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Season One
the Passing of a Loved One is Dedicated to Allan Ameringer |
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ALLAN AMERINGER |
| Whereas you may have heard about my great grandfather (see Oscar Ameringer), I'm pretty sure you've never heard of my father, Allan Ameringer. That is, not unless you're one of the lucky few who got to know him. |
| Dad wasn't a famous man. He was well enough known in the small circle of his chosen profession as an excellent tool designer, but as the profession itself means little to most people, touting his accolades will mean little as well. Besides, I never saw Dad's accomplishments as what made him great; what made him a great man was more intangible than that. |
| When I was little, Dad was like a giant redwood tree. He stood over 6 feet tall and towered over everyone in the family. I remember running up and hugging him when I was very small; my head only came up to his knee. He'd laugh every time and reach down to swing me up in his arms. Nothing bad could ever happen when Dad was around; at least, nothing that he couldn't fix. Car problems? Dad could probably fix it. Want to remodel a room in the house? Dad would design and do it (in fact, he and Mom built the house we grew up in). Someone making trouble? Dad would go talk to them and straighten them out. |
| Like most children, I went through a time when I pulled away from my family; some of the pedestals I put my parents on were overthown during this period. Dad had his flaws, probably many of them. But I was lucky enough to rediscover my father as an adult. The man I got to know before his death was remarkable. |
| He had never been a very social individual and often felt awkward around people if he wasn't with someone he knew. Mom had been that someone for most of his life (they met in school; Dad never had another girlfriend), and after Mom's death Dad socialised less and less. But it was the people he chose to spend time with during his later life that I find fascinating. He told me that he felt real empathy for his friends; he usually picked people who were to some extent or another outside social circles. He worked to look past what other people thought of as their flaws and find what was remarkable in each and every one of them. And he accomplished it. For the small group of people my Dad spent time with before his death, let me tell you he never spoke badly about any of you, only fondly. He truly loved each of you and cherished the time he spent with you. |
| I think this was what really stunned me about my father; his reach to move beyond petty annoyances and be more positive (something he struggled with for a long time). Dad had always carried sadness around with him. He'd also been very focused on material gains. But as he grew older he began to talk more and more about being happy. He became less impressed with material things (he still liked them, don't get me wrong). But I remember him being more concerned about whether I was happy than how much money I was making. He learned to control his temper. He learned to laugh more. He moved beyond what he had been when I was a child; I was witness to an adult changing and growing. |
| And let's not forget Dad's coolness factor. His age was often guessed 10 years or younger than he actually was even though he suffered from diabetes and heart disease. He rode motorcycles all of his life, owned a big Harley-Davidson, and took part (in his 60's) in the 100th Anniversary Parade of Harley-Davidson. He spent weekends in winter going snowmobiling with me at a time when my friends' fathers were only playing golf. He got into some songs from New Order. He loved sailing and won many races. He once set up a telescope late at night and showed me Saturn with several of its moons. He did some brilliant paintings when he was younger. He loved fast cars and owned a 1965 Corvette. When he first let me drive it (with him in the car) he encouraged me to rev it up to over 130 mph - and told me I could outrun the police if we were nabbed for speeding. |
| Dad was an anchor of support. He was a shoulder to lean on. He was a source of wisdom and experience. And, in the end, he was my friend. |
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