Elvis Ate Dynamite

*Bill Murray from Groundhog Day voice* “It’s Monday. Again.”

This weekend flew by, as all weekends do, but it was a good one. Our youngest daughter and her boyfriend visited, driving up from downstate Illinois to celebrate my birthday. They’re kind enough to come up often, but it never seems like enough time.

How did we all get so old?

Speaking of getting older, today marks 32 years since my father passed away. Last week, I turned 64. He’s been gone half of my life.

He was a good one. Imperfect, for sure. We all are. But he survived the Great Depression, served with the US Army in northwestern France during World War II, and came home to raise raise a family, get his PhD, and teach psychology at Loyola University in Chicago for three decades. And in between all that, he found time to draft our village’s and our local school district’s first diversity and inclusion policies. That was 54 years ago.

Our town, Oak Park, Illinois, was imperfect too, but it was pretty good place to grow up. Thanks to the work of my parents and other good people in the village, Oak Park became a beacon of hope in the dark days of redlining, white flight, and the painfully slow process of open housing and school desegregation. Not that they didn’t meet resistance. Oh, yes they did. But we had just enough people of good faith to move the needle, albeit slowly, towards justice. And I’ll always be proud of my parents for playing a significant role in that.

I’m also proud of my dad’s World War II service, though he never talked about it much. I still have his dog tags, Infantryman’s badge, collar insignia, and the shoulder patch from his uniform. He was in the US Army’s 66th Infantry Division, known as the Black Panther Division, and I’ve always loved that patch:

Last year, for my 63rd birthday, I got a tattoo of that image on my right arm in honor of my dad’s service and the 80th anniversary of VE Day:

Pretty damn cool.

The funny thing is, my dad was solidly anti-war for most of his life. He opposed Vietnam before most people did, and he would never have supported America’s 21st century wars.

I always respected and admired his anti-war views. That, however, takes nothing away from what he did in World War II. He showed up, just like he showed up for his family, his students, and his community.

I can’t say I always followed his example, but I’d like to think I learned the main lesson of his life, which is this: you can always make a difference, even in the worst times. We often expect influential public figures – politicians, artists, activists – to make change happen. My dad didn’t wait around for that.

We can’t wait around for that, either.