Dad thought me that: “common sense is not so common”, “your wallet is your best friend” , and “all you need is good family and good food”. Oh Happy Day!
Pop, long gone. At 57 I am now older than you. Thanks for assembling my first bike, a purple Schwinn "Spyder" with a sparkly banana seat and a sissy bar. You let me "help" you replacing an outlet in the house. I associate, to this day, s smell of oil on greasy overalls with you. When I cracked open my forehead running on the stairs I lay in your arms bleeding while you drove me to the hospital in our green Chevy station wagon. So many images in my head now. They are like a dream. I cannot hold on to time or you but I think of you every Father's Day and I miss you Pop. I really do.
5
My father, while officially present, was often just as absent as Mr. Gold’s father. And often his presence was brutal or subversive. This is not to say that he didn’t have some good qualities, which I hope I have embraced with as much enthusiasm as I have rejected (but still learned from in a don’t-do-as-I-do way) his negative qualities. Bittersweet memories.
One the other hand the pictures accompanying this article are an unmitigated delight. Mr. Wagner has a marvelous eye for subtle, sublime beauty.
1
And how about us moms who had to be/who have to be both mom and dad. We sure need our Day - not to be celebrated with profits for card companies. How about living wages and free day care centers?
3
Thank for sharing your meaningful and insightful thoughts about Father’s Day and the memories you had of your father and grandfather. Ironically, we are visiting my son and family in NYC and he gave me shaving balm today for Father’s Day. A few year’s ago it was a Harry’s razor. Reading your column provided new insight and perspective for me on the ritual of shaving passed down from father to son. As an aside, I noticed that Cantor Lawrence Avery co-officiated at your parents’ wedding. Cantor Avery was one of my mentors during my studies at Hebrew Union College and my go-to person in the years following in my professional life as a Cantor.
After my parents divorce, my father abandoned contact. I never heard from him again for the rest of his life. This black, psychic wound persisted until my 50's and it is still there, in a small part of me. Men, please don't neglect your children, no matter how difficult your life might be.
7
Thank you, Mr. Gold and Mr. Wagner, for a priceless piece. Though not a son, as a kid I hung with my Pop every waking hour possible -- whether at the hardware store or in the kitchen. As a child, when he opened the front door, I would fly down the stairs and leap into his arms. I thought the sun rose because he was in the house. I loved his very smell, and imitated him as much as I could within my mother's constraints. Your work has brought both smiles and tears, along with love energy toward the men in these photos. Kudos, Mazel Tov, Ase from a father's daughter.
3
Gigantic shout out to @photodre. You nailed it. These images are powerful. It ain’t easy! But we love being dads.
3
I’m 83 and have 2 sons, 48 and 52, both very good men. My father (Pop) was born in 1888 and died in 1964. I had on older brother, Norm, who survived WW2 and went into the family business. I think of Pop every day.
Norm, 12 years older that me, who was retired as the result of several heart attacks lived on L.I.. I recall a conversation we had before he died at age 57. He told me that if were were half the man Pop was we would be a success in life. Then he said “I know I was always Pop’s favorite” and I said “you were Mom’s favorite but I was Pop’s favorite.” So Pops 2 surviving sons each believed that the was e Pop’s favorite.
When I was in college I told my girlfriend, now wife, that of Pop needed me in the business I would have to go to repay a debt that I could never repay and I meant it.
My father raised me by example. Pop took me everywhere he went and he told me hundreds of stories and gave me advice. Everyone Who knew him held him in high regard. Pop was the kindest most patient, generous, soft spoken and hardest working man I ever met; a man of good humor who never lied and who taught his sons that in business that no deal is a good deal unless it is a fair deal and when you give your word, that is a matter of personal honor. I didn’t make drapes like my father did but the things he taught me about the importance of your reputation served me well during my 40 year career as a trial and appellate attorney. I still ask, what would Pop do.
4
What my Father gave me is the unadulterated drive to get it right. Whether studying or raising children, there was no compromise. You either did it or didn't do it. He was a single Father who went to church every Sunday and prayed the Rosary every night. Everyone should be so lucky to have a Father as this...................
I had three fathers, a bigshot Irish politician from Lowell Mass named Connie Kiernan, an alcoholic Jew from Nashua NH named Bernie Weisman, and a hard working bigot and former Protestant theologian from Quincy Mass named Wesley Kent. Kiernan was the Majority Leader of the Mass House was biologically involved, only. Weisman gave me his name (and the antisemitic hassle it brought) and nothing else. Kent also gave a name and tossed in an endless level of animosity.
Three possibilities, and not one of them ever once acted the paternal figure of leadership, kindness, or trust. The lesson about fathers in my life is that mothers in the 50s, 60s, and even 70s were very much and very often psychological chattel slaves to men.
When I see a man being a decent father I more than notice, it goes right to the deepest part of my heart and hurts, but very much warms it. That's how it is to this day after over 60 years. Being a decent father is such a noble thing, I know this from it's abscence.
4
My dad was born and raised in Bedford Stuyvesant in the 1940's. It was a tough neighborhood back then too. His dad died when he was 6 from a car accident. From 6 y.o., it was all about survival for him. He raised me and my sister to be strong and "take no wooden nickels".
He never came to any of my plays, but he did take us out on breakfast dates on Saturdays. I learned the importance of sitting with my back to the wall and always be alert about my surroundings.
He was hard on us, dating wasn't allowed, but I could take the A-train at 13 to Manhattan to hang out in bookstores and museums. Education would get me out of Queens, not a knight in shining armor.
Expressing emotions and crying were not encouraged, but he taught me about black artists that had to go to Europe to work. I got a passport at 15 and went to Spain for 10 days.
He is still a tough, opinionated, stubborn man. But, I would not have had the courage to drive cross country by myself if it wasn't for his lessons to "take no wooden nickels".
2
The photographs are fantastic! They capture the essence of everyday fatherhood.
7
This is a fine essay, and a sad one because the writer lost his father so early. It is not surprising that the writer equates fatherhood with how his father went about his business. But if Mr. Gold had more years with his father I think his essay would be a lot more about how his father addressed his needs. Lots of fathers cook dinner and shop and talk to teachers and know their kids' friends and know their kids' strengths and insecurities. And when the kids reach a certain age, they know to let go.
Running this as a father's day story is unusual. But I think it tends to convey the message by communicating what isn't there because the writer has only vague memories of his father.
When a father goes off to war for 2 years, perhaps more, perhaps less, it's a kind of death. It's loss, it's grieving, it's hoping to see him again. For a child, it's years that cannot be replaced, conversations that can't go on, formative years within a period in the household when preparation for some of life's lessons can be learned.
My mother was a strong woman, and our neighbors were very good to us. We had all the comforts we needed, but he was missing from the picture. He came home. Everything had changed. My mother was the captan of the ship and my father, at least for several years, was the mate. He emerged from the trauma of war and regained his position as head of the household.
But he had missed a substantial block of all our lives. For me, I didn't realize how much was missed by all of us until I had a family of my own. Some things can never be replaced because circumstances have been altered and living itself has changed. The DNA that our fathers gave us is a constant, at sometimes funny and sometimes ironic when the self-discipline, learned especially post war, that we were trained to observe and that we so hated, is the most important gift we can give to our children and grandchildren from our father's own heritage.
1
It is nice to read about the fathers that were good to their kids. As one that was fathered by a bad guy~career criminal~who was taken by law enforcement when my 3siblings and I were little~2-8 years old~there was zero contact through out our lives. Up till we were in our twenties when 2 of us had some contact with him. Those 2 did not question him about his life choices where his only kids were nothing to him. I know I would have, but of course I am the confrontational one.
That said, my siblings grew into decent, loving husbands and fathers. All without any role model of a proper male. I am deeply proud of them. Their kids have become productive citizens, a few served in the military, law enforcement careers. I have been married for over 4 decades. Watching our child with her father was, still is, wonderful to see. They have a bound that I did not have. Fathers are usually a girl's "prince". I see that. Fathers that are engaged with their kids is a great thing to behold.
5
Thanks, but some things are best not remembered, especially those things you can’t get rid of and have to live with all your life that you have only one person to curse for. That’s no reason not to try and sell cards however.
2
When my father was 17, he lied to get into the U.S. Navy. In 1945, he set sail on a destroyer headed toward Japan. During one engagement, my father saw a kamikaze make a direct hit on another ship, taking several hundred U.S. sailors to the bottom of the ocean. During another engagement, he was credited with downing a kamikaze and was given the dead pilot's samurai sword as a trophy. While on board, he wrote a poem about how he just couldn't bring himself to hate the young man he had killed. After the war and without the existence of the internet, my father was able to find the address of the dead pilot's address and return the sword to the man's parents in the Japan with the help of a Japanese colleague at work. My father refused to collect his Purple Heart because he thought it was stupid to get a medal of being lucky enough to NOT be killed. I asked him once if he regretted his decision and he said no, that he felt it was his duty to defend his country. However, my father never joined veterans' organization. And although he had many friends who were veterans, war was NEVER a topic of discussion at gathering in our house. In fact, my father's passion was American prehistory. I am convinced that had my older brother been drafted for forced service in Vietnam, my father would have sent his son to live in Canada. However, my father did use his G.I. bill to become the first person in my family to earn a university degree. I think there are some lessons in my father's story.
18
Beautiful piece. I can well recall the creeping suspicion and dawning realization I felt when I began to realize in my adolescence that the amount of love and sacrifice both of my parents gave for their children was not shared by all families.
Definitely an article for reflection.
I never really knew my paternal grandparents—impoverished, ignorant, discouraging, neglectful by all accounts. Told dad he was wasting his time in college. Told him the same when he went to graduate school after painting houses for a year to be able to afford the loans he’d need. And yet, in their later years, he gave freely to them. Paid for everything they needed or wanted because it was the right thing to do. Never held it against them that they didn’t believe, despite his success.
“Why aren’t you like other fathers?” I would often wonder. None of my friends had to check in. None of their parents made sure everyone was home for family dinner at 6:30 sharp. The answer was of course “because I’m yours.”
The same answer I got at seven years old when he plucked me from the Red Sea after my brother and I nearly drowned on a shoddy raft a family friend rented and took us out on with his kids. I can recall vividly going under and staring up at the surface, seeing his huge, worn hand plunge through the water; feel the callous where he played with his wedding band when bored as it closed around mine.
A rambling way of saying he is the greatest man I know. I only hope I can do half as well.
6
Dad.
That miasmic creation of both his and mine. A paragon whose frailty I missed in the mist. The never complaining about late nights, or my music playing while he napped, from a evening on call. How to shovel snow, not raise your voice, get up early, fold the morning paper, never complain. I remember him best coming home from work usually late, the sound of the front door closing, our dog freaking out, the rest of us non-plussed. It had not occurred to me or us to welcome him back into our lives each night. He passed like a vapor sometimes into the house, freshened up and arrived at dinner, then early to bed for his early rise. Now at nearing 86, he continues those routines, in reality and in my mind as I now have my own family to separate us. More a hero than he will ever know, those observations became the unconscious construction of my own attempt, at being a man, a father to my girls. Cool piece, the photos especially.
5
I am a single father of a 12 and a 14 year old boy. Every once in a great while I get a "thanks dad" or "Love ya". Those are the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.
12
Beautiful photos!
6
Great story. Wish it had been my story, but it wasn't.
2
Reality check we all should be thankfull for what all are for fathers given us. One lesson dad always was so important is we leave this world better place then what we received. The me revolution presently needs history lesson.
1
My oldest son recently said to me over lunch and out of the blue, I know you often say grandpa was a tough customer and I know all the stories about his rough childhood but he came out of all that and gave you some really great messages like play it straight all the time, work hard, and respect yourself and be confident because you’re good and no matter how tough things get you stay in it and it’ll work out for you. I almost couldn't finish my sandwich as the tears rolled down down my cheeks. Thanks pops, you were the best!
8
The photographs- oh my, the wonderful photographs!
3
Lovely, indeed.
Abdi, Hargeisa, Somaliland.
1
Lovely set of photos.
2
Those photographed of Mr. Wagner’s are AMAZING
2
Many of us had WWII Fathers-hard workers, honest, ethical, who would shudder at thought of being separated. My Father would do anything to fix it. How can this "President" sleep at night knowing these immigrant fathers can't fix it and that it is actually set up on purpose to torture families. SAD, SINFUL, SADISTIC............
6
In America, we still have too many lazy, selfish, and univolved dads. Dads need shut off the TV, stop drinking so much, take the kid out into nature or the libary. Deadbeat dads should be publically outted, and if they are not paying the needed funds, arrested. Real Dads, who do all they can to hellp their kids, to llove their kis, should get a big hug!
3
Thank you for writing that lovely piece-I was moved by both your honesty and the photos.
I do know that when on my daily march to my job in Manhattan and I see dads with their children I always take note. For some reason I find it especially uplifting.
RM
2
Thank you for such a lovely article; the photographs are wonderfully evocative. I've been looking at them for more than fifteen minutes.
I'm certain my dad had PTSD after four years of combat in WWll; he refused to talk about it, never slept well and was prone to outbursts of rage that were especially shocking in contrast to his overall love of laughter and displays of affection. He was my hero and I was terrified of him at the same time, walking on eggshells for most of my young years. I never feared injury, but was a hypersensitive little kid.
He was the epitome of strength to me, a big strong man, US Marine to the core. Fearless, self-assured, articulate, with a natural gift for storytellling and jokes. He was Shop Foreman for the railroad, could tear apart and repair giant locomotives as readily as he did cars, home appliances or a decapitated doll. His hands and nails were immaculately groomed, striking because his work clothes were so black with grease they had to be soaked in a bucket of cleaner overnight before they could go into the washer.
He was the only person I trusted to take me up on the "big" swings, to teach me how to swim in deep water, to start a wood fire - anything scary to me. We had speed boats I hated to be on, yet when raising my own kids, the only boat they were allowed on was one he was driving, because he took it so seriously.
Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there. You are loved.
8
My dad taught me love. He also taught me to stand up for myself. I will always cherish the memory if sitting next to him in the
2
Let me tell you about my dad.
He did for me what a parent should do for his child: he stood up for me, he did his best to safeguard my heart. His love for me was solid. I trusted it.
He wasn't effusive with his love, but I knew it was always there.
He wasn't intrusive in my life, but I knew that he knew that I knew that he and my mom had given me the tools I needed to make the right decisions, and he trusted that I would. Occasionally that trust was compromised or challenged, but I believe that we were all okay with that.
When something went wrong, he'd smile and say "That's what happens when the wolf comes to the door". All the best efforts and intentions couldn't keep the wolf from blowing the house down once in a while. We knew that houses could be rebuilt.
Today we celebrate the life of a man who loved well his wife and kids; a man who served his country through wars in Korea and Europe and who stayed loyal to his Country when his four teenage Army Brats questioned the rationale behind the war in Viet Nam. He was a man who worked hard, played a mean game of dominoes punctuated with lots of laughter, played Scrabble reluctantly but cheerfully, played golf with panache and integrity, and whom we will miss every day of our lives.
Godspeed Dad and Rest In Peace, and yes, it's Martini Time.
11
I was five when I, too, lost my 45-year-old father to leukemia. I, too, learned of him in terms of a larger than life, brilliant scientist who, if only...
When I turned 40 and became a father I would try to look at myself through the eyes of my children, as young and innocent as I might have looked at my own father, and thought of how I might teach them the hard learned lessons I had to discover on my own.
That dream was cut short by an acrimonious divorce and an ex-wife who felt she alone was more than enough of a man to raise her children and did nothing to assure they might have the benefit of the father I could never have, a living, breathing, willing man.
I have struggled against her indifference to preserve what fatherly role I could play in my children's lives and am so proud of how beautiful and brilliant they are. On Father's Day, after reading this poignant piece, I wonder what sin I had committed that could possibly justify willingly depriving these children of a living, breathing father that learned how to shave with a blade the hard way.
7
My father died when I was 5 years old. He left me mostly shadows, but he did give me one of the greatest gifts; he taught me how to think.
When I asked a question, he would say' "Let's look it up." He would take me by the hand and bring me to the bookcase that held our encyclopedia Britannica. I was too young to be able to read, but he broke my question into its component parts and look up the answer to each part.
I could see the reverence he held for these books (pre google); he imparted to me respect for knowledge and learning.
11
My father (and mother) taught me that I was enough as a human. I also remember my father, a lawyer too, reminding me as a child to question everything I read, heard or was told.
Reading this article reminded me of how pivotal my parents were in my life.
They were right. It is possible to change the world by independent thought and actions. And good parenting really really matters.
6
I love the line about cutting his lip with an electric razor and how that was a clue he had missed something along the way. Made me chuckle and cry...cry for the boys whose dads are unable or unwilling to pass on the life rituals by demonstration. Yes, both DNA and demonstration are the gifts of the older generation to the younger. Thank you for a lovely and genuine meditation on fatherhood. You are a writer who touches both hearts and minds. And kudos for the reminder that we all can be good demonstrators of life lessons to those who are climbing up the ladder of life behind us.
8
My dad passed in 2009 at 83 and in all those years I can't think of any time he wasn't there for my brother and I. Raising 3 children of my own was no easy task but my dad was always offering money to help along the way. When he retired at 59 he would help in my cut flower business and go to Manhattan with us two days a week until he couldn't climb into the truck. As he aged he did so gracefully, always keeping his wit and humor. One of the last things he did before he passed was to hand me his money clip. He was very poor most of his life so money was hard for him to get, seeing how the depression altered his life, he was always saving for that rainy day. And those rainy days came! He wanted me to remember that every time I were to purchase something that maybe I would think about it, and pop I carry that clip all the time and miss having you around. To all, happy fathers day!!
10
Thank you for the wonderful read and pictures of the dads and kids on the streets of NYC - so beautiful and simple and loving. - just exactly like my Dad. The photos and tribute made me cry missing him. My father passed away unexpectedly and I always knew he loved me (he loved all of us - his family was the most important thing to him) but I have come to know that he also really liked me and when he died I lost the one person on earth who thought I was perfect - flaws and all. I miss you so very much, Dad, and I hope that I can pass on to my kids the feeling that they are loved and liked for exactly who they are. Wherever you may be, Happy Father's Day to the World's Greatest Dad, I love you and miss you more each day - and I hope you are driving a really, really fast car with no one slowing you down in the left lane!
8
Forgive me if none of this resonates with me. At the age of four, just turning five, I made a sensible decision. I left home, pushing all my worldly possessions before me in my alphabet brick cart, a popular early childhood learning aid amongst the middle classss in the immediate post war years.
My mother must have phoned my father to let him know. I'd only got about half a mile before I met him, returning home from work, carrying a bright orange Dinky toy bulldozer, which he used to coax me into returning home.
It was probably the last time in my life when I tried to demonstrate any real independence from my parents, or any real initative. From that moment on, I capitulated to their ruthless concern.
I wish that my parents had left me with my maternal gratndparents to grow up. The latter gave me access to a much worn collection of children's novels — otherwise they left me alone. I used to help my grandmother with the heavy digging and lifting in their large garden of three quarters of an acre. This made me immensely strong from an early age — so strong that I vanquished schoolyard bully after bully twice my size and many years older.
My father meant well, he was conscientious and dutiful to a fault, but he never loved me and he never left me alone. He was always interfering, always prying, always manipulative. He also had a vicious streak in his character, the result in part of his strict Belfast Protestant upbringing by a very clever but sour and embittered mother.
4
Thank you for sharing your difficult experience here, it made me cry for what you had instinctively learned at such a tender age. Reading this makes me think that rather than feel embittered and crippled by the challenges you faced as a child, you are now a self-aware man who has a keen insight on where you came from and where want to go. With all best wishes to you and, any children that you might or will have.
1
He taught me, not much of anything. Left the 3 of us when we were really young. Never saw him all thru our adult lives. Had another family and forgot about us. Did not support us. When we did see him, he was belligerent and adversarial. BUT to all those dads that care and are around for their kids, Happy Father's Day! This day is always rough for me.
5
While I understand how difficult this day may feel for you, remember that his inactions had nothing to do with you and says everything about him. Thank you for sharing your experience. Wishing you love and peace where ever you are.
2
Deann, Gracie hardly needs words of consolation from a complete stranger after learning to grow up without them from someone who shouldn’t have been. But I hope they make you feel good.
What Gracie shared resonated with something deep inside me. What I want to share with you, John Doe, is that growing up, complete strangers, --- unlike my own family ----were often the saviours in my life. Fleeting people I was blessed to come across -- by pure chance and would often never see again --- that had a kind word, patient way or shockingly helpful or generous gesture that helped my out and gave me hope to strive for a better way of living in spite of my limitations.
These strangers had a much deeper and positive impact on me than I could ever begin to understand or tell you about. I hope that each day I can be the kind stranger that is there to help someone else along on this often difficult path we call life. Best wishes to you John Doe.
My father died five years ago on Mother's Day - a victim of the cruelty that is Parkinson's. I am fortunate to have had him in my life well into my middle age. One of my most cherished possessions is a project we did together in which we transferred the old home movies to DVD format with our contemporaneous narration of events. I remember the two of us sitting in the basement of his home drinking beer and sharing memories of our lives as they rolled by on the projector. It was one of the few projects we ever completed together as I was more intellectual than mechanical (much to my father's chagrin) and quite incapable of tuning up a car or building a birdhouse. Our project also allows me to hear his voice - the voice I remember from childhood - before Parkinson's disease turned it into a faint whisper. My father was not perfect - a man with many gifts and many flaws. But he was my father, and I will remember the good times on this day. And perhaps raise a beer to him as I watch our film project.
6
My dad loved music. He was not a musician. He was a self taught harmonica player. But he made sure I got an accordion for Christmas when I was seven years old. He set up a music stand in the gas station that he and my uncle ran, and the customers could hear me play. Then the violin and viola lessons. And years of Acapella. He never missed a concert, of course.
I made sure my three daughters took piano lessons and they all played instruments. My dad’s heart was so happy when he saw them involved in music.
He was doomed with dementia in his 60’s. But he kept playing the harmonica and was one of the “daycare” top appreciative and appreciated musicians.
In my retirement now from nursing, I direct a music group at one of our local nursing homes. They don’t sing - they play instruments, maracas, tambourines, bongos, bells, while I play CD’s - and it’s not “Row, row, row your boat” either. They do Elivis, Johnny Cash, the UW Marching Band - “On Wisconsin” and so many other favorites. They rock!
I can’t help but think my dad is looking upon us and smiling, even jiving along. I wish he knew how much his enjoyment of music which started out so innocently, so sweetly, has affected so many others - still! My grandkids come and help me with the group and I remind them how I got started, all because of him.
If there was only a way I could hear him play his favorite - “You Are My Sunshine” one more time.
Happy Father’s Day to all dads.
16
Awesome.
1
Nice piece. The photos and sentiments touched my heart.
3
My beloved father is in the end stages of Parkinson's. This very well may be our last Fathers Day, and he is hundreds of miles away.
At 82 years of age, he was a very unusual father for his generation, Hands on from the moment of my birth, gentle, empathetic, joyful in his interactions with me. He raise me to be strongly independent, taught me to see right & wrong, and to stand firm for those who could not. He gave me the love of music, fine fast cars, animals, laughter, quality over quantity, the Marines, creating with my hands, dance, taking pride in a job well done. I am his daughter.
And, as I tell him often, he is my favorite person on the planet.
Pop, I will love you always.
8
Lost my father to Parkinson's in 2013 at the age of 84. It was very difficult as I too lived across the country from him. I am not religious so I do not do prayers, but instead sending good thoughts your way.
1
I'm a father of two grown girls but I become a young boy on Father's Day. How I wish my father was still around or at the least, lived little longer. He was gone too soon. All wonderful memories of childhood growing up in India are tied to time spent with my father, especially watching Laurel and Hardy movies on Sunday afternoons after Church. A rare treat that was.
What my father gave me? Everything I needed, especially his traits and talents that no one can steal from me. Thanks Dad!
6
My dad died in 1985 and although I miss him every day, it always gets worse when baseball season starts. I have wonderful memories of playing catch and rundown in the back yard (when we could convince my horse besotted sister to play with us). We would sit around the transistor radio listening to Lon Simmons' play by play and hoping to hear "and you can tell it goodbye" when Willie Mays or Willie McCovey would hit a home run. I remember him trying to convince my mom that a color TV wouldn't break the bank and would be so much nicer than black and white - but she wouldn't give in until the B/W set broke in
1972!
Thanks Dad for everything!
10
Dad has been gone 36 years now. I think I am finally beginning to catch just a glimmer of what he was trying to teach me. With gratitude for all the parents who are trying to do their best and thanksgiving for my parents.
14
Beautiful Fathers Day present. I especially like the photos of NYC dads and their kids. Regardless of their socio economic background, NYC dads in my eyes always seem to have a certain flair about them, a sense of style, a show of affection and inner confidence that’s very attractive.
Growing up I had a sense of awe of my dad and the images in the article remind me of him. He seemed like a towering figure then: a handsome man with a clean and crisp scent about him—he wore “4711 cologne” twice a day (he took two showers daily) that lingered in my early memories growing up. And he had more confidence than he knew what to do with. I was both intimidated and repulsed by his swagger even if it was all show.
You certainly don’t have to be an NYC dad to have inner confidence in spades. In being a Father, as the author clearly does, you realize the enormity of the responsibility you have in your life for everything you do today will leave an impression on them, both good and bad. You’re ten feet tall in their eyes and, like their mothers, very much the authoritarian figure in their present and future memories.
Since I can remember, I have always wanted to be a Dad. Blessed with two girls, I strive to live up to the task and be the best father, the best man in their lives. Happy Father’s Day 2018.
21
What a lovely remembrance and comment. I am always amused that 4711 is/was a man's cologne: many of the girls in my old boarding school wore it.
Happy Fathers' Day, Drew, and best wishes to your girls.
3
Best photos ever! Every child who had a Dad that was nurturing, affectionate, compassionate, caring and supportive was so dang lucky and fortunate. I so envy these folks. My Dad was the hardest working person I knew (except for my Mother). He worked 40 hrs. a week bottling Hires Root Beer and then spent every evening and weekend tending to crops and livestock on our farm. He always enjoyed us kids until the age of 3 - after that he paid no real attention. He would bark or yell or criticize us - regardless the reason or no reason at all.
The best gift my Dad gave me was to not be like him as a parent. He was a great provider with a tremendous work ethic - he just seemed to lack the interest and desire to watch his kids grow into incredible human beings.
Thank you NYT for a beautiful story and fantastic pictures. It gives me an opportunity to appreciate and admire the generosity of so many other Dads out there, especially on this day.
10
Being brought up an avid reader as well as in a NY sports dominated household of the 1930's and 40's, my father was lucky enough to have three daughters in the 1950's. I still have my small beautiful soft leather catchers mitt, a terrific understanding of esoteric football knowledge and am still an avid basketball fan. In the 1989 BBall finals, the Pistons were playing Portland, and the family had to be at a wedding. He made me promise to tape the game and told everyone not to tell him the score. No one did. When we arrived back at my house to watch the coveted game, I realized I had never pushed the 'record' button on the VHS. Laughter did ensue, but he never trusted me again to record any sporting event! He even wrote a great essay on that mishap. He passed away in 2007, but passed on to me a terrific outlook on life.
10
My dad, a retired teacher and coach who still teaches us all - is the tennis-playing, showtune-singing, wise beyond his 80 years, Trump-hating, garden-loving father that my son calls for advice. Grampa Pete is my teenaged son's hero, and mine.
I used to watch him shave when I was little - the swirling brush was complicated and fascinating! Word has it that, when he was courting my mom, he shaved twice a day to make sure that he looked his best.
You reminded me today that I need to get my son together with my Dad for a shaving lesson.
Thank you for this piece on Father's Day.
16
This story both warmed and broke my heart. My father taught me many things; how ride a bike, drive a stick, wash and wax a car. He taught me about patience and diligence and care. And I learned the meaning of obstinance, rigidity and willfulness; characteristics to which he'd admit, and were attributes of his German heritage.
I learned I had two fathers; one patient and demonstrative, the other immobile, uncompromising. Two decades ago, I made a life altering choice and never saw my patient, demonstrative father again. Like the demons that burst forth when an alcoholic picks up a drink, my father transformed into a cold, hard, angry version of the man I once knew. Our relationship has never been the same.
I yearn for my father, but his stubbornness is canyon deep, one that I cannot bridge.
Unwittingly delivered, yet gratefully accepted, my father has given me one of the most important lessons of my life; the meaning of acceptance and forgiveness.
15
Fatherhood for me came late in life at the age of 40. It was simple: Either I would become a father or I would miss out on having a child. So I convinced myself that I could protect my child from a world that looked very threatening to children. I admit it was a selfish choice. Today I continue to believe I can protect my child, knowing full well that I can't.
6
Just beautiful, photos and story. Happy Father’s Day to my most extraordinary 91-year old father and to my son whose first son is due to arrive very soon.
13
Congrats to Fatherhood!
MIMA
What my Dad taught me was how to read.
He grew up in the 30's, and for all years as a kid he could go to a movie, get a free book for ten cents. If he went to all 52 movies, he would get a free book shelf for his books.
He got that bookshelf and it sat in our house for all the time I grew up there. I read so many of those classic books: Edgar Allen Poe, Twain, Dickens, and more.
And thank you Dad, for loving the classics.
Your loving daughter,
Pat
19
I once swiped five bucks from my father. It was in an old wallet of his that was in the drawer of a desk he hadn't used for years.
I needed the money to buy some Batman comic books, and I figured he would never notice. But he did.
When he caught up with me, he said he was very disappointed in me because I had swiped so little. His exact words were "If you have to steal, always steal by yourself and always steal big."
Computers being in short supply in those days, he then went on to counsel me that the best robberies were always committed on paper with pencils. Pencils rather than pens because they were easier to erase.
I loved my father. He was always coming up with sound advice like this which I still intend to follow to the letter if and when I ever decide to steal anything else again.
He never asked for his five bucks back and never mentioned the incident again.
As for the comic books, they were eventually thrown out by my mother, which is what Jewish mothers did in those days.
He died in 1976. She died 20 years later. There have been days since that time when I have forgotten to say a prayer for them. But not many.
Happy Father’s Day, Mom and Pop. I miss you.
32
Thanks for the great article and wonderful photos!
8
I was one of seven children, two older brothers and an older sister, and two younger brothers and a younger sister. It was hard being a middle child, but my father gave me his name and so much more. My dad was only 5'7", his greatest assets was his kindness and his wonderful sense of humor which he passed down to me. My mother was beautiful, had one of those bodies that my friends would come by just the look...... she could have had any guys she wanted, but was wise enough to see how great my dad was. He would win dance contests, and give up his seat on the T to any lady that came near him. He was one of the good guys, would break into laughter and cry at something sad. I'm proud that he gave me those characters of strength. Happy Father's Day dad ,I hope you dancing wherever you are.
24
What a wonderful article. The first shave with your mom scene is really well written. The photos are spectacular. I loved seeing everyday men, men we pass on the street everyday, being a dad. The future leaders photo was particularly compelling.
14
I was lucky two grow up in a household with 2 parents that loved us, disciplined us and sacrificed for us. Only with age did I come to realize that such things are not universal.
In my adulthood, when dating women who had children, it was obvious to see in the eyes and behavior of their kids that they were sizing you up to fill the hole in their lives made by an absent father. If you talk to people who lost their fathers early in life you will find it impacted them profoundly and sometimes for all of their lives.
The art of Fatherhood is different for each person, but some things are universal. Providing structure without suffocating their growth. Nurture without creating dependency. Unconditional love while instilling responsibility and accountability. Permission bounded by a sense of ethics and morality.
Done right, the people of your family are unique in all the world in that they love you unconditionally and want nothing from you in a transactional way. Regardless of race, faith, education or socioeconomic background, having a good Father and Mother is one of the greatest advantages any kid can ever have.
23
What a great comment. Thanks and happy father's day
When I reached that age my dad was absent, so I confronted my own peach-fuzz with similar intent. Like many elements of my coming of age, I was untethered and hungry for adult experience. I can still see that buzz-saw of a Remington shaver that Dad had gifted me, but without instructions. I mastered the close shave.
Years later I carried a compulsion to steward my own son as we shared a mirror reflection and explored the geography of our related cheeks with safety razors. I probably over-did the nuances of instruction, such that I so wanted to compensate.
Now as I consider his more recent adulthood I must accept that he chooses to wear a full beard.
(can lead a horse to water......).
13
what absolutely gorgeous photos! it made me realize how seldom we see these kind of portraits of men and their children. thank you!
19
At 58, I know I'm incredibly lucky to still have my Pops in my life. He's still healthy and vibrant. He still golfs a few times a week, as well as volunteers a few mornings a week at a rehab facility. He's currently spending 4 days in NYC with Mom, and once again got to see his favorite play, Carousel.
He's the greatest man I've ever known.
29
A great personal story, and the photos were wonderful to see. Thank you both.
12
Thank you for this. Not sure what I was to be feeling this early Fathers Day morning. Now touched to tears, thankful and happy. Amazing photos, reminding us how interconnected we all are.
15
A wonderful story to wake up to this morning.
16
The pictures so beautifully captured the "everyday-ness" of being with Dad. I see how the author of the article could miss having that. Today I think of my Dad, coming home exhausted from a long day of physical labor to provide for us.Being a small child I held his big beaten up and battered hand walking down the street. What a gift it was to be able to do so. You're never to old to miss your Dad.
24
This was sweet. It brought tears I haven't shed in years. The text about learning to shave brought memories of my time with my Dad and with my Sons. The photographs had me remembering "Come here. Where are you going? Let me have your hand. We're going to cross the street." Thanks!
22
What a charming heartwarming story! So well written and genuine. A wonderful tribute to all fathers. The photographs were wonderful as well.
This article is what makes the New York Times so special.
41
Sweet pictures. V. touching.
16
My father was not a kind person, but abusive and an alcoholic who left a trail of pain behind him with his children. For those whose fathers were good ones, I envy you. But, keep in mind that not every father or mother for that matter is a positive role model, a loving influence on his children. Some dread this day and I grew up dreading it. Only years later, when I had my own family, could I finally put aside these demons.
15