Father’s Day: Harry Belafonte, my dad and me

My father died nine years ago, also in the month of April. He, too, lived a worthy and prosperous life. Dad died just shy of 88 years. I miss him fiercely. He was good in the ways we sometimes overlook. Honorable. Honest. Faithful. Humble. Kind. And prosperous in ways that we sometimes forget are more enriching than money. With Father’s Day on Sunday, I thought it was a good time to remember my father ... and Belafonte.

You see, when I was very young, I was lulled to sleep every night by my father’s voice. He would tuck me into bed and sing. He had a special song for each of his five children: “Roly Poly” for my eldest and youngest brothers, “Streets of Laredo” for my middle brother, “Puff the Magic Dragon” for my sister, and mine was Belafonte’s “Jamaica Farewell.”

“Down the way where the nights are gay and the sun shines daily on the mountaintop … I took a trip on a sailing ship and when I reached Jamaica, I made a stop …”

Even now, many decades later, I remember all the words to the song and the way my father would sing in his sweet, warm tenor voice that eased whatever childish worry I had as he coaxed me to sleep. But mostly I remember the gentle presence of a man who taught by example how to live honorably in the world but not be consumed by its temptations.

My father wasn’t rich, but he, along with our mother, provided admirably for his family of seven, and never left us wanting. He wasn’t lauded by any corporation or civic organization and never held a lofty title, but he worked hard. Came home every night, was actively present and involved in his family and was beloved by anyone who ever met him. Children — and dogs especially — always found their way to our father. They knew he was good and kind.

What I learned from my father is hard to put on paper. It’s more about what I see now in my own son and the kind of parent he is to three boys. Like his grandfather, Will is devoted. Hard-working. Responsible. Mostly patient. And, on occasion, he sings.

My 1-year-old grandson especially likes the “Buzz, buzz here, buzz, buzz there and a couple of tra la las” song from the “Wizard of Oz.” It has become our greeting when we see each other or talk on the phone. His face lights up. So does mine.

For his father, my son, I wrote a melody to the Robert Frost poem, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.” If you were to ask him, he could sing it to you — and he’s 32 years old. I know he has sung it to his littlest one.

These are the things I believe matter more than stuff. Connection. Showing up. Setting an example. Doing the hard stuff. Expressing joy and appreciation. Being a mentor and guide.

Children are the most precious gift, and our job is to give them both roots and wings. With good roots, they fly higher, have more confidence and are assured there’s always a safe place to land.

It’s not being perfect; it’s being the very best you can be. It’s knowing they will be held securely in the love of someone who just wants to be the very best father he can be. Sometimes accompanied by Harry Belafonte singing in their ear.

Happy Father’s Day to all the good dads out there. And thank you.

A sixth-generation Vermonter, Mary L. Collins writes from her home on a hill overlooking Lake Elmore. She won't be leaving anytime soon.