat on his beloved Lake Michigan – at the age of 62!
– Standing proudly at attention as the new VFW Post Commander. He was a Korean War veteran and was stationed near the front lines at the age of 18.
– Twirling my mom around the dance floor at my brother’s wedding reception, again despite the cumbersome oxygen tanks that he never complained about.
Obviously he taught me much: Work hard for your paycheck; don’t hold a grudge; always help those less fortunate than you; treat those around you with proper respect; stand up for your church and country; and if someone keeps picking on you or harasses any women or children, punch them in the nose.
My dad also had some great sayings.
On a cheap guy: “He’ll be the richest man in the cemetery” or “He must have fishhooks in his pockets.”
An eccentric construction co-worker was “half a bubble off.” On a similar father and son: “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“If it doesn’t move, I’ll paint it.” “I shoulda knocked him into next week.” “There aren’t enough hours in the day.”
My dad was kind, tough, stubborn, funny and generous. He was still delivering sodas and sandwiches to disabled vets, even when he was in worse physical shape than they were.
He always, always did what he thought was the right thing to do.
Albert Einstein once said “Be not a man of success, but a man of value.”
That was my dad.
When he died a year and a half ago, it seemed like the entire city of Chicago showed up at his wake and funeral. It was a wonderful tribute to someone who touched the lives of so many people over the years.
Happy Father’s Day, dad. I sure miss you. You will always be my hero.
And you know what? You were right.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
You are with me every day.
Mike Fitzgerald is Associate Publisher/Executive Editor of the Hollister Free Lance. He can be reached at 637-5566, ext. 337, or
mf*********@fr***********.com
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