His Legacy

Three years ago this morning I sat with my hand on my father's shoulder as he took his last raspy breath of life. My mother said it was fitting that I was the last one with him as he was the first one to touch me when I came into this word.

My dad was my buddy and not a day goes by that I don't miss him.

We talked about everything and he was the first person that I would call for anything but especially when had a new joke. Sometimes I would tell him the same ones just because his memory for jokes really sucked! He would laugh the same each time.

I miss his laugh.

He had a great sense of humor and was as quick with a laugh as he was with his temper.

Man, did dad have a temper.

He mellowed in his older years but he was fierce when we were younger.

He could yell louder than any other human on the face of the earth and could get whatever attention was needed, when it was needed. Sometimes you didn't want the attention but when you pissed him off you knew it and sometimes, unfortunately, the entire neighborhood knew it too!

We were raised during the "corporal punishment is ok years." Although we are not an enormously religious family "spare the rod, spoil the child" was certainly a philosophy that was practiced in our house. Dad used to use his fraternity paddle to spank us.

As if being hit with a piece of wood wasn't bad enough, the guilty party would be dispatched to retrieve the "the paddle," an act, I always felt, was akin to sharpening the blade on the guillotine before your own execution!

One morning my brother and I were rough-housing and we broke something - I don't remember exactly what it was - but I was sent to get "the paddle." I crocodile-teared all the way up the stairs into my room where I pulled on every pair of underpants and shorts I owned under my nightgown before proceeding to my dad's closet the get "the paddle" and return downstairs.

When dad hit me it sounded (and felt) like he hit a pillow!

I could cry at the drop of a hat - a skill I developed solely to get my brother in trouble - so I let the tears flow freely while desperately trying not to smile because it didn't hurt AT ALL!!!

I really thought I was "one up" and that the old man was a dunce.

I was 19 before he told me that he knew what I had done but didn't want to say anything! He told me that I was the only one of us three kids that had the guts to even try to get away with such a thing and he wasn't going to take that away from me!

He was a strict disciplinarian but he was also a dedicated husband and father who did whatever it took to provide for his family and be involved in our lives. He was a soccer coach, hockey coach and timer at the swim meets. He knew nothing of soccer and hockey but read every book he could find on the topic to be a good coach - he was that dedicated.

He was at every game we played and every meet we competed in and he had a whistle you could hear over the rest of the crowd and through a bathing cap in the water.

Looking back at my childhood I remember him always being there; didn't matter if it was a school concert or a swim meet my parents were always there.

One of my favorite memories of my elementary years is the Annual Girl Scout Father Daughter Square Dance. I looked forward to that event every year. Dad was my date! We'd get all dressed up and spend the night following the calls to "do-si-do" and "swing your partner." It was heaven! Being on his arm made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world!

Oh to have that feeling today.

In the past three years, I have had moments where memories come flooding back to me. There are so many things that we did with my dad. When we were very young, summers revolved around swimming lessons at the lake and vacations in Maryland at my grandparent's farm. As we got older, we sailed.

Dad was a sailor at heart.

He loved to be on the water and loved sailing but what he loved the most, was racing. So much so that he founded the Sailing Team at his alma mater Colgate University.

When he wasn't sailing he was fixing. He had an amazing skill with wood and there was always a boat in some stage of repair in our garage.

At some point fixing turned into building.

I don't remember the details but, somehow a guy in Michigan got a hold of my dad, sent him some blueprints for a boat he had designed and next thing I know dad was building the thing.

Now this would be an amazing feat for just about anyone, never mind the guy who had a full-time job, three young kids with crazy sports schedules and a wife at home.

He built a 24' wood and epoxy boat in the garage from blueprints!

I remember watching him pace out the garage to see if it would fit and watched him literally jump with excitement when he realized that it would.

In order to build this thing, it had to be constructed upside down. Once the hull was ready it had to be flipped over so he could build the deck. I can still see the scene in my mind today of all of the mattresses in the driveway and a huge number of people helping to roll this thing over. There might have been a keg involved but I'm not sure.

Our friends and neighbors must have thought we were insane.

In the middle of construction dad was transferred from north Jersey to south Jersey. In addition to moving us and the contents of the house, we had to move the boat! Next thing I know dad was modifying a trailer to tow this thing south.

I know that for a while he rented space in some sort of business complex but eventually moved the boat to my grandmother's carriage house. Once it was finished he launched the boat in Island Heights, NJ and christened it GARDYLOO.

The '80s were spent on the water in Island Heights, New Jersey. Some of my greatest memories are from those summers. He wasn't just my dad, he took on a fatherly role with everyone younger than he was. He didn't do this consciously, it was his nature. He was wise if you were willing to listen - I was a teenager in the '80s so I often argued more than I listened - but he was always willing to offer some tidbit of wisdom.

A few weeks before he passed away he told me that one thing he would really like to do was to go sailing again. I knew that I had to find a way to make this wish come true.

I called a friend and found out that his brother's boat was still in the water and that they'd be more than happy to make this happen. Before I knew it we had assembled the old crew from Island Heights, including one of the guys that was now a surgeon living in Florida, and headed for a sail.

Unfortunately a key crew member was unable to make it: my brother was stuck at a conference in California and couldn't get back. We arranged for my dad to talk to him on the phone while we were sailing. It certainly wasn't the same but at least they got to talk. We also had two additions to the crew that day. My husband, my dad introduced the two of us, and his oldest grandson who my dad had also taught to sail and was dad's right arm at the Sailing School.

The fact that we were able to assemble everyone on such short notice was nothing shy of a miracle but the day itself was truly touched by God.

It was mid November in Maryland and it was nearly 70 degrees. The sun was shining and there was a light wind blowing. An hour north in Philadelphia that same day and same time, there was sleet and snow!

It took some maneuvering but we finally managed to get dad loaded onto the boat and headed out from the dock. When it was time to set the sails each of the crew members jumped to action as if no time at all had passed since we last crewed together despite the fact that it had been more than 20 years!

It was magical.

Dad was settled in the cockpit and we took turns sitting next to him to keep him from falling over each time we were on starboard tack. We also took turns imitating him and spouting his Chuck-isms. He no longer had the strength or desire to yell at us but he certainly got a kick out of our impersonations.

We sailed for a little more than an hour before dad said that he was tired.

It was time to turn around.

The return trip might have been sunny, but my mood was beginning to cloud over. I stayed by my dad's side as much as possible as I knew that this would be the last time I would sail with him and I didn't want it to end.

In the years since my dad has passed I do not look at, or think about, a sailboat without missing him.

All I have to do is be near the water with wind in my hair and my dad comes to life.

He loved sailing so much that when he retired he joined a yacht club and started the Rock Hall Yacht Club Sailing School that thrives today. Two of his grandchildren as well as a few of the kids from his inaugural class have become sailing instructors.

His legacy lives on. The children who were once students, will one day teach our boys.

We just celebrated the twins' first birthday. I have thought of my dad countless times this past year and am saddened by the fact that they will never know him. They will however, learn to sail and when the wind blows through their hair and the sun kisses their cheeks, they will feel his touch and know his love.