while taking the subway from the Upper West Side to downtown Manhattan for a meeting earlier this week.  As I stepped into the train I noticed there were some empty seats to my right.  However, I needed to pass by a guy who was standing with a bulging knapsack strapped on his back, leaning over a young woman seated to my left, deeply engrossed in excited conversation with her.  He wasn’t hearing me repeatedly say “excuse me”, our socially accepted way of politely saying “step aside”.  

A man sitting next to the empty seat I was attempting to move towards noticed my predicament and gently pushed the guy’s knapsack so that he then became aware of me and let me pass.  Having overcome this hurdle, I immediately encountered another one.  There was a very large male sitting in such a way that he was taking up three seats, prohibiting me from sitting down, when it appeared he could comfortably fit in two.

There's an anonymous saying that goes something like this: "Any man can become a father.  It takes someone special to be a Dad."  As I find myself reflecting on this today, Father's Day, I'm reminded of one of the most touching Dad and son stories I've encountered.  It was told by a son during his eulogy for his Dad. 

After acknowledging several striking ways in which his father would be remembered, he went on to share the following. "But today I'm simply compelled to remember him as my father and my best friend. When I was 12 years old I was diagnosed with bone cancer and a few months after I lost my leg, there was a heavy snowfall over my childhood home outside of Washington D.C. My father went to the garage to get the old Flexible Flyer and asked me if I wanted to go sledding down the steep driveway. And I was trying to get used to my new artificial leg and the hill was covered with ice and snow and it wasn't easy for me to walk. And the hill was very slick and as I struggled to walk, I slipped and I fell on the ice and I started to cry and I said "I can't do this." I said, "I'll never be able to climb that hill." And he lifted me in his strong, gentle arms and said something I'll never forget. He said "I know you'll do it, there is nothing you can't do. We're going to climb that hill together, even if it takes us all day."

Sure enough, he held me around my waist and we slowly made it to the top, and, you know, at age 12 losing a leg pretty much seems like the end of the world, but as I climbed onto his back and we flew down the hill that day I knew he was right. I knew I was going to be OK. You see, my father taught me that even our most profound losses are survivable and it is what we do with that loss, our ability to transform it into a positive event, that is one of my father's greatest lessons. He taught me that nothing is impossible."

To me, this is what being A True Dad means.  It's someone who, when we're vulnerable and struggling, picks us up, puts us on their shoulders and says "You can do it.  There is nothing you can't do.  We will climb this icy hill together, even if it takes us all day."  All of us sorely need this at crucial times, no matter how  old we are. 

I didn't initially reveal this father and son by name, because the father was famous, or some might even say infamous.  And I wanted you to be as open to the story as possible.  This Dad was far from perfect, as all of us who followed national news were well aware.  In all honesty, in certain respects I had judged him and somewhat dismissed him as a person until his death, when, to my surprise, I was captivated by his son's eulogy.  Teddy Kennedy, Jr. shared this incredibly touching story of his Dad with us via television on August 29, 2009 from Boston.  And when I heard it, moved to tears, I thought "Wow!  Teddy Kennedy, Sr. really got some of the very most important things in life, like what it means to truly be a Dad."  In this situation, Teddy Kennedy, Sr. undoubtedly was his best self and did some of his finest fathering.

Today, may we honor anyone in our life, male or female, young or old, who has given us this kind of fatherly companionship, encouragement and strength to cope with what seemed insurmountable at a particularly challenging time in our lives.  And may we in turn look for opportunities to give this kind of experience to others. 

Because it is especially these kinds of experiences that restore our connection with our self, others and all of Life.  And they create the loving heart connections that nurture and sustain us.

(The entire eulogy can be found by clicking this boston.com link: http://www.boston.com/news/local/breaking_news/2009/08/ted_kennedy_jrs.html)

THE JOURNEY
by Mary Oliver 
(Dream Work)

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.

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