My Dad loved holidays because he enjoyed a barbecue of steaks and chicken on the grill for many family members and friends. Sometimes he would ask me to help do the shopping. I never questioned his single-mended choice of an entire T-bone or sirloin steak for everyone. The normal order at the local butcher was a dozen steaks. A party-sized serving consisted of a full steak, ear of corn, baked potato, baked beans, and salad. Homemade lemonade and iced tea with lemon to wash it all down. The settings for these full sized cookouts were often ocean vacation locations, like Bonnet Shores (Rhode Island), Drake’s Island (Maine), or our country home in Uxbridge (Mass). Dad was also the chef and Mom kept busy with prep cooking and clean up. My siblings and I were close at hand to help. Dad was also the life of the party, keeping watch on whether you were having a good time. 

I remember the ritual of getting to a Maine vacation from our home in Uxbridge. My brother was old enough to have his own used car, a $300-dollar pink Cadillac convertible, and he would avoid getting too involved in helping because he would meet us there. My sister made sure that her Barbie dolls, Barbie clothes, and furniture were packed early and placed near the trunk so as not to be excluded for the packing of the car. My father never left home without his new portable TV. I had my baseball glove and tennis racket, my portable 45 record player and records, and a bathing suit and hat. I don’t know what my mother did because, again, vacations were my father’s show. The good news was that the rent had already been paid and we were all set for a week or two vacation in Maine.

Dad was the bread earner. His textile manufacturing career seemed to be enough for the nice home with 30 acres of land, a Parklane Ford station wagon family car, a 98 Oldsmobile sedan for himself, and a membership in the country club for golf. There was room in the budget for my mother’s expectations which involved private school educations, dancing lessons in blue suits and white gloves, and tithing in the church for God’s protection.

My personal time with Dad was a typical Saturday morning walking through the textile mill (closed for the weekend) when he would assess the status and quality of the raw wool from Argentina, the spinning operation, the evenly dyed fabrics in the dye house, the fulling, and the finishing departments. Each step of manufacturing was my father’s responsibility. He would teach me the key factor of quality at each stage. My father was recognized as having a unique ability to know what a fabric needed to be first class.

My Dad also attended my sports events. Notably at my Moses Brown cross country race, I could count on his standing near the last phase of the 2.8-mile course, yelling “come on, Tom.” His presence and voice gave me extra strength to endure the pain of excelling.   

Dad worked very hard all his life. He suffered the denial of a full scholarship to Rhode Island School of Design because the divorce of his parents required him to provide for his mother and siblings. His leadership abilities (President of his senior class), his integrity, and his desire to better himself and his family always drove him. He reveled in his children’s achievements, celebrated the joy of family, and managed to pay the price of “moving up” from his more humble youth.

His retirement years were little different from his regular work life, except that he found a role in the Episcopal Church as a Deacon. He visited shut-ins and the sick at the hospital to share his faith and kindness with those lonely and suffering. Still today, a person who knew him will pause and say how much they appreciated my father. 

Today, on Father’s Day, I join many sons and daughters celebrating the life of their fathers, while being grateful for the lessons taught and the power of example along the way.