Sunday, December 4, 2016
My father was an immigrant. Before he became a factory worker in Baltimore, a soldier in the U.S. Airforce, a loving husband, a Northeastern Univ. graduate, an electrical engineer, a father of two very fortunate sons, and a grandfather of four wonderful grandchildren, he was an immigrant. As a teenager, he fled Soviet-occupied Lithuania with his parents and grew up quickly in a Displaced Persons camp in Germany. At age 23, he emigrated to Baltimore, Maryland. We’ve been hearing and reading a great deal about refugees in the past few years – too often negative. The stress of migration and all that one experiences fleeing one’s homeland can scar a person for life, sometimes making it difficult to plant new roots or be successful. I don’t know whether it was my father’s hard work on the family farm as a child, or his parents’ (both schoolteachers) focus on education, his innate intelligence, his gentle, good-natured character, or falling in love with my mother in a refugee camp in Germany, but whatever it was - when he arrived in America, he flourished. I don’t think he achieved all that he achieved here through luck. It was through hard work and perseverance – like so many of his close friends that I see here today. My father lived the American Dream. He got a great job at Kodak, bought a home, raised a family, and retired comfortably, enjoying life by working in his garden (growing the best tomatoes I have ever tasted!), fishing, traveling overseas, spending time with his grandchildren, and playing dominos with my mother and friends. While establishing his life in America and becoming a U.S. citizen, he never forgot his homeland. He was active in the Rochester Lithuanian-American community, the lithuanian Saturday school, and the St. George’s Parish Council for many years. Keeping the Rochester Lithuanian community alive and active was very important to him.
What about the person my father was, and will remain in our memories? For a start, I think he would be a little embarrassed by the short biography I just presented. He was a humble man. He certainly was not interested in fame or glory. He was wise and soft-spoken. As a result, he was good at giving me and my children helpful advice - when we asked for it. He showed emotion in subtle ways, but we all knew he loved us. You know, social media can sometimes be a wonderful thing. Within 24 hrs. of my father’s death, friends and family were posting comments about my father on Facebook. These were immediate reactions from those that knew and loved him. They were brief, heartfelt, and very nicely capture the man my father was with adjectives like: “kind”, “good”, “wonderful”, “easy to be with and talk to”, “beloved”, and even “mischievous”.
I would like to end with just a few things my father taught me. He taught me how to pound in a nail with a hammer, sodder two wires together, unhook a fish, paint a house, and drive a car. He also taught me to be patient – I’m still working on that. He taught me the importance of education and hard work. About balancing work, family, and recreation in one’s life. He taught me this through example. His last gift to me was teaching me not to be afraid of death. He talked about it, embraced it, and made me feel comfortable with the inevitability of it. He was a religious person, but private about his relationship with God. He shared that he was looking forward to seeing his parents again in heaven and I could tell that he really meant it and believed it. His only regret was that he would be leaving his wife of 62 years. I sincerely believe that he is happily together with his parents right now, and that makes his loss so much easier for me to bear.
