In Praise of Fathers

I want to warn everyone right off that this is not a PC blog. If manhood being torn down and fathers ridiculed in sitcoms are more to your taste than please avoid reading any further for you are in danger of being traumatized.

I happen to be one of those rare birds who does not think that masculinity and femininity are the same thing in spite of all the gender bending and blending going on in our society; that giving a truck to a little girl and doll to a little boy are not going to change their natures. I say exuberantly with a dash of rebellion...viva la difference!

I want to honor all fathers on this day of days because I am unable to thank my own father. I lost him when I was thirteen and time has not lessen the ache. He was part of "The Greatest Generation" and fought in WWII, the Korean War and also worked behind the scenes in Vietnam. His grave marker has all three wars engraved on it; he was awarded two purple hearts.

I understand the pain this day can cause for some people whatever the reason...there are no perfect fathers yet don't we all have baggage and still strive to do our best?

In an age where euphemisms, semantics, and PC control our world: where unclarity in definitions can give birth to muddled thinking--I prefer another time to draw forth a tribute to fathers. I could not have put it better than Rudyard Kipling's hallmark poem...

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master,
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)