A Father as Good as the Founders

 

"No society is so precious as that of one's own family." – Thomas Jefferson

Hey America, you’re not the only one with an important July birthday.

 

You may be turning 250, but the Big G is going four score and ten. That would be my dad, the Expounding Father: the finest writer, meatball-maker, baseball-team-coacher, storyteller, and book-seller this side of the Potomac. 

 

Washington, Jefferson, Adams, Franklin, Hamilton, and Madison may have shaped a fledgling nation, but my dad established a family and led it with grace, wisdom, humor, and love.

 

The USA was a mere 140 years old when he was born, with a Roosevelt in the White House (Franklin, not Teddy), and he has since seen 15 more presidents govern our country. Born during the Depression and quickly thrust into the hard years of World War II, he has watched our country battle through five major conflicts and no fewer than 14 economic recessions. 

 

He was the third of five boys, raised by John and Rose Gervase in the Italian neighborhood of Buffalo, New York. Today, he is the elder statesman of the family. 

 

Speaking of elder statesmen, with his electric personality, he has become the Ben Franklin of Carmel, California. He never misses a deadline for his weekly Scenic Views column in Carmel’s newspaper, which could just as easily be renamed Wise Jerry’s Almanac. 

 

Washington may have crossed the Delaware, but my dad crossed the Niagara and Detroit Rivers, heading west in search of his own Manifest Destiny, a college degree, and a poodle-skirt-wearing beauty he’d marry in 1958.

 

With a wife and daughter in tow, he ventured west like Lewis and Clark on a mission from Jefferson. He explored vast sales territories in a station wagon filled with textbooks, reporting back on fauna, flora, and the best diners, truck stops, and roadside motels along the blue highways of the Midwest. Mom declined the role of Sacagawea and stayed home. In 1968, at the mere age of 32, the crowning achievement of his life occurred. 

 

I was born. 

 

Not to say that it was all downhill from there. Another daughter and a couple of Salesman of the Year Awards followed, but he now had someone with whom to share his immeasurable knowledge of baseball, football, and basketball.

 

His bosses in Philadelphia recalled him to a new post in the frontier lands of southeastern Michigan. He channeled his inner pioneer to hack out a life on a 10-acre plot. With a shotgun and a steed made by John Deere, he surveyed and protected his personal kingdom as if it were Mount Vernon itself. 

 

Without Jefferson’s influence, he once drafted his own declaration of subordination: a constitutional document known as the Whack List. Its articles listed infractions and punishments. Sadly, it didn’t come with a Bill of Rights. I once petitioned my mom for a truce, proclaiming that spankings without representation were unjust. However, my pleas fell on deaf ears, as she was usually the one to dole out the whacks. 

 

Eventually, the commanders in charge relocated him to the suburbs of Detroit and a more civilized life. The new location provided access to private schools, restaurants, and supermarkets. Gone were the days of growing our own food and, on occasion, eating our household pets. 

 

Then came his greatest challenge of all. He moved the family over amber waves of grain and purple mountains to the shining seas of the Pacific. Soon, cancer attacked my mom’s body, and he fought back by her side like a patriot at Lexington and Concord. The battle raged off and on for nearly a decade. It was a time that truly tried a man’s soul. Prayers for freedom and independence brought about a lengthy ceasefire, but the disease returned and achieved victory at last. My mom chose both death and liberty, knowing ultimate victory and freedom were securely hers in the kingdom of heaven. 

 

Thomas Paine said, “We have it in our power to begin the world over again.” In the 23 years since, my dad has done just that. There have been new adventures, a new love, and the previously mentioned outlet for his musings, recollections, wisdom, and humor. 

 

You may not see his signature at the bottom of the Declaration, but founding a nation and leading a family have something in common: both begin with a vision for something meant to endure and shape future generations. With two nurses and a teacher for children, he has played a major role in doing exactly that. And with four grandchildren, Lord willing, the shaping of more generations is still on the horizon.

 

Both require shared values, commitment, and sacrifice to create a sense of belonging and stability. I’m forever in awe of the commitment and sacrifice he showed in providing for us. He gave so much so we could have food in the fridge, braces on our teeth, and educational opportunities within reach. And somehow, he still had the energy to battle me on the basketball and tennis courts like the Redcoats were marching up Bunker Hill.

 

While a nation is built on laws and institutions to organize public life, a family is built on love, trust, and close personal relationships. As a quiet, shy introvert, I didn’t always know how to build that kind of closeness with my dad. But I always knew he was on my side. He was my protector, my supporter, and my fan. Over the past two decades, we have built a friendship that I cherish.

 

So after America celebrates 250 years of independence, I’ll be celebrating 90 years of the Big G: my own founding father, elder statesman, and original source of laughter and love. Dad, your legacy isn’t written on parchment, but it lives in all of us. 

 

Happy Father’s Day!