If you do any research on childhood development, you will find study after study that underscores the importance of the role of a father in the life of a child. Particularly in boys, a father plays a very crucial role in the growth, formation of values and even self-esteem.
Many kids grow up without a dad in their life — whether from broken marriages, death, or they were never in the picture. I was blessed to have a father in my life until he passed away when I was 38. Not only was he a father to me, Matthew, and Sara, but I watched him be a father to so many children and teens on the bus route who didn’t have someone in their life who would show them kindness, love, and give them wise counsel or tough advice when needed.
We grew up not having a lot, so when we became old enough, Dad relied on us to help out. Whether it was pushing the lawn mower, splitting wood, raking leaves, or shoveling the driveway; at a young age we learned the value of contributing to the family by working. Later on, as teens, each of us worked for Dad in his business. (Sara even got to run the heavy equipment… I never got to do that!)
As a kid though, we hung out with Dad. He took Matt and I with him everywhere he went. You have to understand that Dad was a very personable guy with a flair for storytelling and the dramatic. He seemed to know everyone in every store or shop we would visit … and he would talk and tell stories back and forth. From the NAPA store to Dandee Donuts to the fly fishing guy way up in the mountains, those waitresses and guys at the counters all knew Jim. Then there were Dad’s collection of friends with whom we would make the rounds to visit from time to time.
Jeff Dado was a big guy with black hair, a big laugh and a dog named Satan, who owned a local junkyard. Going there was like a gift to Matt and I. We would head out of the driveway and down the winding Hagaman-West Galway Road toward Galway Lake and take a left on Hoesville Road til we came to Jeff’s place on the left. It was usually on a Saturday afternoon to get some part or something (we never actually knew why he was going there but we would be there for a couple hours). So Matt and I would wander the junkyard finding our favorite cars. I remember sitting in a huge brown Cadillac with cracked maroon leather seats and Matt was next to me in a green Dodge Charger. We would pretend that we were driving and imagined so many great scenarios. We also found an ice cream truck as well as a variety of other unusual and large trucks. There was an old section of the yard with cars that were nearly rusted into the ground and becoming one with the trees. Actually, I bought my second car from Jeff as a teen. My Maverick had hit the ditch, and Jeff had a collection of former state of NY cars — 1983 AMC Concords — ugly tan tanks, but for $200, one would be mine. It was always an adventure going to Jeff’s. He was a genuinely nice guy, a friend to Dad and we spent many good hours there.
Jimmy McGuilda was a guy who owned heavy equipment. From bulldozers to bucket-loaders, this was Dad’s go to guy. Dad actually helped build his house and it was pretty cool as I recall. It had tall cathedral ceilings and big windows on one side. Dad had a few accidents at this house. One scary moment was when he went up on the steep roof and there was a sheet of plywood that was not nailed down. There was still some frost on the roof so it was pretty slippery and once he hit that plywood, it started sliding down the roof at speed with him on it. Well, Dad rode it down like a surfboard and landed on the hood/windshield of his little black Chevy LUV (best name for a truck ever, and it was made by Isuzu). It broke the window, but Dad was ok — although he probably had some sore knees. They were putting up siding on the high side of the house. Someone had overloaded the pump jacks (that run up the side of the house to do shingling or siding) and when Dad got up there, the whole thing came down and in the process of him falling, he split his forehead open. Not a believer in going to the hospital, he went to my grandparents, and he was like, “Ma, I need you to put this butterfly bandage on this gash while I push it together.” And she took care of it. My gram was amazing. I was helping Dad one night at Jimmy’s with some drywall work and he was wearing these aluminum drywall stilts that gave him like an extra 18-24″ of height. Well, he had those on and thought it would be fun to race me (who was not on stilts) down the hall and into the living room. Needless to say, it did not end well as he caught one of the stilts on something and went flying. He probably yelled “dirty bird” which was his phrase of choice. But of course, he wasn’t hurt and even if he was he would never admit it, but he did laugh about it after a little while. Jimmy had this incredible white TransAm with a blue Eagle on the hood, T-tops, and gold wheels with raised white letter tires. It was mint and beautiful. He built a shelf in his barn to store the car on in the winter. Now in order to get the car up there, he had this ingenious process of driving it up on ramps into the bed of one of his dump trucks (backed up to a small hill to level things out some) which then was backed on to a heavy equipment trailer, which then was backed up to the edge of the shelf in the barn and then the car was driven forward out of the truck on to the shelf. Pretty wild, but awesome to walk into the barn and see that car sitting up there.
There was this other guy who was a mechanic and seemed to have a variety of vehicles scattered around his yard. He was a big beefy guy with massive arms. We only knew him by his nickname — Louie the Arm. At one point I asked Dad, “Hey are we going over to see Mr. DeArm?” Dad was like, “Who?!” I said “You know, your friend Louie — Mr. DeArm.” I never lived that down… Dad laughed about that so hard because I honestly thought that was his last name. It was actually something like Nowakowski. We had a continually rotating series of cars in my life. Usually junkers on their last legs. Well one day we needed a car, and he had one sitting in the yard. It was a two-tone tan and brown 1980 Datsun 510 but it had a sunroof (which probably started my love affair with sunroofs), but the rear was smashed in and it was missing the bumper. Not to be deterred but such trifles, Dad got that car when we got it home, he attached a large grey wooden 2×12 to the frame and after that we called it our battle bumper car.
Sue Nadler lived across the crick on her family farm. I’m not sure how Dad met her, but her dad, Chick, had an old Indian motorcycle in pieces in his decaying barn that Dad always had his eye on for years. The guy would never sell it but Dad sure wanted that bike. Sue was tough and wiry – a straight-talking blonde who drove this sweet orange Ford flareside with white wagon rims. Dad might have introduced her to Jimmy… I’m not sure, but they eventually got married.
Next door to Sue’s property was Mr. Jevitt’s house on the corner of that dirt road (which was called Nadler Road) where we spent many, many, many hours cutting trees, loading up the dump truck and trailer, and hauling wood out of his woods. I don’t remember many conversations with him, but I remember conversation s with dad in those woods — how to find the north side of a tree (moss) and where wintergreen leaves grow in the woods and how to make tea from them.
There was a local sawmill that we would often visit – dropping off logs or getting wood cut. Experiencing the marvel of watching logs being made into lumber was something I will never forget — the sound of that huge circular blade, which was taller than me, to the smell of the fresh cut pine.
During the summer when I was working for Dad, our mainstay place to eat was the best diner in Amsterdam —Tulio’s. Run by Tulio DeMartini and his wife Filomena, this little diner on the same crick I grew up on (the Chuctanunda), was a place of so many conversations about life, politics, opinion, wisdom, and great stories from Dad and Papa and their interaction with Tulio and the servers. I was in my phase of Turkey Manhattans — an open faced-turkey sandwich covered in gravy and a big side of fries, also covered in gravy. It was my favorite place to get that meal, and believe me… I tried it everywhere we went.
One of our favorite things to do as a family was to hike to this lake in the woods. (Sara calls it “the place that shall not be named.”) We would drive up the rutted road (sometimes losing a muffler in the process on the big rocks) and park in the dirt area by the trailhead. Then it was a mile and a half hike in to our spot. The dirt trail led upward, with large rocks along the sides, natural springs and streams intersecting the path, the quiet of the woods all around. We learned to respect this sacred space, this sanctuary away from the busyness of life and walk quietly. There was definitely no shouting or being loud, and we would often stop to pick up any trash we might come across. Once we crossed the meadow, it was a short walk to the edge of the lake. Then It was a precipitous balancing act across a beaver dam which sometimes was in good shape and other times not. On the other side of that we made our way around the lake to a massive rock which was our place. I remember several times as “just the boys,” we camped there, swam there, learned to build fires, learned to read a compass, talked about life, God, and all the stuff that fathers and sons do. Many years later, I was able to go back here the summer before Dad passed away with him, Christine, Sara, and the kids. It brought back so many memories and I am so glad we did that. A year later, we had a time of memorial for Dad and his ashes became a part of that place; and the next year, Sara married Jake there.
There were so many other quirky and interesting people that we would encounter in our travels around, but what I was trying to say was that experiencing all these people with Dad was formative in watching how he interacted with people and how they responded to him. Dad was not one to see color or status — he accepted people as they were, where they were. He was generous and kind and always willing to lend a hand to anyone in need. He modeled servanthood and selflessness in so many ways. Being WITH Dad was significant. Even the small errands that didn’t seem to be important — running over to Stewarts for milk and bread, stopping at Town & Country for deli meat and cheese — those times together were how we came to model the character qualities we saw in Dad that each of us now have as kids. Dad was not perfect, obviously. There are things that we all laugh about now that he did that drove us crazy that, as adults, we find ourselves saying or doing and we stop and say, “Ok, wow. That’s Dad.” I am so privileged to have had a father like I did. His love, his actions, wisdom, advice, long lectures and speeches, and discipline shaped so much of who I am today.
If you are a father, all I can say is… take your kid with you. Wherever, whenever. Engage them. Explore with them. Tell them the stories. Make memories the stories that they will tell their kids. They are watching and listening and learning. I know … because I was.