Happy Father’s Day dad
My father died in 1989. There is not a day that goes by that I do not think about him or miss him.
Dad was a product of Chicago. He was born and raised here. His parents were Sicilian immigrants. He was a working man who did not want his kids to work as hard as he did.
Dad was originally a butcher, like his own father. In the 1960s the business changed. He lost his store and went to work on the trucking docks. Sometimes he worked another full-time side job.
My dad dropped out of school after his sophomore year because of the Great Depression. He went to the original Lane Technical High School when it was located at Division and Sedgwick. He was drafted into the Army in 1942. He served for three years in the South Pacific. He was in Australia, New Zealand, New Guinea, and New Caledonia.
While my father did not have much formal education, he was educated. What he lacked in schooling he made up for by reading. He was intelligent and well-spoken. He knew more about Chicago's history than most people. While driving or walking around the city with him, he would cite various historical facts about the areas we were in.
Dad was patriotic, with a deep and abiding love for his country. He, like his immigrant parents, relatives, and friends, considered America the biblical Promised Land of milk and honey. Patriotic holidays were celebrated with relatives and a feast.
He, as many of his generation, was a jack of all trades. He could do carpentry, plumbing, electrical, concrete, and other types of work. He knew when something was too much to handle and had to call in a professional.
Both my parents were great cooks. They were wildly creative in the kitchen, As long as one left the other alone there was peace. My dad was a “foodie” long before the term was ever coined. He knew about all the famous chefs like Escoffier, Pointe, and the King of Chefs, Careme.
Holidays were his favorite times, especially Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. He would shop all over the city for days on end searching for special delicacies, seafood, cheeses, and other amenities. He, my mother, and other relatives would spend days and hours preparing the feasts. Feasts that would put those old Romans to shame.
My dad had friends from all walks of life. When I was young, he would take me with him when he went to meet them. When I became an adult I realized why. He was exposing me to what I could be if I wanted- a doctor, lawyer, CPA, dentist, contractor, professor, businessman, or other professional. These were people he grew up with, served in the Army with, or just made friends with throughout his life.
Dad knew some of the more colorful and unsavory members of society, gangsters. This was not unusual. He grew up with some of them. His own father knew or was related to a few. So were members of my mother’s side of the family. The details were never explained. Dad never really had anything good or bad to say about them. He, like many of his generation, felt they were our people just not our kind of people.
When times were tough my father got tougher. If he was laid off or there was a strike he found other work until the situation reversed itself. He refused to go on unemployment or take food stamps. He demanded to earn his way. He was too proud to beg.
I do not remember my dad ever complaining about the life he lived or the hard work he did to provide. As long as he could provide a roof over our heads, put food on the table, clothe us, and have us around him, that was enough. He was a simple man who enjoyed simple pleasures.
My only regret is my dad, like his father, died before he had grandchildren. He would never know my daughter and she would never know him. They would have had a great time together.
Happy Father’s Day dad. I love you, miss you, and am proud of you. I became you. Your greatest gift was teaching me how to be a father by the example you set. I only recently realized this.
