Help yourself

Case,

You can count on your family, and you can count on yourself, and you can count on one hand how often you can count on anyone or anything else.

We all need help on occasion to keep our lives moving forward, but do your best to live your life in such a way that you'll value and appreciate that help. Don't take it for granted. And never get used to it.

Work hard, be responsible and don't expect to simply be given everything you want.

Love,
Dad

Wise old man

Case,

You're gonna have to fight,
but draw, lose or win,
like a wise man once told me:
You must never give in

Love,
Dad

RIP, (Grandpa)

Case,

Today is bittersweet. It's my first Father's Day as a father. I am so happy and proud that I am your dad and you are my son. But I'm also sad. It's my first Father's Day without my dad, your Grandpa Pallister. I may be starting to sound redundant, but it cannot be said enough: Grandpa was a great man. He died exactly a week ago, and today, more than ever before, when I look at you I am reminded how much you mean to me and how much I miss my dad (I used to wonder how you could "smile-cry." Now I know.) Grandpa was laid to rest four days ago. You were there, eating cheese puffs and being "Magooish" as always. You won't remember the day, but I will never forget to remind you about the unique life of William Mark Pallister Sr. With Grandpa in mind, I will spend the rest of my days doing my best to raise you with the values he instilled in me, just as I did my best to eulogize him:


Bear with me here. On the long and distinguished list of things I obsessively worry about (slash) fear, public speaking is right near the top. But among the many lessons to be learned from the life of William Mark Pallister Sr., none is more fundamentally important than this: Life is about sucking it up and getting it done. Dad was a man of many things, but never excuses. So in his honor, here I go.

I'm sure I'm not alone in that my days have been filled with thoughts of Dad for a couple of months now. On my drives to and from work (OK, that one doesn't apply to Bill). Lying in bed late at night unable to fall sleep (OK, that one doesn't apply to Kenny). Lying in bed late in the morning waiting to get up (OK, that one doesn't apply to Mark). Watching a random baseball game (OK, that one doesn't apply to Jack). Or just generally relaxing on a day off (OK, that one doesn't apply to Patti).

Anyway, the point is, for those closest to him, we were fully cognizant of the man's presence and fully aware of the power of his influence on everyday life as his was nearing its end. The thing is, that cognizance, that awareness wasn't THAT different. Again, I don't think I'm alone in saying that I've spent decades (not nearly as many as my much older siblings, but decades nonetheless) being constantly reminded as I make my way through life just how much Dad has shaped the person I've become. I'm not just proud to be my father's son, I'm thankful. Every day.

Speaking for myself now, despite plenty of mistakes and all the holes I've dug, I somehow managed to keep moving forward. I've had two people in the last five years ask me how I've been able to get so many different newspaper jobs without having a degree (I have it now a mere 22 years after I started my course work. Dad may have raised a procrastinator, but not a quitter.) Well, I'll tell you why I got all those jobs. Because a man who took on life at every turn and never backed down long ago taught me the value of hard work and sacrifice (we'll credit Ma with my occasionally cited intelligence). Those values have time and again overcome my impetuousness, stubbornness and plain old stupidity.

One more time I will attempt to speak for others, although I think the following statement will be met with general agreement: We are a family of survivors for a couple of reasons, not the least of which is that no matter how many detours we decide to take, we always return to following the path of a great man.

How great? Well, as I was trying to come up with the perfect anecdote to put Dad's life into context (and there is no shortage), I realized he was the same age when I was born as I am now. As a 40-year-old, I can, if I so choose in those rare moments when I'm not wondering about utility bills and cheeseburgers (sound familiar?) boast of becoming a husband and father in the last 17 months. But Dad in January 1972? He was 22 years into being a husband and 21 years into being a father. Think about that. They really DON'T make 'em like that anymore. That's an amazing legacy for any man, and I haven't even mentioned that by that time, he was more than 15 years into a storied Chicago Fire Department career. He already had been promoted to lieutenant (he would later be promoted to captain) and had been part of the department's first bomb squad. The man volunteered to work with bombs, for God's sake. I don't want to brag (OK, maybe just a little), but it's no hyperbole to say my dad was a living legend before I was even alive.

Legend is often synonymous with hero, and that's certainly the case with Dad. Most people assume I'm talking about his exploits as a fireman. After all, this was a man who spent close to 30 years willingly walking through the doors of burning buildings. No question those were heroic actions. But what really made Dad a hero was walking through the front door. Day after day. Year after year. Decade after decade. On the fire department, you're not much good if you can't be counted on to be there when you're needed by those around you. Same goes for fatherhood. Dad was a great fireman; he was a better father.

As the youngest in the family, I had a much different relationship with Dad. He was forced to retire when I was 11. It wasn't easy for a man like him to adjust to a life devoid of challenge, and I didn't help at all. In fact, when I think about how much of an asshole I was back then and how my attitude made a difficult transition that much harder, I want to kick my own ass. (I have to stop for a minute and remember that Dad hated it when I swore or tried to talk tough when I was a teenager. I thought it made me sound cool. But Dad always reminded me how foolish I was. I can hear him right now, saying, "Swearing is the verbal crutch of a mental cripple.") Sorry, Dad.

Long before I realized just how great Dad was, we bonded over baseball. He never did teach me to hit, but he taught me many other things. Particularly useful was his mantra, "Stay in front of the ball." I did, even if it meant a bloody lip, a chipped tooth or a nasty bump on my head. I didn't know it then, but Dad wasn't teaching me how to catch a ground ball; he was teaching me not to back down, teaching me the secret to life.

Dad's legacy is not in any of the words I've written for this eulogy. His legacy is right there in the front row. A family of individuals who, like their father, work hard, sacrifice and take on life and its responsibilities without backing down. And as much as I miss Dad and wish I had another 40 years with him, the hardest part of him no longer being here is that he and my 10-month-old son, Case, will not get to share their lives together. It breaks my heart. But if you'll allow me to address the man of honor, I just want to say, "Dad, I promise to teach Case the invaluable lessons you taught us so that he can grow up to proudly carry on your name and your legacy. I promise he will learn all about the greatest man we will ever know."

 Love,
Dad

Followers and phonies

Case,

Still thinking about yesterday's advice (http://www.casestudy718.blogspot.com/2012/05/wisdom-of-isbell.html), I wanted to add a few more of my thoughts on being your own man. I wrote this back near the end of my single, aggressively defiant days, and while I've changed a lot since then, my thoughts on phonies have not:

The line forms to the left

Followers and phonies
get in line and read the sign
All you bullshit artists
take your place; just pick a face
The line forms to the left
for your least resistant path
Lemmings in the front,
sheep in the baaaack

When you get up in the morning, 
how does your persona work?
Do you switch it on and off?
Do you pick it like a shirt?
When you look into the mirror,
and you pause for great effect, 
who is it you're hoping,
you're hoping to reflect?

Life is so much simpler
when you're copying off others
It's hard to be original,
not so hard to play a cover
Let others lay the groundwork
as you gripe and bitch and moan
Then co-opt a good idea
and parade it as your own

Followers and phonies
get in line and read the sign
All you bullshit artists
take your place; just pick a face
The line forms to the left
for your least resistant path
Lemmings in the front,
sheep in the baaaack

I'm a narcissistic loather
Most would say I'm pretty fucked
But for all my faults I'm real
I'm not making myself up
Not a one of us is perfect
in our houses made of glass
But I'll take the ones who throw stones 
over those who would kiss ass

Followers and phonies,
the line forms to the left
Lemmings in the front,
sheep in the baaaack


Love,
Dad

The wisdom of Isbell

Case,

I went to a Jason Isbell matinee concert the other day while you accompanied your mom to the grocery store. I can tell you as I type this that Isbell is going to be on the short list of artists and bands (along with Thin Lizzy, the Drive-by Truckers -- which begat Mr. Isbell  -- Jack White, Gov't Mule, Joe Bonamassa and a couple others I'm likely overlooking or have yet to discover) that you will not be able to completely escape until you get a driver's license, as one of the cool things about being a parent is that I control the stereo. It also helps that I have the greatest musical taste of anyone in the world. Actually, while at some point you may consider the music I listen to "for old people" and mock me in solitude while trying to look cool in front of a mirror as you sing along to a song in an strangely memorable moment that will embarrass you any time you think about it for the rest of your life (No, I'm not speaking from experience, why do you ask? But if you find yourself in such a situation, it's best to lock the door.), you're a Pallister, which means as long as you have ears, you'll likely gravitate toward the good stuff in due time. Even the best aficionados have their regrettable moments, such as the Scritti Politti phase of 1984 and that ill-advised purchase of a Dead-Eye Dick cassette in the early '90s (I probably shouldn't have typed that).

Regardless of your personal journey toward musical enlightenment, I have a feeling, given my obsession with words and their many uses (a gift I cannot thank your Grandma Pallister for enough), that you will be similarly interested in lyrics. Isbell is a great lyricist -- a down-to-Earth musician whose intelligence and blue-collar philosophy make him a master songwriter. This is never more apparent than in his signature song, "Outfit," which he played a great acoustic version of at the aforementioned concert.

I gravitated toward the song, which is about a father's advice to his son, years ago. But now when I hear it, I think not only of my father, your Grandpa Pallister, but you, too. Much of the wisdom in "Outfit" is exactly the type of stuff your Grandpa stood for and made sure I understood at an early age: Don't call what you're wearin' an outfit/Don't ever say your car is broke/Don't sing with a fake British accent/Don't act like your family's a joke.

The song only lasts justs over four minutes, but it's worth a thousand years of wisdom, most notably the idea that you must be true to yourself. There are no great epiphanies in life, just a series of lessons that you must do your best to divine and learn from. And the greatest lesson in "Outfit" comes from the following verse: So don't let 'em take who you are, boy/and don't try to be who you ain't.

To put those 17 words in greater context: Be your own man, forge your own identity and never, ever be a phony. It's much easier in life to follow than to lead, and, if you ask me, it's often easier to lead than to walk your own path. That doesn't necessarily entail being a loner, but sometimes you have to believe in yourself when the world around you does not. The world is not set up for people who aren't afraid to be themselves. On a related note, don't purposely try to be different. Nothing is more common than "individuals" acting unique. Being your own man is not easy. It comes with many pitfalls. But when you arrive at the point of confidence which I mentioned a couple posts back ('Be proud') it'll be one of the more satisfying moments of your life.

Always remember, son, there is only one Case Austin Pallister, so don't let 'em take who you are, boy, and don't try to be who you ain't.

Love,
Dad

I report, you decide

Case,

This past Friday, your mom and I went to our first sporting event since your arrival. It was the Nationals vs. the Orioles.

In the course of our night out, I somehow managed, despite them literally being attached to me, to lose my keys on the Metro ride to the ballpark. And, on the way back, I was denied my wish that the drunken group of twentysomethings sitting behind us would either spontaneously combust or be struck as mute as they were dumb. All things considered, though, it was a good time. And it got me thinking about where your sports allegiances will lie.

Perhaps, you won't be a sports fan and will gravitate to other interests. OK, who are we kidding. You have two parents who are rabid sports fans. I'm not sure how much choice you'll have in the matter. Anyway, you can certainly choose whom you want to root for.

You'll know long before you are able to read this that I LOVE the Bears and I have a lesser, but still significant fondness for the White Sox. You'll also probably have to hear your mom talk all about the Broncos. Now you can root for the Broncos if you wish. I won't pressure you into screaming at the same 22 or so people for three hours each Sunday as I do. Of course, while it's never been proven that John Elway kills puppies, he's never denied it. So keep that in mind.

OK, back to baseball. Your mom doesn't have much of an attachment to any team, although she enjoys rooting for the Nats, especially Stephen Strasburg and Bryce Harper (let's hope, for the sake of the game, that when you read that sentence, you'll think, "Cool, those guys are awesome!"). If we stick around our current neck of the woods for a while, you'll be exposed to lots of Nats and almost as much Orioles, who play right up the road. Maybe you'll adopt one of them as your favorite team. Maybe you'll follow your dad and root for the only Chicago baseball team that has won a World Series since automobiles became popular (I'm not going out on much of a limb to assume that will still be true when you find this page).

Or, you may become a Cubs fan. There is precedent. Many, many Pallisters root mindlessly for them. Of course, the smart ones among us -- myself and your uncles Mark and Kenny -- know better. But, again, no pressure. If you decide to root for a bunch of losers who are partially to blame for global warming and completely responsible for the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa (Google it!), I'll still love you. I'll mock you and taunt you from time to time, but I'll still love you. :)

In all seriousness, I hope you do root for a bunch of different teams, just so I can be exposed to the love of the game through your eyes. I can't think of many things that would be cooler for this lifelong sports fan. Aside from proof that John Elway doesn't kill puppies. Your mom doesn't need to live with that uncertainty.

Love,
Dad

I wonder

 Case,

I wonder what you'll be someday
and what's the first word that you'll say
I wonder when you'll start to walk
and how we'll laugh in times we talk

I wonder where you'll gravitate
and what fun things will fill your plate
Those things you'll find that you will need
on which a hungry head can feed

I wonder if you'll play with words
or mimic many songs you've heard
I wonder if you'll lose yourself
in books that are your mother's wealth

I wonder how you'll speak your mind
with passion for the cause you find
I wonder when you'll take the stand
that starts the path from boy to man

I wonder of the days unknown
and memories to come
The reasons I'm alive today
I count 'em one by one
Forty years have brought me here
my work has just begun

I wonder as I sit inside the room in which you sleep
I wonder of the dreams you'll have and promises to keep
I wonder as I stare outside beyond our white front door
If I do my job, son, that world outside is yours

Love,
Dad