Dads

My son,

Just wanted to give you a little perspective on generations.

My dad, your grandpa Tom, whom sadly you never got to meet, could be an emotionally ruthless man, and he hurt me deeply many times. But he also had a very fun, easy-going loving side to him, and I honestly believe that you and him would have been very close. Unfortunately he found himself unable to live long enough to meet you. That's life.

I've had some very harsh reactions to my dad, as have my siblings. But there was also a really good, strong, super loyal side of him that I think was a powerful influence on me.

First of all, whenever we met, even after I was grown up and on my own, he would always hug me, and give me a kiss on the cheek. Other dads around me would offer their grown sons a hug, but it was much rarer to get a kiss. That's not manly in our culture and we want our boys to grow up to be strong MEN!

Of course, you have a similar experience with me. Why WOULDN'T I kiss you, I love you, and want to do anything I can to make sure you know it. Time goes by, people get uncertain, when I see you you will always get a reminder in the form of a sloppy smooch on the neck.

But that wasn't the full extent of it with my dad, and neither is it with me, and I think it's because of his example.

For instance, I remember when I was a young man, living on my own, I was driving on a brutally cold Chicago night on Lake Shore Drive (the "LSD" as we called it), and I fucking ran out of gas, the kind of auto breakdown that is only due to your own stupidity.

I had to go find a phone (I know, right? FIND a phone!), and I instantly did just one thing: call my dad. "Hey dad..", "Hi pal, what's up?" "Well, I feel like an asshole, but I've run out of gas on the LSD." "OK, where are you?" And I told him. And then he said, without any fuss or tension. "OK, sit tight. I'll be right there."

And he got his aging ass up out his his warm, comfy house, put on shoes and a coat, got in his car, drove to a gas station. (Remember, it is so fucking cold you think your fingers might just freeze solid and crumble off.) He gets a can of gas, and as soon as he could do it, he was pulling up behind my car.

Thinking about it now practically makes me want to cry.

"Dad, thanks so much man, I'm really sorry to put you through this."

"Aww...shit happens, pal. If you need something, that's what I'm here for."

I think he might have even offered me cash to get my tank filled up.

He made sure my car started and I was all good and said, "OK pal. See ya later. But go get some gas, huh?" And he was off.

My dad would have crawled through hell on his belly for any one of us at any time. That sense of iron loyalty was baked deeply into the White bloodline I suspect long before my dad, even before my grandfather. And I knew his dad, and he was the exact same way.

Consciously or not, this has always been the kind of behavior I've meant to emulate when it came time for me to step into the role of "father". Maybe in some sense, it's the very definition of it.