Fathers and sons
BlogSeptember 19, 2024
When I said I wanted to be a journalist and a writer, my dad, John McHale, Jr., told my mother, “Oh no, he’ll never make any money and we’ll have to support him forever.” That was more than 30 years ago, and I ended up doing OK. The best accolade I ever got wasn’t an award or a grade – it was my father asking me for my skills, requesting that I write family obituaries and eulogies. Last month I wrote his. He passed away on August 11, aged 81, surrounded by me, Mom, my brother, and our wives.
You may have noticed I changed my byline this issue to John M. McHale III. He’d ask me occasionally why I never put the proper suffix after my name, the III. My answer always was it seems pretentious.
Seems I overthought that.
Dad didn’t have a public byline as a writer or a journalist, but he did have a talent that I wish I had inherited – a rare and beautiful singing voice. As a first tenor, he could belt out beautifully difficult songs like the Ava Maria and Danny Boy – a capella. When I was a kid sitting next to him in church, he’d try to get my brother and me to sing along … we’d look at him like he was crazy. No way we could follow that. We mumbled along while Dad’s voice rose above the congregation.
It especially soared when singing showtunes or Irish singalong songs like “Irish Eyes,” which was his favorite. He believed you couldn’t sing it without smiling. In fact, that was playing as he passed.
While not everyone could follow his musical example, my dad did set many on the path of service to others. His career was literally bookended by service positions: After college at Saint Joseph’s University in Philadelphia, he took a position as a teacher and guidance counselor at Bishop Eustace High School in New Jersey. He also took a second job teaching business management at Albright College in 1990s and at the other end of his working years, he retired from the Woods Services, an organization in Pennsylvania dedicated to providing residential services to the developmentally disabled. Dad loved that job more than any other because he was helping those who could not help themselves.
He spent a decade as a CYO basketball coach where he taught and mentored many of my friends and me too.
Dad set many examples of service and work ethic over the 55 years we had together. Lots of lessons and love. But as with many fathers and sons, there was tension too. We could have some real tough arguments that strained our relationship.
But we had a moment five months ago that Dad really surprised me with – it had a profound impact on me and I want to share it with you.
During a visit with my parents in March for my Mom’s 80th birthday, I’d come back from a run and found my Dad sitting outside the garage. I sat down and he wanted to chat. I won’t get into specifics but suffice it to say that words of apology, forgiveness, and love conquered years of complex stuff in a simple way.
My father found grace and he gave it to me.
Finding grace is not something I ever write about in these pages and some may see it as religious in nature. I know my father did. A daily churchgoer, he prayed for nearly everyone he met. If there is a record for Hail Marys somewhere, he’s near or at the top. He’d pray for you and be grateful for you reading his son’s magazine.
But this is my prayer for you – or my wish, for those of you who are not religious: That you find the grace my father found and gave to me and in turn you give it to someone in your life.
Apologize without expecting forgiveness. Forgive without expecting acceptance. Forgiving someone is one of the most freeing things you can do … for yourself.
Honor my father or someone else who gave you grace in the next weeks or months by reaching out to someone you care about – maybe you talk to them every day or maybe you haven’t spoken to them in years. Tell them you care, tell them you love them.
Trust me – you can never say it enough.
