🎵 He had style, he had flair, he was there; that’s how he became the Daddy. 🎶
For what is now the fourth year in a row, I am writing about the man, the myth, the legend. I’m talking about my dad. Thanksgiving was HIS day and thanks to a funny little thing called genetics, it is now MY day.
As mentioned on this page before, my dad was a man of impeccable style. Always well dressed, he believed that it was a man’s duty to present himself well to the world – for modesty’s sake and because beauty is a constitutive quality of Almighty God in Who’s Image we are made.
For that reason, I am, as I write this, dressed in black pants, a crisp, white shirt, and a sport coat covered by a Buc-ee’s apron. It is Thanksgiving after all and I’m keeping up with his other traditions too. On this day, I am the chef and my turkeys will feed an army. Also it’s Texas so I’m legally required to mention Buc-ee’s.
A well dressed man, as dad would say, is a credit to himself, his parents, his wife, and God, Who gave him sense enough to know what to wear. Rarely seen outside of a dark suit with an appropriate tie, pipe in hand, Daddy made an impression everywhere he went but most especially at Mass.
He went every day of his life and blessedly handed on that gift to yours truly. “There is nothing more important that you can do in a day,” he would say, than to offer your sacrifice to God at Calvary.
This morning I arose at 6AM. I was thinking about him. He was a good resource manager. “God didn’t give me eight sons so I could shovel the snow off the sidewalks myself,” he remarked many times. Being that eighth son, I resented the comment but I knew he was right. And likewise, with Thanksgiving dinner, the only time all year that he cooked, he pressed me into service around the age of 13. I later found out that he did not involve my brothers in this tradition. Maybe he trusted me more. Maybe it’s because I went to Mass with him every day.
I got out of bed and remembered him and his phenomenally quick wit. The man was a genius. One quip in particular came to mind. Watching the results of the New York City Marathon on the news one night in the early 1980’s, th newscaster said, “And topping the wheelchair division is…” Dad, lowered the newspaper, let out a puff of Prince Albert, and said, “For heaven’s sake! Why not just have a Chevrolet division?!” Another time, Gary Hart was on TV talking about dropping out of the presidential race. Dad looked at the TV and said, “That man has more talent in his little finger than he does in the whole rest of his body.” One of my favorites, though, was when I mentioned some scientific fact I had read in a book. Keep in mind I may have been seven years-old. “Where’d you hear that?” he asked. Grabbing the book I said, “It says it’s from someone named Carl Sagan?” Dad shot back, “Figures. That man will never have hemorrhoids, son. He’s a perfect asshole.”
I can’t say I haven’t found myself delivering the same lines without even thinking over the years.
What a guy!
So here’s to him and here’s to the dads of the world who instill in their sons a sense of true manliness and who give us a reason to give thanks.
One more note and I may be semi-doxxing myself here but who cares… Below is a picture of the man as I remember him best. This was taken when he was in his early 70’s. He died at 80 – after the longest stretch he’d ever gone without daily Mass thanks to the final weeklong coma he was in. The lack of Mass may have been wha killed him in the end. I’d include a picture of myself but… You’ve heard of TV news reporters who have a face for radio? Yeah? Well, I’ve got a face for print.
And now, back to his other favorite thing about this day – Christmas music!
Harvey Millican's Blog: Musings of a Trad Dad 