Bob Dreizler's Resources: DADS
DADS
I savor Father's Days -- especially normal ones. Two years ago, my ten year old son was receiving chemotherapy to treat the recently discovered malignancy in his lymph gland. On the previous Father's Day, my Dad had just completed radiation therapy of the cancer in his throat. Both have recovered and are thriving, but those frightening episodes made me appreciate being a father and being a son.
It always lifts my spirits seeing my son catch a pop-up or read a book I enjoyed as a boy. When Ross laughs at a joke, tells me he likes one of my bedtime stories or when he just calls me "Dad", I feel like I've received a special compliment.
My son, a fourth grader, is my best male friend. I can't imagine calling one of my adult men friends after dinner to see if they'd like to play catch or shoot some baskets, but I can always ask Ross. Usually he asks me first.
Rubbing his head after a short summer haircut or hearing the cracking sound when he opens a fresh pack of baseball cards transports me back to when I was his age. A ten year old's life seems so easy, but 1991 was not an easy year for my brave son.
One sunny April Saturday, Ross' pediatrician came to our house. Dr. Van Schenck told us that the biopsy taken the day before was positive; the lump on Ross' neck contained a malignant cancer.
Further tests had to be done before we would know what kind of cancer it was and how far it had spread. We drove two hours to Children's Hospital at Stanford and checked Ross into a room with three other kids in various stages of treatment. His full head of hair and boundless energy seemed so out of place.
Ross underwent a variety of frightening, sophisticated tests. After he spent an hour inside an MRI machine the medical technicians scanned his skeleton, used ultrasound to examine his vital organs and extracted bone marrow from his hip.
That evening good news came--the cancer was localized and was a type vulnerable to current treatment. The survival rate was 95%. After our initial elation wore off, we remembered he was still the only kid on our block with cancer. A week earlier his survival rate was 100%, we thought. Chemotherapy started the next day.
For three months our family rode an emotional roller coaster before our life began to return to its normal pace. Though his check-ups will continue for years, his pediatric oncologists believe Ross should lead a normal, healthy life. His hair is back, his weight is back, his energy is back and he is back at shortstop fielding ground balls again.
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When Ross and I soften the leather of our baseball gloves with Neat's foot oil, the smell brings my father into my mind. Three years ago there was a real possibility my father, a great conversationalist and former Toastmasters president, might lose his voice--or worse. The doctors told him to talk less, but that was like telling water not to run downhill.
To spare his vocal cords, I tried to make our long-distance phone calls brief. Still, the tone of our conversations and the unspoken thought that this might be our last dialogue always prolonged our talks.
Dad loves talking with people. As a child I recall standing around for infinite periods of time, looking up and waiting impatiently while my father had heartfelt discussions with utter strangers.
My father's lectures are part of our family's folklore. He so wanted his six kids to reach our potential that his intense sincerity often amused us. I'm a sincere and sentimental guy, but when I'm in the same room with my father, I feel like a heartless cynic.
Now I'm the one giving the lectures. Like my father, I try to impart wisdom and values to my son and daughter, but just like thirty years ago, the message received is not always the one being sent. When my teenage daughter Sonya was four, I gave her the choice between a lecture and a spanking; she chose the spanking.
Children rarely thank their parents. They take them for granted while demanding immediate services from their personal cook, chauffeur, financier, cleaning person, guidance counselor and alarm clock. True appreciation of one's parents may not come until adulthood. Often it's after that child becomes a mother or father and realizes how demanding that job is; sometimes that's too late.
It's just the opposite with your children; you never appreciate them more than the day they are born. As they grow in size and maturity, the feelings of love can become tarnished by the petty skirmishes and occasional battles along their road from complete dependence to self-reliance. The threat of losing your child, however, quickly reminds you of their incalculable value.
When my father last visited, we celebrated everyone's good health by indulging in our favorite family vice -- enormous ice cream sundaes at Leatherby's. It was a genuine treat to be with my Dad again, and I know he loved seeing his son and grandchildren just as much.
We are constantly reminded of life's dangers and sorrows -- world crises abound, random violence is too close to home and daily personal struggles are inescapable. Despite these distractions, we must not ignore the special people and things that make life worth living. Our children, spouses, parents, siblings, close friends and good health need to be appreciated today, for we may not have them tomorrow.