In The Republic, Plato asserts the best leader (in his case for a nation-state) would be a sort of philosopher-king who could rule with rectitude but compassion. Someone who derived his power through wisdom, rather than mere might. Someone who represented people in a way they could trust.
My father — Edward — was not a philosopher, but he was Greek, so I like to think a philosophy gene must have been in him somewhere. Regardless, Dad was a well-read, kind, humorous interior thinker who trusted reason more than emotion; a semi-stoic in suburban Detroit, rather than the center of Athens. He was the voice of reason in our family, a teacher and wise counsel in our faith community, a university scholar, academic leader, and mentor who in his affable, sardonic, sometimes aloof manner would often exude knowledge with incisive thoughts and prescient insights.
To spend time with Edward was to get to know him on his terms,
which were leadership, language, ethics, and baseball. Always baseball (More on that another time). But no matter the subject, there were always perspectives one could learn from, if not completely agree with, because every truth was transferable. Whether it was the grammar on a breakfast menu (pancake’s), the beauty of a grounder fielded by a second baseman, or the deft usage of language from a eulogy at the funeral for the son of a friend, every piece of Ed’s philosophy felt credible.
His imprint on me is indelible; and at times I see him in me. In my face (and bald head), in my voice, in my manner with people. At other times I see him in my impatience, my dismissiveness, or aloofness. Indeed he is always with me, and his approach to his life has had an outsized role in who I’ve become.
So, in the coming days and weeks, through poetry and prose (line and leaf), I will be sharing select elements of my father’s “philosophy” and my perspectives in an effort to honor his perspectives but more so to explore the lessons — intended and unintended — that shaped me along the way.
Stay tuned (and subscribe)!