If you ever want to know a bit more about me, talk to my dad for a while. Not necessarily about me — just talk to him. He’s a cool guy.
Dad and I are a lot alike, and I realize that more all the time. That certainly had its fair share of disadvantages growing up (saying that we butted heads on a regular basis might be something of an understatement), but once I got old enough that we could handle approaching things as two adults rather than as a father and son perpetually at loggerheads, things evened out. I’m glad they did, too. Dad is, quite honestly, one of the most intelligent and well-rounded people I’ve met. You should see the library at my folks’ house — heavy on philosophy, psychology, religion, and penguins (all good subjects to be heavy in, I’d say), but by no means limited to those subjects. Dad and I both have a tendency to investigate any little thing that peaks our interest, and it shows.
In the midst of all our various conversations (well, okay, arguments when I was younger, discussions as I matured), I picked up two very important lessons. Firstly, that having been gifted with a working intellect, it’d be a shame to let it go to waste. Secondly, that a good sense of humor is a priceless treasure (though, admittedly, whether or not dad and I share a “good” sense of humor may be a matter of opinion, given as we are to absurdities, wordplay, and bad puns).
Given the political slant many of my posts here and at The Long Letter, it would be understandable (though somewhat regrettable) if I gave the impression that I was uniformly anti-military. However, nothing could be further from the truth. While I never decided that the military was a direction I wanted to take my life in, I am a “military brat”. Dad served in the United States Air Force for ten years, and spent another eleven and a half years in the Air National Guard. Something I’ll be eternally grateful for, though, is that even growing up in a military family, I was never force-fed the steady diet of über-patriotism and “my country, right or wrong” (which many people, unfortunately, do not realize is only half of the full quote) attitude that so many other military children are.
Rather, I grew up realizing that the military, and our country, like any other large organization (all the way from corporate entities to religious movements) does some things that are very good — and some things that are very bad. The good things should be recognized and celebrated, but the bad things should also be recognized; not to be celebrated, but to be studied, learned from, and prevented in the future. Dad was very instrumental in keeping me grounded in my political views — grounded in a very liberal/democratic mindset, but grounded none the less — neither falling into an ultra-right wing “the military is always right” stance, nor an ultra-left wing “the military is always wrong” stance.
Which brings me around to what prompted this (hopefully not over-saccharine) missive. Dad just posted a wonderfully written post in response to someone being so uncouth as to drag out the old “baby killer” epithet when they found out about his military service on a mailing list he participates in. Rather than rising to the bait and indulging in a flame war, his response is beautifully stated, and well worth reading.
It does matter, Dad. I’m glad it matters to you; I’m glad that, thanks to you, it matters to me — and I’m glad that, even with all our disagreements, you’re my dad.
