Perhaps the greatest man I’ve ever met

Today is my Dad’s 81st birthday. Perhaps the greatest man I’ve ever met.

His father (my grandfather) was sent home from the South Pacific at the very end of WWII. He got a medical discharge for yellow fever. But the joke was that he wasn’t all that sick, because my dad was born nine months later, on July 2, 1945. I was born on a military base during Vietnam, in December of 1968.

I thought I was a great athlete. And I worked hard at it. I started lifting weights seriously in the 7th grade. I believed that the ultimate measure of athleticism was football and discus. They both require agility, strength, balance, speed, body control, and explosive power. So I worked hard at it. All of it. I lifted, I trained, I did drills. From a very early age. I set my school record (and lots and lots of other records) in the discus. I was all-state in football. My school inducted me into its Athletic Hall of Fame.

Thirty years later, I was pissed off when some worthless idiot punk broke my school record in the discus. (Not that I’m bitter.) Anyway, my Mom casually asked my Dad, “Do you still hold your school record in discus?” He shrugged his shoulders and said he didn’t know.

I was floored. He’d held his record in my event for decades and never mentioned it to me. I tell everybody I meet, whether they ask or not. He is more humble than I am arrogant. Which seems impossible. Almost beyond belief.

And perhaps – just maybe – maybe it wasn’t just my hard work that led to my Hall of Fame athletic career – maybe I had some genetics helping me. Genetics that I didn’t know about. Because I was too arrogant to ask.

Quick dose of humble pie.

Which, true to form, I do my best to ignore.

My mom was absolutely smoking brilliant. Like most people, I viewed her as the smart one in their relationship. She was the smart one in pretty much any relationship.

While she was dying of cancer, just before their 50th anniversary, Dad sat at her bedside and wrote her a letter. She never read it, of course – she died soon thereafter in hospice. So she never read it. But I read it.

It was brilliant. Next level brilliant. No word processor, no AI – just a pencil and paper. It was brilliant. And he was exhausted, sitting by her bedside, not sleeping, refusing to leave. And it was brilliant. The dumb jock wrote something I could never hope to match. Ever. And I didn’t know how brilliant he was, as a dumb jock. Heck – I didn’t even know he was a jock.

Because he lacks my arrogance. Which most people do. But still. I was embarrassingly astonished. Which he is continually making me accustomed to.

When somebody remarks upon the fact that I’ve done well – I went from losing the hog farm I grew up on when I was 16 years old to being a successful physician/businessman – I just tell them that I’m blessed to have two parents who love me. We went through a lot together, much of it bad. But my parents loved me, and it never occurred to me to question that. And that stable base gave a launching pad to someone who, with my ability and my ego, I took full advantage of.

My English teacher mother would shove that last sentence down my throat. But I’ve been drinking, a lot, and I don’t care.

Sorry, Mom.

My kids have done well, also. World-class athletes, Mensa members, tough enough to handle life’s setbacks (including death).

I figured it was obviously nature over nurture. I’ve obviously been a great parent. No one with my genetics could possibly be successful, not without my expert guidance.

Well, no one other than me. Obviously. Maybe I was wrong? No. I'm just great. Really.

Right.

I’m blessed. I’m so, so blessed. So are my kids. So are we all, whether we recognize it or not.

It’s up to us to make the most of our blessings. My Dad did. He made the most of his blessings. And he didn't make a fuss about it. He just did the best he could. With his not insignificant gifts.

What a heroic man. I’m so blessed to have him as my father. So blessed. So, so blessed.

I’m so, so grateful.

Although you'll never hear anyone as arrogant as me admit that...