The King of His Castle

Another Father’s Day is almost upon us. I’m having trouble comprehending that it’s been thirty-three years since Dad died of cancer back in 1990. I remember everything about him so vividly, the sound of his voice, his favorite shirt, the little sayings he loved to quote.

To understand my dad is to understand the family model of his generation. He was the undisputed, unquestioned king of his castle. The leader and authority figure of the family. All other members, including my mom, were subservient. Which is not to say he didn’t love us or take good care of us. He did. He was a hard working, excellent provider. He loved my mom with all his heart and soul. He didn’t spend a great deal of time with his three boys, but we knew we could count on him when the chips were down.

Yet we all understood that this family was a monarchy, not a democracy. He was the decision maker, the final word. Nothing of any consequence could take place without his knowledge and approval. He was also in charge of enforcement and punishment. He was not a “send-you-to-your-room” guy. His discipline was physical and swift. A hard spanking, and then it was over. As the youngest, I received fewer than my older siblings, but what I did get certainly got the point across.

Dad was a salesman, on his feet pretty much all day. When he got home from work, he was usually exhausted. Mom would have dinner ready. We ate on his schedule.

Like many dads, perhaps like yours, he had his chair in the living room. His chair. His place of refuge. After dinner, he would collapse into his brown recliner, grab the TV remote control, and turn on the news. Within five minutes, he was sound asleep, snoring loudly. Amazingly, somehow, some way, even in deep slumber, he had the ability to notice when one of us kids tried to change the channel to cartoons. Immediately he would open his eyes and yell in a stern voice “Turn that back! I was watching that!” With the news back on, he would quickly resume his nap.

Most nights, he almost never rose up out of that chair. He was a major league TV watcher. He loved westerns, variety shows and war movies. Especially war movies. As a World War Two Army veteran, he would scan those films intensely, looking for things that weren’t accurately portrayed. “Look at that gun he’s holding” he would say, pointing at the TV. “Those things weren’t even built until the 1950’s”. He had great delight in spotting an example of Hollywood taking dramatic license.

He’d watch the late news, the late night talk shows, and the late, late night talk shows. In those days, TV stations would sign off a little after midnight, usually with a devotional of some sort, followed by the national anthem. Dad would be there til the screen went to static.

The rest of us watched what he watched. Only rich folks had multiple TV’s in the house. Like most families, we had just the one, a Motorola console in a brown cabinet, with cables running up through the ceiling to the roof antenna. In the morning Mom would get to watch her soap operas, her “stories”. After school we would get to put on Woody Woodpecker and Huckleberry Hound. But once Dad got home, the set was his domain, no questions asked.

Restaurants were strictly a weekend treat for us and Dad picked the place, usually the local fish fry on Friday night. Sometimes he would bring home a bucket of fried chicken. He would set it down in front of himself at the table, open it up, pick out the two best pieces of white meat in the container, then pass it on. Nobody complained.

If the family was in the car together, Dad did all the driving, even when my older brothers were old enough to drive. He mowed the lawn and washed the car, but never, ever helped in the kitchen. That was women’s work. I idolized him. He was my hero, my role model.

The American family dynamic has evolved a lot since then. Husbands are no longer dominant in most families. Wives are working full time outside the home and are, at the very least, considered equal partners in the household, if not the leading influence. Spanking children is now commonly frowned upon. Many men not only help in the kitchen, but do the majority of the cooking. Have the changes been positive for our culture? I suppose it depends on your point of view.

I do know that Dad would have had a difficult time adjusting to it. But he would have, because, deep down, he loved us more than he did his place of authority.

And that’s the thing I will most remember every Father’s Day.