Part 2

Wisdom of Our Fathers: Lessons and Letters from Daughters and Sons
by Tim Russert

(Page 2 of 3)

The Same Room

Father Theodore Hesburgh, longtime president of the University of Notre Dame, said it best: "The most important thing a father can do for his children is to love their mother."

I was visiting my parents a few years after my mother's health started failing, when my dad had completely taken over her care and the house. I was up early and heard them talking. I didn't want to disturb the moment, and I tried not to listen, but I overheard my mother tell Dad that she was sorry she was such a poor companion these days. She wanted to be traveling and doing things together, as they had often discussed.

There was silence, and then Dad said, in a choked voice, "Don't you know I just want to be in the same room with you?" I was struck by the simplicity and love in that remark, as my mother was a complex and brilliant woman given to philosophy. I loved my parents for the example of their relationship.

My mother died several years ago. Dad is still alive, but he is suffering from some dementia. He lives with me now, and I have come to understand the simplicity and importance of being in the same room with him.

-Katherine M. Newbold, Peru, IL, FBI (retired), daughter of John M. Newbold, FBI, state police (1920)

The Lock

There is nothing like something that's just between you and your dad.

My father was a talented man who liked to build things in his fully equipped workshop in our basement. My little brother liked to follow him downstairs to watch and "help" as Dad made such things as chandeliers from old wagon wheels, a rotisserie for our fireplace, and an unusual light fixture out of the copper bulbs that float in the tank of a toilet.

When Jim was seven, he began going to Dad's workshop on his own, where he would remove Dad's tools from their rightful place, use them, and not replace them. After telling him many times about the importance of putting things back, Dad decided to build a small tool chest with a lock, where he would keep his best tools so my brother couldn't get at them.

As Dad worked on the tool chest, my brother watched him and helped enthusiastically. As Dad was installing the lock, Jim asked, "What's that?" Dad said it was a lock, and that in order to get tools from the chest, you had to open it with a key. Jim got a strange look on his face. He looked up at his father and asked, "Who will have the key, Dad?"

Dad paused a moment, reflected on the look on his son's face, and said, "There will be just two keys, Jim. One for you and one for me."

-Merabeth Lurie, Hubbard, OH, retired teacher, daughter of Jerold S. Meyer, retail executive (1903-1997)

The Announcement

It was a tough thing to hear, and an even tougher thing to say, but within a day they were right back on track.

Coming out to my dad was one of the most difficult experiences of my life, as it is for most young gay men. After all, our dads represent all things masculine, strong, and "normal"-words not commonly associated with the gay community.

My announcement was not exactly a textbook example of how it should be done. Note to closeted gays: Don't tell your dad during the ten o'clock news, right before he's going to bed.

Despite my poor timing, my dad responded as many dads do. He cried all night. The next morning, he watched me pass in the living room, my head and shoulders slung low and my eyes focused on the floor beneath me. I was feeling the utter shame of the grave disappointment I had caused him.

By the fourth time our paths crossed, he had seen enough. He grabbed my shoulders, pulled them back, and said, "Look me in the eye." I refused. Again he said, "Stephen, look me in the eye." This time I did. With tears rolling down his face, he looked right at me and said, "I love you, Stephen. I don't care what you are. I just want my boys to be happy." Then he hugged me, just like he did the day before, when I was straight.

That's all I ever wanted and needed-to know I would still be loved. Five years later, my relationship with my dad has never been stronger. We still talk daily after each Cubs game. I still ask for advice with my job. And my dad still asks if I'm dating anyone, although this time around he wants to know if I've met any good guys lately.

Unconditional love. That's all we ever want, and I got it.

-Stephen Westman, Chicago, IL, vibe manager, son of Gary Westman, sales (1945)

Copyright © 2006 by Tim Russert.

About the Author

Tim Russert is the moderator and managing editor of Meet the Press, and the Washington bureau chief of NBC News. He is married to Maureen Orth, and they have one son, Luke.