Happy Birthday, Dad.

Blog soundtrack:



I do believe this was the last good CD that Elvis did; if you like Burt and Elvis, I highly recommend this CD. If I was banished to a desert island (with electricity) and could only bring 10 CDs, this would be one of them.

Happy Birthday to Richard Stanley Szymczak. And, if he had lived this long, he would have been 79 years old today.



After being without both of my parents for so long, oddly, I don’t find this post sad. Actually, I think after someone has been gone for so long that when you do think of them, it is a happy thing, a celebration of the life they lived, and the life they lived in your life.

This is what I read at my Dad’s memorial service when he died.

When Anne and I began to compose my Dad’s obituary, we were vehement about getting every fact and bit of information about my father’s life. Our brainstorming session went something like the following:

I said, “He was a radio operator in the Air Force during the Korean War.”

Anne added, “He was a consultant for Scott’s Standard Postage Stamp Catalogue for many years.”

I stated, “When he was in college, he supported himself by playing clarinet and saxophone in Polka bands.

Anne said proudly, “He was a noted philatelist and a nationally recognized authority on U.S. postal stationary.”

After we had all the facts down on paper, I read aloud the three paragraphs we had composed. And then Anne sighed. And I knew what her sigh said because I felt the very same in my heart.

She said, “Can’t we just say…well, can’t we just say somewhere in there about what a great guy he was?” I think we both realized how hard it was to try and recreate one who was so vibrant and alive in three paragraphs or less.

And, I guess more than anything, today, I want to say just that …my Dad was a great guy. Of course, you all know that. And, I think that above all, even though my Dad has died, we all have our fond memories of him. I’ll tell you one of my fondest and earliest memories of my Dad.

It was probably in grade school, and sometimes when he ran an errand, he’d announce that he was going on a “special trip”, and he’d take one of us with us. On one such special trip, I got to accompany him. He started up his eggplant Mustang, and I dashed for the front seat totally excited that the front seat was mine and not up for grabs with Julie or Jack.

I settled into the black bucket seat, and we left. As we drove, I found it hard to contain myself wondering what was the final destination of our special trip until I heard a very muffled but distinct meowing coming from somewhere in car. I said, “Dad, did you hear that?”

He gave me a funny look and asked, “What?” I said, “Didn’t you hear a cat meowing?” My Dad said, “Quiet. Let me listen.” I sat there silently, which of course has always been a stretch for me, and there it was again, that muffled meow, which sounded not unlike our family cat at the time, K.C. That was short for Kitty-Cat.

My Dad said, “Oh that! You know what, I think K.C. got in the glove compartment and is stuck there!” To which I replied, “Oh, no, Dad! We’ve got to get her out. Maybe she’s stuck!” And then there was the meow again and again.

As I got more keyed up, I noticed that meow became more audible, until I realized that it wasn’t coming from the glove compartment but from my Dad in the seat next to me! We laughed until we came to the special destination. It usually was the post office, the package store, or the nursery.

My Dad, like my mother, was a fair, kind, and loving person. He was intelligent and a quick study. I remember I once asked my Mom how my Dad knew so much about postal stationary, and she said, “Your father can take a book about something, read it in a night, and the next day he knows all about it.”

Unfortunately, my Dad never read a cookbook because his culinary repertoire included only hot dogs and baked beans or macaroni and cheese with sausages; however, when I think about it, we all looked forward to those nights. It was a welcome break from my Mom’s crock pot cookery days.

My Dad was creative, imaginative, and a very good artist. I guess my favorites were his homemade cards, which he usually adorned with a picture of his cat. A sure sign I took that I wasn’t adopted.

As a father, my Dad was not overly intrusive in our lives. He did not tell us what to do, where to go, or how to be; which I think really gave us all a very strong sense of independence. But, you always knew he was there if you needed him.

To explain my Dad’s way to me, I remember my Mom gave me an Erma Bombeck article she had cut out of the paper, which I have saved all these years. It was titled, “A Father’s Love Frequently Goes Unnoticed”. I remember being a Senior in high school, coming home from a track meet in which I didn’t do my best, and I was waiting to tell my tale of track and field woe to my Mom when she came home from work.

My Dad was outside on the porch, and he asked how I did. I hesitated, and then I poured my heart out to him. He said, “Jean, you can’t do well all the time…as long as you tried hard”, and then he handed me a can of beer, which I gladly drank. And we sat on the porch and talked until Mom came home.

My Dad was an incredibly strong person and a very practical person. His big concern with his chemotherapy was not that he’d lose his hair. It was when he could have his next vodka martini!

He lovingly cared for my mother when she was ill, and my Dad took his own illness in stride, even when bad news got worse. He was relentless to the end, trying to go to the bathroom himself, answering the phone, controlling the TV, and worrying about all of us.

My Dad was very generous, and one of the best experiences of the last year, was when my Dad helped me buy my first house. The wonderful part was not so much the house, but the way in which my relationship with my Dad became close. He was very supportive and involved.

He called me daily whether it was to see if I changed my mind again about whether I wanted the Groton house or the Ayer house, or to talk about life in general. He complaining about something in Nantucket (damn tourists!) or me complaining about a coughed up furball on the rug, or sometimes he just would leave his signature message on my answering machine. It went something like this…”Meow, meow, meow, hello, Jean, this is Benny, meow, meow!” See, I’m definitely not adopted!

I know we will all miss my father greatly.; he is truly irreplaceable. Some of you knew my mother, also. They were wonderful people.

As Julie, Jack, and I rallied around my Dad in the last months to help him go to doctor’s appointments, visit him, and in the end, care for him, I was strangely consoled as I watched myself and my siblings. My parents are now both gone, but they truly do live on in the three of us.

In Jack, I see a pragmatic wisdom, and in Julie, as she rubbed my Dad’s head and talked so gently to him, a nurturing compassion that would have made my mother so proud, and in myself, I find a responsible ebullience. We’re all my parents, and while I know we miss them greatly, their spirits truly do live on in all of us.

And when I’m alone in my house, I’m consoled by the fact that my Dad was here with me, not in the house, but in my life, and I remember not that he was tall, a good tennis player, a philatelist, a gardener, or played in a Polka band. I just remember what a great guy he was.
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Today, I’m glad Nate and Iz have wonderful Dads in Quinn and John. And, I know this day might be sad for some; however, the way I look at it, I would never have had a birthday without my Dad’s birthday. ♥