Anthony had proven himself a capable airline passenger and had flown several times alone under airline supervision between Myrtle Beach and Newark.  That transportation practice went off the discussion list when, on February 12, 2009, Continental Flight 3407, flying from Newark Liberty International Airport to Buffalo Niagara International Airport plowed into the ground, killing all on board.  The plane was a almost-new two-engine turboprop, 74-seat Bombardier Dash 8 Q400, the exact plane that Anthony traveled on.

So now, his father drives down from New York, picks Anthony up and drives back.  I miss him already.  It’s amazing to me how attached we get to the children in our lives.  I’ve become used to seeing Anthony almost every day, and now he will be away for six weeks.

It is easier now than the first summer he was away.  Emotions were still running high about how his father sired another child while still married to my daughter.  Anthony was still very young, and we were afraid he wouldn’t be emotionally well cared for. 

In truth, that first summer was hard on Anthony.  His father had promised to enroll him in a summer day camp, but was unable to keep that promise.  Anthony spent the days with his grandmother, a wonderful lady, but a Portuguese immigrant who has never learned to speak English.  Everyone was frustrated and Anthony was happy to come home.

But time marches on, people mature, and emotions return to normal levels.  Anthony’s father calls him almost every day, if only to ask how was his school day.  If Anthony doesn’t look forward to his summer, he is not against it.  He gets to see his cousins and the other side of his family.  His father’s current companion seems genuinely interested in spending time with Anthony.  She might be a teacher, although details are sketchy.

The importance of father is that he is there for Anthony and Anthony can reach out and touch him.  The worst circumstance for a child is to grow up reaching out for his father and finding only empty space.

 
Irene brought two young children to our marriage.  When she divorced, their father considered all ties broken.  Since he had opted completely out of their upbringing, I embraced them as my own.  But it bothered me that they would grow up not knowing their biological father. 

Let’s just say, I “influenced” him to take at least a small part in their lives.  He was an occasional visitor at best, and in later years, I learned he wanted distance because he felt he was not good with small children.

Unfortunately, even with contact, he had a strong preference for his male child, and considered his female child not worth his time.  Kristy, at a young age, learned to use his guilt to turn the financial screw at the holidays.  And to this day, she refers to him impersonally as “my father” while I am “daddy.”

But again, time marches on, and we invited him to their weddings (although I walked Kristy down the aisle).  He did give each of them a HUGE financial gift, and at Kristy’s wedding, he hugged me and thanked me for raising them.

Today, he has retired to South Carolina and lives about half an hour away.  Both children see him several times a year, but they are still not that close.

The importance of father in this case, is that his biological children know their base of origin.  The children know who their father is, and it helps them know who they are and where they fit in the scheme of things. 

 
When I was divorced, my ex wanted me totally gone from her life (except for my total income).  In the more than three decades since, she has not changed her opinion about wanting me gone.  But I always promised my children I would always be there for them.

It was tough to visit my three children, because even when I arrived on my bi-weekly weekend with my court order, she would call the police and try to have me arrested.  The standard procedure in domestic disputes was to separate the parties.  The officers understood what was happening but had their procedure to follow.  I came to know those two lawmen pretty well, and we had lunch together on more than one occasion.

The following Monday mornings found me in court filing a violation of visiting rights.  There were many court appearances before my ex was threatened with removal of the children if it happened even once more.  Then it stopped.

My oldest son played high school football.  It was important to him that he knew I was there, so I went to many games and sat quietly in the stands.  It wasn’t my visitation time, so I had to avoid contact, but he saw me.  My ex tried to make something out of it, but I held that it was a public event, and I was visiting someone else.

The animosity and bitterness continued over the years.  My oldest son joined the Air Force on his graduation from high school, and my youngest son petitioned the court on his 13^th birthday (earliest possible date) to live with me (granted).

My daughter bought into the daily brainwashing about what an evil person I was, to the extent that none of my family or I were invited to her wedding.  That stung, but I did save $40,000.  Years since have healed the relationship between us.

Through all the acrimony, my children knew I was always there for them.  Through good and bad times, I tried to be a constant force of support.  Friends have likened me to the sea – even granite cannot stand against the constant waves.

The importance of father from my viewpoint was to instill confidence in my children that I would never leave them as some fathers might after divorce.  Even though we did not live together, I would be a constant presence in their lives, and they could always reach out to me when they needed me.  And it worked.

 
My father’s most important attribute was that he was always there for me as the head of our family.  He taught me the many important things that a father teaches a son, shaping my character by lesson and example.  And as I think back on my heritage, I know where my lineage came from through him.  From grandparents and mother born in Norway, I can point to a map and pinpoint my generations.

I cannot trace my ancestors by name past my grandparents and their families.  Norwegian family records still reside mainly with local churches and Norwegian custom, until into the early twentieth century, was for the husband to take the wife’s surname, which often was the name of the Norwegian borough of her birth.  Men that kept their last name often wound up as Olsen (Ole’s son) or Pedersen (Peder’s son) or similar.

What I know without a doubt is that my lineage goes back to Viking times.  Even if I am descended from pillagers and conquerors, I can imagine my roots perhaps touched England and Ireland with the Viking (Norman) invasion, and who knows, I might be distantly related to royalty. 

The importance of my father here is that he is a portal to my past, and it grounds me in confidence that I can look back to my ancestors and see myself as a link in my ancestral chain.  He taught me his skills and values as his father taught him.  I continued the tradition by teaching them to my children, and perhaps they will teach similar values to their offspring. 

My father was very important in my life, and even though he is now gone, I can still reach out and touch my memories of the times we had together.

Happy Father’s Day

Command a vital life. Live free.