A Conversation with my Father... 20 Years after his Passing

I had a conversation with my father yesterday, though he has been gone nearly twenty years, it was refreshing to visit. Reconnect. Surreal. Spiritual in some sense. I believe dad was checking in on a young man, whom he shouldered with great expectations, unlimited potential, charismatic and compassionate. Yet, still rough around the edges. Be careful he said, to the young me, because knowledge is powerful, and ignorance is bliss. 

Dad asked me ...Son what is your most prized possession? 

You have traveled the world and collected rare and unique treasures. You have a large and extended family (on both sides) that have bequeathed gifts and family heirlooms. 

You have achieved professional success and can buy almost anything.

I said, well that is easy dad ...my memories. They are mine. Rich in detail. Vivid in color. With great depth. And can’t be bought or sold. Or even duplicated. 

Dad said, okay. That’s deep and somewhat philosophical, but makes complete sense coming from my son. After your memories, What else? 

 I said, that is easy to dad...my family.

You and mom brought me and Meaghan into this world, share my genetics. Share my blood. Share my history. And share my journey. 

He said okay. That’s makes sense too. But what else?

I am not sure if dad was not satisfied with my answers or searching for more “appropriate” answers. He was a great conversationalist. A journalist. Well-read. And some what a provocateur. A college professor, that never professed. A writer. That always wrote.

But I was happy to share and enjoyed this moment in time with my father. I had missed him dearly since his unexpected passing in 1998. I was left with many unanswered questions. The questions haunted me for years, until I was able to come to my own resolve.  

I said, well…my friends. You have met a few of them. They are just like family, but I actually got to choose them. Unique. Crazy. Fun. Good-hearted. Generous. Honest. Good people. Whom I choose to spend time with. Share my life with. You would love them. I know how dear your friends were to you (Guterman, Duke, Schnitker, Victor, Curtner). Accepting. And unconditional. Okay, maybe just accepting. 

What about material things?

I said okay, let me think. 

Meaghan and I were not raised to put value on material things. Our childhood included being raised on a 40-acre organic farm with goats, chickens, ducks and horses, alfalfa fields to play in, trees to climb, nature to explore, woodpiles to chop and a garden to weed. Our free-time was filled with exploring nature with names and places that were magical; the View, the Other Forty, the Hole, the Curvy Tree, the Pit hill – family walks to these places, with the dogs, that was how we spent our days and evenings. This and driving the back roads of northern Michigan, often aimlessly, but it seemed mom and dad had an old friend down every dirt road – unannounced visits for a beer or to reminisce was how our family would pass the time.   

And within a few seconds I said, my photos. I have more than one hundred thousand photos of my favorite people, places and things. My stories and my memories. If there is ever a question or doubt, I have visual proof. A snapshot in time. Of a stoic face. A beautiful place. A landscape. Nature. Or even a portrait of a stranger. Never to be repeated or duplicated. Maybe with time they may be worth something. Or maybe not. But they are mine. And mine to share. This love and skill was instilled by my mother. Curious and wanting to capture that moment in time for perpetuity. The mind of a photographer.  

And possibly my most prized possessions are the saved letters, cards, poems and notes from loved ones. Some see the act of saving such things as a pointless exercise. A waste. While others consider it hoarding… but I find great value in sitting with these notes and cards – thinking about the person that wrote the note, that moment in time, the feelings and thoughts that are shared via the written word. A lost and dying art, priceless in many ways. The fact I have my father’s journals and diaries from years ago, his deepest thoughts, his most personal insights…I often struggled with the decision to read such things, its private, intimate and wasn’t meant to be viewed by others. But I when I read these notes and journals, each person’s handwriting unique and descript, these moments are like having a conversation with loved ones that have passed, like my father, Grandma Mundy, Grandma Pochelon…surreal in some sense. I am not sure the next generation will save their text messages or emails, or if it even offers the same insights and feelings, the words are words, but the personal handwriting offers an even deeper connection. Thank you and others for sharing so much via the written word. A poem, a lyric, a song, a note. So powerful. I have letters from sports legends, politicians and titans of industry, but my most prized possession of that group are from family and loved ones. Especially those who have passed. 

Anything else, dad asked.

 Well my final “thing” would be my music collection. A gift you instilled in me, the love of music, a classic verse, memorable chorus, melody or chord. Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Bob Marley & Michael Franti were some of our favorites. A random collection of eight-tracks, vinyl, bootlegs, mix tapes, CDs and digital downloads. While many moved on to “streaming” and services, I adamantly refused. On a personal level I want the music to be mine, to own and use to my own devices. And out of respect to the artist. I want them to be compensated for their artistic qualities and creative expressions. I have shared my music worldwide. Legendary and sought after. A truly unique collection assorted in a pattern and rhythm only my ear can detect. Many a day in my childhood was spent at a college bookstore or record store with my dad. Often in the resale shops, dad looking for that hard to find album or rare bootleg. Excited to share with mom, his brothers, friends and me. 

Dad said that is interesting. Somewhat profound and insightful. But I am NOT surprised you really don’t value material things. That is not the way your mom and I raised you and your sister. Material things are fabricated. Created with a false sense of value and worth. Relationships and experiences are truly what a fulfilled life is about. I learned this. And attempted to live this. And was hopeful you and your sister would embrace it. As proud as I was then, I am even more proud now. For you both have talked the talk. And walked the walk. A tightrope between right and wrong. Needs and wants. Values and desires. Compulsion and restraint. My battle and journey were for you kids. Your cousins. For all the kids. The next generation. I was passionate. Yet petrified. For I had witnessed the greed. The complete disregard for the environment. The unethical acts. The racial injustice. The selfish politicians. The corporate mongers. But I digress. My thoughts and feelings have not changed. Simply know this Chris...my love for you, your sister and mom remain constant and true. To this very day. Never fading over time, but actually growing stronger.

This Father’s Day, my advice is reach out, make the call or visit extra-long, be vulnerable, say what you really feel… if it is positive. If you have an axe to grind, be the olive branch, pursue a resolution or closure. Don’t carry the grudge, the axe or the baggage… life is simply too short. Write your dad a note and say thanks and tell him how much you love him and appreciate him. It is that simple. Ask your dad, what his most prized possession is. And see where the conversation takes you. God bless all the fathers in the world.