Enigmatic Reflections on Father's Day

It’s Father’s Day morning.

Because it’s what I do for a living, I feel a bit of an obligation to write something about the subject of being a father, and having a father. I have to admit that over the past couple of days in thinking about this, I have pondered ditching the whole project. Because, like many things in my life, the dual aspects of father in my life are complicated.

Today, in keeping with the times, and the reality of geography, I will consecutively have Zoom calls with my brothers, sisters and mother to honor my Dad, and then with my daughters, and my wife, I guess to honor me. We haven’t lost my 88-year-old father yet, but we have lost a goodly part of the man that helped raise us. He has early onset Alzheimer’s, and it is accelerating. A man who always had trouble sitting still, now is almost completely sedentary, mainly by choice. A once relentlessly gregarious man doesn’t speak much. One on one Zoom calls with him are mostly chats with my brother JIm, who is doing yeoman service in caring for him, taking the ever increasing burden from my mother. Dad basically just listens to us talk, and occasionally says a few words if prompted.

I can’t really say that my father and I were that close. I am the oldest of six children, and had that advantage in getting more attention in the time before I remember. But by the time I was seven, there were five of us, and six before I was ten. Home life was pretty much just a circus with that many young children, and as my father’s broadcasting career blossomed, he was a very busy man who wasn’t around all that much. My mother was the primary caregiver and disciplinarian, and a great one. We are far closer, and as the years have gone by, have even developed a closer bond, although I live far away.

I guess the best way to describe my relationship with my father, is just to simply say he was my Dad. He wasn’t my friend, he wasn’t my mentor, which sounds funny to say since we ended up sharing the same profession. I have said many times that when your father is a success at something, it doesn’t seem like that is so special. Many people might have thought it was cool that he was on television, for me it was just his job. And if he could be a broadcaster, surely I could. Maybe his most impactful contribution to me was the breathing and speech exercises he taught me when I was young and was starting to perform as it were. He reveled in rolling the syllables in his rich voice, and in placing a heavy book on my stomach and making me breathe in the proper manner for delivering speech. I was always the emcee of elementary school Flag Day ceremonies, or other school performances, kind of paving the way for what I do, and I was better for it because of him.

His career was a common one for a disc jockey, then radio news director, then television anchorman. Many jobs, many shortish periods between jobs. In particular one job was perhaps the best stretch of us being close. He was writing news at a combination television and radio news operation in Boston, WHDH, On the weekends from the time I was about ages nine to twelve. I would very often go to work with him. I got to use the film viewfinders, the typewriters, experienced the excitement of the clattering news wires, and also did little jobs on radio and TV. “Is Clinkscale’s kid here today?” shouted into the newsroom, was a cue to appear on a disc jockey’s show or on a taping of “Romper Room”, “Bozo the Clown”, or “Boomtown” when a spare child was needed.

After that, we didn’t see much of him for a few years. His schedule had him generally asleep in the morning when we were getting ready for school, and gone to work nights when we got home. He generally was never my coach in sports, and I can’t say we had revelatory conversations about real life issues. I respected his ability in his craft. A piece he did on John Kennedy after his passing at Arlington National Cemetery is a particularly strong memory. He took his work seriously. He turned down a significant amount of money to be a spokesperson for an ice cream company because he believed it would hurt his credibility as a reporter even though he wouldn’t be seen. I admired that.

All that being said, the best part of Bob Clinkscale was that he was an ebullient and happy man. All my friends liked him. He was a enthusiastic and playful cohort in trips to the beach, which was a summertime staple for us. But with the entourage often at least a dozen with children and friends, he was as much a camp counselor as a companion. He loved booming out show tunes, and making me cringe with elaborate renditions of “Oh, Danny Boy”. He absolutely embraced his fame with glee.

In all, I suppose the best way to describe my feelings about my father is that I love him more than like him. Many of the lessons I took were things I thought he did less well. As I said, it’s complicated. I seldom had conflicts with him, and time spent with him, although often filled with eye rolls as he told an oft-repeated story and the like was generally pleasant. Once I reached adulthood, I almost always lived a long distance away, and visits home were for busy occasions with even more people around than when I was a child.

But we are also sooooo different. My Dad was always active, but never exercised for fitness. I am compulsive about it. I have spent my adult life a healthy eater, necessarily careful about my weight. My father was, and is, a medical marvel. He eats bad food, and a lot of it, and he has never been overweight. His idea of fine dining is the salad bar at Applebee’s. I like beer, he never drank. He was a Kennedy liberal turned right winger, and one that having a healthy debate with wasn’t any fun. He became devout, I am not.

But I do indeed love my Dad. Whatever his failings, you could tell he cared, you never doubted that he loved you. I chose to conclude my 2016 book “Leaving Cancer for the Circus” with this story from my visit home after the Kansas City Royals won the World Series…..

“He was always very proud of me, and reveled in the successes I had. Covering the World Series in consecutive years was certainly one of my greatest highlights. I had with me a tangible token of that, my World Series' media credential. I drove back to Framingham and dug into my luggage and hauled out the elaborate credential with my picture on it hanging from a red, white and blue lanyard. My dad was lying down in his study watching TV. I asked him to stand up, I hung the lanyard over his neck and gave him a hug. It was quiet for a while, and while neither of us shed tears, it was mighty close. He finally looked at me with moist eyes and said, “Thank you” “

You will notice that many of my references in this piece are in the past tense. He is not gone, but the man we will try to make smile today, and will, is not the bombastic, frustrating, larger than life center of attention we knew…..and loved…..and are lucky enough to still do so.

Soon after we say goodbye on the Zoom call, and try to make Father’s Day a little better than the others these day for my Dad, I will be the Dad. Just four of us on the call. My wife Jayne, and my daughter’s Cassady and Kennedy. My eyes are starting to water right now just typing this. They are fine young ladies now, 26 and 23 years of age. Cassady lives outside San Francisco and is a graphic designer and photographer. Kennedy lives in Brooklyn and was in her first year of acting school when the virus hit.

Each took bold and courageous moves in seeking to better themselves, Cassady heading to England after one year at Baker University, taking on a heap of responsibility to attend The University of London Goldsmith, which she graduated from in 2018. Kennedy has persevered through some challenges to blossom and take on The Big Apple all by herself. I am so proud of them. Being their Dad has been a joy, but a difficult one.

I was divorced when they were six and two. It wasn’t my choice, but that really doesn’t matter to kids. They just know their Dad isn’t around every day. For the first five years they lived in Nashville. That meant I saw them 15-18 times a year. I tried to make it to Tennessee once a month, they came to Kansas a handful of times per year. In a mere weekend or a few days, you try to pack in as much Dad time as possible, but mostly you are entertaining them, going to the zoo, or the movies, or the mall, or the fair. I was lucky enough before to be a full-time Mr. Mom when Cassady was two and three years old, but it’s hard to convince yourself you are making a difference that will be remembered.

When they returned to Kansas it was better, but certainly not ideal. You try and do your best, to attend every play, and donut day, and band event. You try and make the weekends they come and stay with you rewarding, and maybe instructive. But there is just always the feeling that you aren’t doing enough. That’s just a fact, to me anyway. Their are the challenges of a Mom and Step Mom situation. Everybody tries, but it’s not ideal. Cassady was old enough to have the natural hope that her parents might get back together.

The girls moved around a lot and in different home dynamics. The details aren’t important, but all you need to know is that they faced incredible challenges growing up, jarring differences in the two worlds that they inhabited. Sure, they had some fun opportunities because of what I do for a living, but it was hard. Their mother Tracy did her best, I tried to do my best, but on this Father’s Day what I will say is that they deserve the credit for what they have become and where they are headed.

There were so many times I felt helpless, so many instances where you want to do better, you want to give them more. There are multiple heartbreaks that maybe they know you are feeling, maybe they don’t, but also the knowledge that the instances for you are dwarfed by theirs. I will again use a story from the book as an example visiting Nashville….

“I would pick up the kids, who were 2 and 6 at the time, and we would stay at a hotel Friday and Saturday nights. I returned them home late Sunday afternoon so they could attend school on Monday. I sometimes would visit them at school a bit before flying back. We had a lot of great, though brief times, and the leaving part was hard. The first time I was there, I sat in on Cassady’s class for a little while. Then it was time for recess, and time for me to say goodbye. I hugged her, lingering as long as I could, then went off to my rental car to drive to the airport. I turned right adjacent to the playground outside the school, only to see the heartbreaking scene right out of a sad movie, of her running down the fence line with tears streaming down her face, screaming at me not to leave. The image is burned in my brain.”

There were also many great times as Cassady and Kennedy moved through their life’s journey, so many things that fill your heart with joy and pride, but you tend to dwell on where you may have fallen short. You love them so damn much, and you want every note to be perfect, every little party to come off just right, every moment to be something that they can build on.

And then before you know it, it’s 2020, and they are at fantastic places in their lives, with people they care about, doing things that bring them pleasure and fulfillment. I am filled with pride and admiration for them. I can look forward to what lies ahead with excitement, and less often think about what you could have done better as a Dad.

We will laugh today, and I almost certainly will cry. I often have stated that Father’s Day should be about what Dad wants to, and through the years sometimes meant a great lunch with the girls, maybe a little trip to the golf course, and then settling in to watch the U.S. Open. There is no U.S. Open today, and at least for this Father’s Day, that’s a good thing to me.

Because I want this one to be different. First, I don’t know how many more Father’s Day’s I can be with my Dad, even if it is virtually. I can’t wait to talk to him, even if it’s more like talking at him. And the being Dad part seems a little more special for some reason in this time of challenge.

I hope that your father and son’s journey through the years has been a little less conflicting than mine, or if it has been, that you have come to a place where I am now. Embracing the love of a generation past, and a generation moving ahead in your footsteps.

Happy Father’s Day.