Blog

 

Before I left for college in New York City, Dad took me aside. “You know,” he said, “there will be parties. And you should go to them. But remember, you don’t need to drink alcohol just because everyone else does.” 

I refrained from eye rolling.

Dad spoke with genuineness, like he was letting me in on a party hack. “Just carry a coke!”

“A coke?” I said, never one to drink a lot of soda.

“Yes, but in a cocktail glass. Like a mixed drink. With ice. And just keep it in your hand as you mingle.”

Never a drinker, Dad explained that he did this back in his night club days and at New Year’s parties when everyone else was getting plastered. “This way, you look like you’ve got a rum and Coke, or maybe a beer, but you stay in control of the situation. You see sweetheart, nothing good happens when you lose common sense.”

I smiled, nodded. “Got it, Dad.”

 My father was an “older generation” dad. He believed in  manners, chivalry, and respect. I never heard him swear other than “damn or hell” and that happened only when he was really irritated. Never heard him tell a dirty joke, either. Nor did he gossip or complain. 

Dad also believed in proper dress. “Don’t go around looking like a slob,” he told my four brothers. We never saw him walk around in an undershirt or wear blue jeans. He was a man of suit and ties which he wore to his job at the IRS.

“You can never be overdressed,” Dad would say when any of us fretted about what to wear for a special occasion. “Pumps will never go out of style,” he told me when I showed him my new platform shoes.

So, I wasn’t fazed when my old-fashioned dad advised me to carry a Coke at college parties. I considered his idea kind of cute.

 I wish I could say I listened. 

 It took a few late night episodes of head-in-the-toilet to realize my 105 pound female body didn’t handle alcohol well. Soon after, I started carrying a Coke.

I observed  my drunk friends do stupid things, sometimes risky. Avoiding hangovers was also a plus for my dance training, just as my Dad, an Olympic fencer, must have known. 

Thankfully, I spent more time with books than booze. I excelled in college, went on to grad school, became a reading specialist and writer, and had successful career in education along with raising three responsible kids.

All through my successes and failures, my proud Dad cheered me on, offering encouragement and guidance. The older I got, the wiser my father became. 

In 2015, Dad died suddenly and tragically, shattering our family.

Over the ensuing years, my siblings and I have found healing in honoring his memory. While sorting through Dad’s letters and cards, we met him all over again, this time as adults with children of our own. Mixed in with Dad’s news from the home front, were reminders and advice about college, dating, jobs, and finances.

Even with the age gap between my siblings, we discovered that our father was basically the same old Dad—supportive, loving, and consistent. A gentleman extraordinaire. 

One night, I and my two closest-in-age brothers were reminiscing while sharing a bottle of wine. I relayed Dad’s Coke story. 

Both my brothers sat upright. “He told me that, too!”

“Me too!”

We all had a good laugh. 

Dad’s college advice has become part of our family lore.

Sometimes, it’s the seemingly silly advice our parents give us that takes on greater meaning later on.

I came to understand that despite Dad’s casual tone back then, there was a deeper message. I think he was teaching me about safety, about self-respect, about staying in control. Maintain your dignity. Keep your head on straight. 

Dad didn’t need to lecture. He walked the talk.

 It has taken me many years to absorb his wisdom. ~

Circa 2005