Back in the early sixties, Paul Peterson’s character, Jeff Stone, on The Donna Reed Show, paid tribute to his television Father with a song that became one of his two hits as a recording artist, but through most of the years of my life, it meant a lot to me being raised and taught by my dad, who many called Joe X. That song was titled, My Dad. After the introduction, the first line of that song is, “My Dad, now here is a man.”

He didn’t get that nickname because he was a mobster, but because his middle name is Xavier. My grandfather’s favorite saint was St. Francis Xavier. (My dad’s brother’s middle name is Francis.) I say most years of my life, because I went through a period of time, like many kids do, from ages circa 12 to 20 (maybe more), when I rebelled against much of what my dad did, and/or said, as he raised us. Fortunately, those years passed, and I came back to earth realizing he really was the smartest, wisest, dad there ever was/would be.

My dad was a teacher, by example and life lessons he taught. He exemplified what a father should be, how he should raise his family, what values he felt were important, and the rest of his family should live by too. He was a disciplinarian, at times a yeller, he had expectations for how we should have behaved, and he had consequences for times we didn’t live up to those expectations.

Dad believed in respecting others but also expressed his feelings and/or disagreements with us and others, often adamantly, but never violently. He taught us those things, and those ways, but often my head was in that 12 to 20 period (and regarding some things it took me into my mid to late 20s) before I’d admit Dad knew what he was doing. He was excellent at showing us better ways to do things, and/or better ways we could react to things.

Being a strong-willed person myself, though too-often loud, temperamental, and easily frustrated/angered by things I see or hear, and there were times when many, starting with Mom, told me they thought I was a lot like my father, (trust me, I wasn’t even close.). Little did they know though, they were giving me the greatest compliment I could ever receive from anyone, for anything.

Dad passed away at an early age (69). My son Jon was only four and a half years old, but Jon still remembers helping Grandpa in his garden, and being picked up on Saturdays and taken to the cardboard recycling site, to help Grandpa unload the cardboard from his car into the large bins at the site.

Dad gave me my love for baseball, and especially the Cleveland Indians. We’d enjoy some catches after dinner in front of the house. Like many kids in Jamestown, we’d go to an Indians/Yankees Doubleheader once a summer, though most of the local fans that went from other families were going to root for the Bronx Bombers. I recall, at my age back then, us, and the D’Angelo father, uncle, and sons (of Arcade Shoes fame) were the only Tribe fans heading west to Ohio’s Mistake on the Lake as what Municipal Stadium in Cleveland was nicknamed by some (actually, many). Dad never said we had to be Cleveland fans, but we wanted to do it because that’s what dad was, a Cleveland Fan. Dad was a Browns fan too, but not exclusively. He liked pulling for the Bills, in the old AFL, and continued his allegiance to them when the AFL and NFL merged in 1970. He was a fan, but not a fanatic, as his children became. In many ways he taught us a lesson too, that sometimes some things are more enjoyable when you deal with them using a little more moderation.

Dad was a religious man, and he and Mom made the decision to send all his kids to Catholic School and attend Mass with the family together on Sundays and Holy Days of Obligation. He would often keep up with us after we left the nest, and he continued praying we’d continue our commitment to our faith, but he never, ever told us we would have to do that. He respected our choices as adults.

Dad had a great sense/feeling about people. He was a great judge of character. As he laid in his hospital bed, he knew how to “act” when people came to visit him, based on what he felt they would feel during their visit with him. Dad knew I would have a hard time seeing him suffering or in pain, so when I visited, he fought his pain and was pretty good in hiding his pain while I was there. My dad, now here was a man.

The title above mentions my two dads. My second dad came into my life when I first met him 46 years ago, when my bride-to-be introduced me to him for the first time.

Earl Hamilton, of Earl Hamilton and Sons’ Plumbing, out of Sherman, NY, was one of the most even keeled, dedicated to his craft and the people he served, man I have ever met in my life. Earl (Dad after Sally and I wed), loved his friends, he loved golfing, playing cards, a cold beer, and for a while, a good cigar (after he stopped smoking them, he would chew on one, or just keep one in his shirt pocket, as kind of his trademark).

I remember being at the house (sometimes on holidays), visiting or having dinner, when a phone call would come to his house from somebody needing some plumbing or heating work done right away. Dad Hamilton didn’t hesitate to leave the table, or his favorite chair, and head out from wherever the call came, to fix the problem. On one occasion, he called us and invited us to come over for a Shrimp Dinner, and when we got there, he was cooking jumbo (and I mean, jumbo), shrimp, which was actually payment for a job that day, from someone who offered goods for services because they were short of cash right then.

I had a few chances to play golf with Dad Hamilton, and he was amazing hitting the ball right down the middle of the fairway. I swear you could have painted two lines, ten feet apart, from tee to green, and Dad’s shots would hardly ever miss that invisible path. Watching that, I felt it described my Father-in-Law. He was a true straight shooter, consistent and straight forward with everyone, for all the time I knew him.

So, as we celebrate Father’s Day tomorrow, I thank both these fathers in my life, for giving me some great tips on how to be a great husband and father in my own right. I’m certainly not great, probably never will be, but I thank them both for all they did for me.

And to all who’ve accepted the role/responsibility of father, dad, etc., here or up above, the VFTB wishes you Happy Father’s Day!