Father Knows Best

Every December I watch "It's a Wonderful Life." It's a staple of my existence, as quintessential to the holiday spirit as turkey dinners or wrapping gifts. I was 13 years old when I first saw George Bailey scramble down the Main Street of Bedford Falls, waving his arms and screaming at the top of his lungs, rejoicing in the beauty of life, love and friendship. As an adult who savors this film, I feel the bittersweet pang of watching a man who is reborn, glowing in the recognition that he has made a difference in the world; that he has touched the lives of those around him. In the final act, as George stands in his living room surrounded by family and friends celebrating his life, I always develop that painful lump in my throat - you know the one. It stings and makes it nearly impossible to swallow. It can proceed tears of sadness or joy. I love this film, and I always want to say that I know a George Bailey. The thing is I do - he's my dad.

My father has been teaching English and Dramatic Arts at the same high school in Massachusetts for the last thirty years. His journey has been one similar to George Bailey's - he has settled down in a small town, a teacher, committed to his family and profession, but at times frustrated. He has seen thousands of students come and go, some moving on to big and exciting things, others settling down in the very same town. From time to time growing up, I'd see a glimmer in his eyes wondering, "What if...? What if I'd quit teaching, what if I'd gone off traveling around the world? What if I'd moved to New York City or L.A. to pursue other goals? What if I hadn't been a teacher?" These moments of wonder were not full of anger or resentment, only seconds of reflection, and perhaps a little regret for not "doing more with his life." But he always returned to teaching with a positive spirit, endless patience, and astounding energy.

Over the years my dad and I have shared lots of travels together, near and far from home. It was a family joke that no matter where we went, we always ran into a former student of my father. More often than not the run-in went beyond a courteous hello and how are you. These former students, now adults with children of their own, embrace my dad, literally and figuratively. We could be standing at a light waiting to cross, sitting in a restaurant in our hometown, Boston or New York City, the places are too numerous to list - we inevitably ran into these joyful faces who recognize the sparkling eyes, full beard and unmistakable energy of Mr. H. As a younger child I was somewhat bored by the endless stories recounted by these strangers. The older I got, the more I realized that these spontaneous reunions were quite special. These people were paying tribute to someone who touched their lives. It wasn't a grand parade or a front-page article or a million dollar salary bonus. They were simple yet beautifully sincere words - "You inspired me... You gave me the courage to try... You were the only one who believed in me...."

This may sound like a tribute to a father from an adoring daughter, and to some degree it is. But it is also recognition of something more. Just like George Bailey, Mr. H. has a wonderful life. Through teaching he is able to reach that troubled kid who sits in the back making wisecracks and gives him a reason to care about school. He has taken the shy girl who doesn't speak, put her up on the stage and helped her find her voice and confidence. He has acted as advisor and inspiration for countless young people, giving them the opportunity to learn, grow and succeed. Although I've never been a student in his class, Mr. H. has inspired me as well. As I begin my pursuit of a Masters in Teaching, I see just how unique my father's gifts are. This year when I watched "It's a Wonderful Life," I couldn't help but think of my father. I still got that lump in my throat - and loved it.