Papa

If Papa were an overcoat, he would be utilitarian. No hounds-tooth lining for him. He would be waterproof, windproof, warm, and useful.

He was pedantic, prosaic, dependable and available.

We could always count on him to meet whatever challenge we brought to him.

He taught me to magnetize my screwdrivers, so they would be easier to work with — so that the screws didn’t fall off in tight places. He did that by wrapping them in wire and hooking them up to the battery of the car.

When I became gravely ill after my first child was born, he took vacation so he could stay home with the 6-month old as I was in the hospital and recovering at their house. After four children of his own, he went back to changing diapers, and feeding the hungry mouth. He might not have liked it, but he saw it as his duty and did it cheerfully.

He was a Christian, serving as an elder in the Presbyterian Church of Westfield, NJ. He supported Mama when she worked in the kitchen, organizing potluck meals for the Wednesday Night Supper crowd. When the church sponsored a family of Vietnamese refugees, he became Papa to all of them.

He loved to fish and taught all his children and grandchildren how to bait a hook — either with worms or minnows. We weren’t allowed to be squeamish at all. He taught us how to cast a lure, and how to drop a fly next to the lily pads so the big one, who was lurking in the shadows, would rise from the depths with a mighty “WHOOMP”. We learned how to paddle the boat, steer the outboard motor, and bring the net under the fish wriggling at the end of his line.

In later years, he took care of my mother who had Alzheimer’s. He ran the house, planned the meals, shopped for groceries, woke up in the middle of the night if needed. He hired a personal assistant when it became clear he couldn’t manage her in the bath.

He’s been dead for 12 years now, and I still get through my day by saying “What would Papa do?” whenever I have any kind of problem.