Farewell Dad

My dad taught me and my brother many things, but the main thing he taught us was that pettiness and excuses are a waste of time.  My father was never sick, and certainly never missed work or anything else because he didn't feel well.  He believed that it was more important to 'believe in things' than to try to make money.  He made money, but that was simply the natural by-product of hard work. And the thing he worked hardest at was helping people.

My dad was a psychiatrist, which was tough for me to deal with as a kid.  First, because I couldn't pronounce the word and, second, because I couldn't understand it, much less explain it to my friends.  One day my friend Gary asked me if it was true my dad could read minds.  I told him 'no,' but I wasn't really sure. Somehow my dad seemed to know a lot about what people were thinking, even when they didn't tell them.

It's a Hollywood cliché that shrinks are weird and creepy, but in some cases it's true. My dad was the opposite of that cliché.  He was a whirling dervish of enthusiasm and curiosity.  He'd hop out on the dance floor at the drop of a hat, and his charm was boundless.  Even after they'd divorced, my mother reminded me often of how enthralled she was by my father.  She wasn't the only one.

My dad was open and extremely friendly, and yet very mysterious.  But there was one thing that absolutely fascinated him: the power of the human unconscious.  He became a psychoanalyst and spent most of his professional life in a dark room listening to people plumb the depths of their unconscious.  My father didn't talk very much about what he did, but I know he was exceptionally good at it.  I know this because countless people have come up to me at various times and told me how grateful they were for his help.  If they hadn't told me I wouldn't have even known that he'd treated them.  

My dad's illness was was cruel.  The last few years were particularly hard.  He never complained much; usually he just made light of his situation.  I wish that he had not suffered so much, but I learned as much watching him deal with death as I did watching him in the prime of life.  We all face struggles, and there isn't much point in complaining about them. 

My dad is in a better place now.  I really believe that.  His smile at the end of his life is proof, for me at least, that life is not all flesh and bones.  My dad was right: what you believe in matters, and matters more than anything.  You can decide what to believe in, and you can choose the intensity of your belief.  If you smile you can change your life, and the lives of those around you.

So, if you want to help me remember my dad, just smile.  

Thanks.