Wise Men and Other Stories (4 page)

I wouldn’t wish lost car keys on anybody—especially not in a snow storm. But sometimes it takes something like that to make you slow down and count your blessings.

Postscript: A week later, the weather turned unseasonably warm and the snow melted, so my daughter and I walked over to the day care center to look for my keys. Four
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year
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olds are good at finding things, probably because they’re closer to the ground. And sure enough, my daughter found my keys. Another blessing? Luck? Either way, I was a pretty happy guy.

Over the last few years, I have been fortunate enough to get to know a man named Bud Toohey.

Bud’s real name is Clarence. His friends call him “Bud.” To his family, he is simply “Pop.”

I like Bud because he is a family man. We need more family men.

Bud came of age at a good time. The Great Depression was over. World War II had not yet started. He met and married a beautiful Penn State graduate named Kay, and the young couple settled down near Meadville in northwest Pennsylvania.

Bud did not have a lot of money, but he borrowed enough to start his own business. He turned out to be a very good businessman. During the 1940s and 1950s, he built up a profitable tool and die company. He and Kay also had two beautiful daughters along the way. Things were going well for Bud.

Over the years, Bud provided well for his family. He gave them a good home, took them on vacations, made sure they were fed and clothed and well educated.

He was also able to do the things he liked to do—including attending Shriner conventions and playing golf. He eventually sent both his daughters off to Slippery Rock State Teachers College where they each met young men. That’s when things started going wrong for Bud. (Or so he thought at the time.)

The first inkling that things were not going his way occurred when Bud’s oldest daughter, Kathleen, brought home a cocky young athlete named Jerry.

Now I must acknowledge up front that, in Bud’s opinion, very few young men, if any, would have been good enough for his daughter. And this Jerry kid had a number of marks against him to boot.

First of all, Jerry was Catholic. Bud and his family were Methodists and, on a more personal level, Bud just plain hated Catholics.

Second, Jerry was of eastern European stock—Czech to be exact—and while Bud had nothing in particular against eastern Europeans, he had always assumed that if he had to see the Toohey girls marry, it would at least be to fine Irish lads.

Finally, though not a millionaire, Bud was fairly well
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to
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do by this time. Neither Jerry nor his family had much money, and the thought may have crossed Bud’s mind that the kid had an eye on Bud’s money.

Despite these strikes against him, Jerry let it be known that he intended to marry Kathleen. Bud was appalled, and throughout the entire courtship of his daughter by this upstart kid, Bud never showed any sign of acceptance or approval. Which only made Jerry that much more determined.

Finally, without Bud’s approval or acceptance, Jerry married Kathleen. Bud might have softened his stance and accepted his new son
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in
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law after a reasonable grieving period, but the arrival of a baby girl slightly less than nine months later only convinced Bud that his new son
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in
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law was no good.

Family lore has it that Bud did not speak to Jerry for the next three or four years. During that time, Jerry and Kathleen had two more children—two boys—and family lore also has it that, were it not for the exceptional beauty and grace of that first baby girl, Bud might have had nothing at all to do with Jerry or Kathleen.

Bud’s other daughter, Sheila, did not fare any better in Bud’s eyes. She also met her husband, Larry, at Slippery Rock. Also a Catholic. Also eastern European (Polish). Sheila and Larry married a few years after Kathleen and Jerry.

None of this made Bud very happy, but gradually, he began to accept things as they were. He came to enjoy the company of his daughters again. He liked his grandchildren, too. But he could still do without his two sons
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in
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law.

Although it would be many years before he would greet either son
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in
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law with open arms, Bud saw from the start that Jerry was working hard to provide for his family—first as a school teacher, then as a restaurant manager, then as a salesman. Larry was also a hard worker. If nothing else, Bud could appreciate hard work.

Bud was impressed enough that, when he came across a good idea for a new business, he suggested it to Jerry and Larry and loaned them the money to get started.

To make a long story short, that loan paid off in spades. Jerry turned out to be an exceptional salesman, Larry ran things at the plant, and together they turned that initial loan from Bud into a multi
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million dollar business.

Bud himself retired a wealthy man, but shortly after his retirement, his health began to fail. He had to give up his tool and die business. His wife, Kay, always active and capable throughout her life, took care of him at home—until she unexpectedly died of a heart attack in 1983.

After the death of Kay, Bud’s daughters moved Bud to a nursing home near them. Of course, nursing homes are expensive, and Bud’s money eventually ran out. But don’t worry about Bud. As I said, that loan paid off. Those eastern European, Catholic boys are now taking care of Bud. Things came full circle.

Things turned out all right for Bud because although he didn’t like his new sons
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in
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law at first, he still did the right thing: he provided for his family. And although Jerry did not like the way he was treated early on, he was not spiteful later in life.

None of this has been lost on me. In this age of easy divorce and broken homes and abandoned children, one thing is clear: Family is more important than ever. You take care of them first. No matter what.

Because Bud and Jerry knew that, things have turned out quite well for me. You see, I married Jerry’s daughter. And although Jerry was not crazy about me at first, he has since gone out of his way to treat me as one of his own sons. I’d like to think it’s because I’m such a great guy, but more likely, it’s because he remembers how he was treated by his father
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in
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law.

And the story goes on. I now have a daughter. My number one goal is to take care of her. My number two goal is to let her go when she’s ready to go. If I happen not to like her choice for a husband—and I must acknowledge up front that, in my opinion, very few men, if any, will be good enough for my daughter—at least I’ll know how to act. I’ve seen two good, solid family men in action.

Bud is in his eighties now. Sometimes he forgets things. He has his good days and his bad days. He moved out of the nursing home and now lives with his nurse in a condo that Jerry and Larry bought for him.

The condo is on a golf course, and in the summer, when Jerry is playing a round of golf, he’ll drop in on Bud to say hello. Bud is always glad to see him.

On one occasion, Jerry dropped in, got a cold drink, and stayed to joke around with Bud for a while. They had a good time, but eventually, Jerry had to get back to his golf game.

After Jerry left, Bud turned to his nurse and asked, “Who was that kid?” Bud’s nurse told him that “kid” was his son
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in
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law. Bud smiled and said, “He’s all right.”

As I said, Bud forgets things sometimes. He has his good days and his bad days. But you can bet on one thing: whenever his sons
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in
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law drop by these days, Bud considers it a good day.

My wife needed some time to do some work one weekend, so I took my daughter to see a movie. On the way out of the theater, we ran into one of my daughter’s little friends from day care. Their conversation was one of the most charming things I have ever heard.

My daughter: “Hi, Megan.”

Megan: “Hi, Kathleen.”

Kathleen: “I saw you watching the movie, Megan.”

Megan: “I know.”

They smiled at each other for a moment.

“I would like a hug,” said Megan.

“Okay,” said Kathleen.

They hugged.

“You’re my best friend, Megan,” said Kathleen.

“You’re my best friend, too,” said Megan.

After that, the two little friends parted ways, promising to see each other at day care the next day.

As I said, it was a perfectly charming little exchange. Sure, my rendition of the encounter sounds like the script for an episode of the Smurfs or the Care Bears, but the thing that struck me about my daughter and her friend was their sincerity and lack of inhibition.

Compare their encounter to the subplot that was being played out between Megan’s mother and me as we watched and waited for our daughters.

While Kathleen and Megan greeted each other, I looked at Megan’s mother and smiled. She gave me a slight grimace of recognition (we had seen each other coming and going at the day care center), then she quickly turned her attention back to the girls.

Kathleen and Megan talked about seeing each other in the movie theatre. I told Megan’s mother that I thought it was a good movie. She was cordial. “The kids seemed to like it,” she said.

Kathleen and Megan told each other that they are best friends.

“Isn’t that cute,” I said. Megan’s mother responded by asking where Kathleen’s mother was—in a tone that suggested I left my wife at home and brought my daughter to see “101 Dalmatians” as part of some sinister plot to seduce Mrs. Megan.

Kathleen and Megan hugged. I watched them and got a warm feeling. I looked up at Megan’s mother. She had a look on her face that said, “Don’t even think about it, buster.” At the same time, she was fumbling around in her purse, presumably for her car keys, but it occurred to me that she may also have been going for the mace—just in case.

Of course, Mrs. Megan need not have been concerned. As a fellow 20th Century adult, I was every bit as inhibited as she was.

But our children have no problems socializing. My daughter not only tells Megan that they are best friends, she tells my wife and me that we are her best friends as well. It has not yet occurred to her that by definition, a person can have only one “best” friend. And who am I to straighten her out on the subject? In fact, listening to Kathleen and Megan has caused me to re
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examine the logic behind having one “best” friend.

Apparently, it’s a rather arbitrary thing governed by semantics and the limitations of our language. Theoretically, we can have any number of “good” friends, perhaps another select group who could be called our “better” friends, and ultimately, one person who is our “best” friend. And while the “good
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better
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best” method may have worked fine as a marketing tool for Sears & Roebuck, it definitely has its limitations when applied to friendship. As near as I can tell, there is nothing, bar proper grammar, to prevent a person from having more than one “best” friend, and I would submit that proper grammar is insufficient grounds for forcing my daughter to choose between Daddy, Mommy, or Megan as her “best” friend.

I’m sure that Mrs. Megan and I and most other adults had more than one best friend at some point early in our lives. Somewhere along the way, our inhibitions took over, but it doesn’t have to stay that way. I believe that one of the reasons we have children on this planet is to show adults the way back to expressing our emotions.

It’s worked on this adult. After being told by my daughter that I am her best friend, and after returning the compliment a number of times, I have found those words easier to say. Also, by witnessing her liberal use of the phrase—to me, Mommy, Megan, Grandma, Grandpa, her teachers, and, of course, her best friends—I have realized that I am also empowered to tell as many people as I like that they are my best friends. And I have especially realized that I should say those words to my best friends.

I recently did just that. I told John, my best friend out in Idaho, that he is, in fact, my best friend. I always knew that, and I assumed he did. But when he later told me how much it meant to him that I would tell him such a thing, I realized that we should not take such knowledge for granted.

I’ve also learned that in most cases, if you want a hug, all you’ve got to do is ask for it. Unless, of course, you are talking to Mrs. Megan. This, I chose to try out with my wife. And to my great delight and pleasure, I got exactly what I asked for: a hug. No strings attached. What a deal.

So if you’d like to have some fun, let your kids show you the way. Call your best friend and say, “You’re my best friend.” If it feels good—and I think it will—call another best friend and repeat the process.

And when you run out of best friends to call, ask your spouse or your parent or your kid for a hug. If at first they go for the mace, be patient. Old habits are hard to break. But somewhere inside each of us, you can be sure there’s a kid who wouldn’t mind a hug.