Say that I’ve been too exposed to living among Washington’s obelisk and Lincoln’s steps, but I look at my father as a monument spotlit in the dark. The illumination makes him appear resolute, singular, and as the foreground to nothing. It beckons sharper attention and additional admiration.
I would solicit counsel from such a monument by observing it, for if we are to believe that actions speak louder than words, then it can be better to see advice and not hear it. I would take note of the monument’s defined jaw, its confident eyes, and its gentle smile; its patina in exposure to the elements, and its sturdiness withstanding them; its purpose, which is to mark what bonds are strengthened through stoicism, what good comes of persistence, and what great life comes of goodness.
I perceive my father this way, because monuments, statues, they inspire awe. Humanity’s most impressive person, whoever it is, is still flesh and blood. What my father has achieved, with graciousness instead of complaint, curiosity instead of disinterest, hardiness instead of weakness, cannot be seen face-to-face. It cannot be discerned in a personal encounter. It is the product of unwavering years.
My father’s monumental achievement is that he is the exemplar of what all men should aspire to be. This does not pertain to career, though his is good, nor does it pertain to status or wealth. It pertains to the time his wife’s mother fell terribly ill and he became a devoted, extraordinary caretaker, and the time, more than two decades on, he saw his wife diagnosed with cancer, go through the surgery, take the drugs, lose her hair, confront the psychological and physical battle, and said all the while, through the love of his very presence and patience and understanding, You will fight and win, and win she did. It pertains to the time his son was tagged with a mental illness to which he could not relate, a crippling inhibition that threatened to derail a life many times over, and each time he was called upon, whether for soothing or for faith, he answered. He asked questions. He learned. He checked in, and helped convince his son that he was not an outcast, should not feel ashamed, and should instead feel loved. His kid won, too. In a family of three, he’s batting a thousand.
He has a simple kindness. He is the bar from “Cheers” personified — everybody with whom he’s made contact knows his name, and with good reason. He has an inquiring mind, and diligence. His work ethic approaches perfection: it is both dutiful and happy, and invested the appropriate amount.
These all are qualities to emulate. I am thankful for the opportunity to witness them, and to learn from someone whose priorities are properly organized. We are prone to lose such essential perspective in a world that moves with relentless pace. It is my hope that we can decelerate enough from time to time to learn or regain it, incorporate it, and live by it. For me, it takes a stroll and few moments to pause at the foot of a monument.
