Having Read, Read On
I think I’ve done a couple of tributes recently to influences who have passed on. This time, the influence is more personal. My father passed away early in the morning of June 17th.
I could tell you how amazing my father was, but the entry would take thousands of words. Not just a son’s pride either. Just to give you the barest notion, he was a man who went into law out of a love of the Constitution and once brought a case to the Supreme Court. I’ll have to stop there, or I’ll just keep going.
This entry may wander a little. I hope you’ll excuse me.
At the moment, I just want to tell you about a conversation we had when I was in high school. It was a Friday or Saturday night, late, and I arrived home from hanging out with my friends. My dad was still awake. He hadn’t been waiting up or anything. Or if he had, he didn’t let on about it.
He asked me about life, the way parents do, how it was going and the like. I told him a bit about it, but left out certain sorts of details, the way teens do. I may have told him more than most kids would have. I don’t really recall.
But then he admitted something to me, with simple, honest frankness: “I don’t understand you. You and I are very different men. But that’s all right. I love you, and I’ll support you in anything you want to do in life.”
I don’t know how many times I’ve thought about those words over the years. The rest of the conversation is long gone from my head, but those words remain. When I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, when I didn’t know where I was going in this world, I had those words to fall back on. I knew I had the love and support of the man I respected (and still respect) more than anyone else in this world.
My dad wasn’t perfect. I have bad memories of him, too. But when I think about the good memories – and that conversation is only one example – the bad ones pale beside them.
My dad was the first person to give me serious encouragement to write as an adult* (another one of those late night discussions, years before I took the idea seriously). He even told me about an uncle of his who won the Pulitzer.
The title of this post is an old saying of my dad’s. He knew of too many people who would look something up, and be satisfied with the bare minimum of information. His point was that there was always more to learn than you’ll see in the initial burst. Don’t just read the headline, read the article. Don’t just read the first definition, read the dictionary entry. Having read, read on. It was the way he lived.
Rest in peace, Dad. I hope you’re playing clarinet in a jazz club right now with Miles Davis and David Brubeck.
*To be fair, my mom always encouraged my interest in stories and storytelling, but her way was less direct.
