Lessons of Our Father (2024)

My dad passed away in May 2020. As I stumble through this life, his lessons reveal themselves unexpectedly.  

Amid what promises to be another contentious and vicious presidential election, I am reminded of my father’s love for his country. As a young man, he graduated from Frederick High School with nothing more than the promise of the draft before him. Desiring some choice over his manifested destiny, he joined the United States Navy. If he had to go to war, he wanted to see some of the world along the way.  

While fighting a war abroad, his country found itself at an inflection point. Decades of racial, economic, gender, and class-based unrest were morphing into societal upheaval. Add assassinations and an unpopular war to the mix, and the country must have felt like a powder keg ready to explode at any moment.  

Returning to American shores, my father was spit on and called a baby killer. As I grew older, my father would tell me stories about the impossible choices he was forced to make in Vietnam. Stories about killing citizens with bombs hidden underneath their clothes, and a harrowing tale of how he survived captivity, both dazzled and frightened me. Those choices haunted him. The lack of understanding and acceptance by his fellow citizens only compounded the nightmares.  

My dad never definitively stated his opinion about Vietnam and the war we waged there. As a younger man, he was more progressive, experienced enough bloodshed, and saw enough friends die. I assumed he leaned toward feelings of the war being a waste of our nation’s treasure. As he grew older, my dad grew more conservative. I watched him rethink and process those original stances.  

Despite the dissonance, my father demanded we stand and salute the flag during the National Anthem. Talking or goofing around during this display of patriotism would make him furious. Reflecting on those moments, I assume my father reconciled his past and decided that despite the faults of his nation, he would love it with all his might. He was determined to instill patriotism into his boys.  

Now, my father is gone, and I struggle to love my country. I have written these words before, but I think they are worth repeating here. Beyond some words etched into our constitution, there is no evidence that we are the best country in the world.  

We lead the world in the following categories: highest incarceration rate, the world’s largest prison population, highest percentage of obese people in the world, highest divorce rate, highest rate of illegal drug use, highest rate of car thefts, highest rate of reported rapes, highest rate of reported murders, the world’s largest police force, most money spent on healthcare as it relates to our gross domestic product, more student loan debt, largest national debt, the world’s most complicated tax system, and a government that spends seven times more on our military than any other country in the world.  

I look at the data and I don’t see a great country. I look at our divisions, our leaders, and see no solutions, saviors, or grand reckonings on the horizon. I look in the mirror and wonder, how much more of this can I take. Then, before succumbing to dread, I am reminded of the lessons of my father. I think of my version of patriotism.  

My patriotism manifests itself in the work I do. Every day, my patriotism reveals itself in a pursuit to undo decades of housing injustice. My patriotism can be found in my volunteer work. It makes itself known in my attempts to build community. It can be witnessed with every petition, protest, or exercise of my basic liberties. My patriotism is about rising above cynicism and selfishness.  

Nothing I am doing will ward off the fall of this empire, but it will be known for eternity that I did my best to stave off the inevitable. That’s how I honor my father’s legacy, and that’s how I honor my version of patriotism.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan  

A Hospital Bed in Oklahoma City

On the eve of a great adventure.  

On the eve of our final Christmas together.  

On the eve of being released...  

He was near the end.  

A violent fight was drawing to a close.  

I folded the map in half and headed east.  

Plane, landing gears, touchdown, ICU.  

He looked at peace; a man tired of the war.  

There was a glimmer of hope.  

Critical is what they called the next few hours.  

I steadied myself. I attempted to do the same for my family.  

A holiday defined by a week-long hospital stay.  

Each day saw small wins.  

Hope hung thick in the air.  

He survived this round, but the damage was done.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan  

Poems for My Family: Dad

Two unique lives sharing a space in time.  

Countless milestones and victories celebrated together.  

My first steps on this planet.   

You begin a brand-new job and an opportunity to provide for your family.  

My first words were spoken with hurried excitement.  

You welcome two more sons into our home.  

My adoption of you as my dad.  

You adopt me as your son.  

My first day of college and all that means.  

You are a retired man.  

Two unique lives sharing a space in time.  

Countless milestones and heartbreaks lived through together.  

My first heartbreak.  

You share wisdom gained from personal experience.  

My confrontation with the trials of adulthood.  

You are bravely battling cancer.  

My guilt as we buried my brother.  

You face guilt as you buried a son.  

My sense of sadness and loss as we said a last goodbye to you.  

You say goodbye to this world.  

Two unique lives sharing a space in time.  

Countless milestones, victories, and heartbreaks for me to live through.  

My simple wish is you could be here to share a few more.  

My dream of chasing meaningful work.  

My marriage to the partner of my dreams  

My journeys around the globe.  

My final chapter.  

A single unique life holding a space in time.  

Countless milestones, victories, and heartbreaks for me to live through.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan  

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Lessons of Our Fathers (2021)

I fundamentally believe in the power of community. Working in the nonprofit field, I bear witness to it every day. Instead of publishing an annual letter to my dad, who I miss dearly, I want to rally my community to collect stories focused on lessons shared by our fathers.  

These lessons can come in the form of a story, a quote you cannot shake, or something you witnessed. Ultimately, I am searching for powerful and positive examples of fatherhood. I also know not everyone grew up with a father figure in the home. If a stepdad, uncle, teacher, or mentor filled the role for you, please do not exclude yourself from this project. I want to hear from you.  

To add your story to this post, please email natetheworld@gmail.com. Include “Lessons of Our Fathers” in the subject line.  If you want to include a picture, please do so!

My Real Dad by Nathan H. Box  

For me, fatherhood can be measured by presence. It is working extra hours to buy your son a brand new bike. It coaching your son’s little league team. It is constructing a playhouse and pouring concrete for a basketball goal. It is hours spent watching plays and driving across the state to watch your son compete in competitive speech. It is long talks around the kitchen table about war, California, and obligations. It is the pride you feel watching your son walk across a graduation stage. It is accepting your son without reservations and investing in his life. Fatherhood is about being present and actively engaged. Eldon Box is the only father I have ever known. He didn’t bring me into this world, but he left me in it a better and more complete man.  

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My Dad and Vietnam

My father died proud of his service during the Vietnam War. Whether he felt the war was justified is still shaky ground. Nevertheless, he was a proud Navy man, proud of the friends he made, proud of the places he visited abroad, proud of the doors opened because of his service, proud of most of the experiences collected.  

He understood the protests but died angry at those who protested the war by turning their anger and outrage toward those fighting. When my younger brother returned from the war in Iraq, I sensed some jealousy and a bit of relief that America had learned to protest a war without anger being directed at those who serve. For his part, patriotism would have never allowed my father to burn his draft card. He was a poor kid from Manitou, Oklahoma. He was not headed to college. So, he chose to enlist. If he had to go, he wanted to see the world and he knew the Navy would provide that opportunity.  

From Hawaii to Australia, to Singapore, to Japan, to Laos, and many more destinations, this kid from a rural community was able to see the world. Those experiences sustained him. He talked about them often and with deep appreciation. When the travel bug started biting me, he would often encourage me to head for Singapore and the Singapore Hilton. Once there, I had to have a Singapore Sling. That experience is still on my bucket list.  

My dad famously wore a Vietnam War belt buckle. This is how I learned of his service. Naturally, my questions began. My father was always patient and protective. As a young kid, he would talk about patrols, friends, his love of Japan, trying to keep his mother from worrying, and the music of the era. As I grew older, he began to reveal much more.  

I would learn of the time he was on guard duty in a tower. They were instructed to keep people away from their camp for fear of bombings. While in the tower, a small Vietnamese child began running toward the front gate. My dad yelled at the kid in Vietnamese and English, “To Stop!” “Back Up.” The child kept running. My dad fired warning shots, but the child insisted. Eldon was forced to shoot the kid and he exploded. Someone had forced the child to wear an explosive device and run toward the camp.  

I also learned of the night my father and his platoon were captured by the North Vietnamese. They were taken into custody, tortured, and fed meals covered in excrement and ejaculate. Knowing his food was being tampered with, my dad and the other sailors ate rats running through their cells (one of the reasons he could not stand to watch anything with rodents in it).  

Fed up and seemingly out of options, my father asked the guard on duty to come to his cell door one night. When the guard arrived, my father pulled him violently close, and they stole his keys. Freeing the others, they escaped. In the chaos, my dad’s best friend was shot and killed.  

Both events traumatized my father deeply. His nightmares lasted well into the ’80s and were often violent. When I look back on these stories, I am shocked and saddened, but there were also laughs to be found in his stories of war like the night he discharged his weapon in a barrack because his fellow sailors were being lazy and did not want to go on patrol. He was promptly demoted for that episode.  

Listening to those stories and reflecting upon them now, I cannot imagine being 18 or 19-years-old in the same ordeal. I do not know if I possess or will ever possess that sort of strength.  

When I was a senior in high school, my dad came and spoke to my American history class about his experience. It was the first time he told many of the stories I have shared here today and many of the stories shared around our kitchen table. If I am honest, I have never been prouder of my father than I was in that moment. He inspired me that day. We became closer friends after that experience.  

Eldon, my father, and my friend is gone now. He fell victim to a cancer directly linked to Agent Orange exposure; a chemical used in the Vietnam War to clear thick foliage. His battle with cancer lasted 10 long years. In all that time, he never blamed or cursed his country. He praised his care and the Veterans Administration. He was patriotic until the very end. As his son, this patriotism inspires me still.  

I have many thoughts about war. It is the devolution of man and only begins when compromise ends, and we should always pursue peace more than anything else. Still, my father, the man who made us stand perfectly still during the National Anthem and would not let me come home on my 18th birthday until I registered for Selective Service, makes me want to be a better patriot.  

Be good to each other,  

Nathan  

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War, Part II

Wise men believe in time.

They worship its healing abilities.

With each passing day,

The pain loses its strength.

Flashbacks end, eventually.

Nightmares quiet themselves.

They are replaced with the wishes of civilians.

Soon, you begin to realize there is more to life.

Death dates get rescheduled.

Pushed into the future, with the same hands that reclaimed a sense of freedom.

A new day.

A new beginning.

Life begins anew. 

Be good to each other,

Nathan

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War, Part I

War comes in many forms.

Rarely is the same form visited twice.

Cancer is war.

It is an enemy that attacks all fronts.

Burying a son is war.

A tragedy greater than any experienced on distant shores.

Finding the strength to fight on is hell.

Something unexpected and required of the living.

Pushing forward is your life.

You do it better than most.

Your life should not be defined by war.

No. It should be defined by your ability to overcome.

Be good to each other,

Nathan 

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Eldon, Part IV

Home, sweet home.

Feet firmly planted on American soil.

This may have been your bravest step of all.

With each move on California soil,

Spit is flung from the mouths of cowards.

You can support the troops without supporting the war.

This idea is generations away.

Moving through the crowd dressed in all white,

You stood tall like a giant.

Obscenities rained down on your home soil.

You were taught to be better.

You plowed ahead as if moving through the fields of your youth.

Many versions of war await you.

For now, you’re happy to be home.

Deliverance comes in many forms.

Be good to each other,

Nathan 

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Lessons of Our Father

On a daily basis, almost without fail, I write. In a world filled with noise and endless distraction, I find refuge in a blank, white computer screen and the flickering thought of what might come next. It is my way of processing the world and what I experience. Most of the time, this means thinking deeply about the entertainment I digest, the books I read, places I travel, and the food I eat. At other times, this can mean sharing lessons learned from moments both big and small. What I write has always been part journal and part musings from a partially examined life. I have always chosen to share my thoughts in the hopes of starting a dialogue.

With this understanding, this piece is for my dad. Losing your father is a monumental experience. It deserves attention. It deserves examination. In my mind, as a writer, I think it deserves to be shared. To experience such an event is natural. It is meant to be the order of things. If things progress naturally, it will happen to all of us.

If we are honest with ourselves, we understand our names will not ring for eternity. If we are lucky, our names will last a few generations. With each passing iteration of family and friends, the light containing our name will flicker until it is no more. One day, who said or did what will be lost to time. This does not mean our time on this planet does not matter. On the contrary, it gives purpose to the time we do have. While we have a better chance of winning the lottery than being the next Caesar, Lincoln, or King, we should still strive for greatness, small acts which can cause ripples throughout time and space, and small gestures of selflessness that can make a world of difference.

When I examine the legacy of Eldon Box, my father, I do not see a man who will be remembered forever. Yet, I see a man whose ideals will stand the test of time. What he stood for will last longer than his name. If he were sitting here today, I can imagine him saying, “Such a truth is more than fine by me.”

Those ideals are important, and they are lessons instilled deep within me. Now, if you will indulge me, I would like to share some of his most concrete and foundational teachings.

Any man can father a child, but being a dad is much more powerful. Dads show up. They teach. They correct. They show their softer side without fear. They model behavior. They provide. They empower. They do not stand in the way of their partner. They let them shine brightly. They forgive. They learn. They adapt. They provide unconditional love. They hope to build better versions of themselves. They celebrate and they console. They share and they give. They know themselves. They are gentle. They are loving. They are supportive. They are men we should choose to emulate.

Patriotism comes in many forms. For some, it means service in the military. For others, service can come in the form of nonprofit work, volunteerism, politics, and/or advocacy. This grand American experiment demands active participation from us all. We should focus less on winning and scoring points for our side. Instead, we should be solely focused on perfecting our slice of this union for those who follow in our footsteps.

Our families should come first. We have an obligation to those most immediately standing in our circle of influence. Our families deserve selflessness and presence. They deserve the best of ourselves. They deserve to know we are not superheroes, but flawed vessels still working toward something better. They deserve a name filled with pride and power. They deserve to know power comes in many forms, but outward power focused on making the world a better place is a power worthy of our pursuit. Again, they deserve love.

Our friends deserve kindness, forgiveness, and generosity. Our friends deserve hours lost to laughter. They deserve shoulders to cry on when the world gets tough. They deserve the shirt off our backs. They deserve time and patience. They deserve us showing up when needed. They deserve to feel like family.

These are lessons taught by my father that I will never forget. These lessons are also only the tip of an exceptionally large iceberg. Underneath the water’s surface, there are countless others. Many of these lessons have yet to reveal themselves to me and will only be uncovered with the passing of time. I am confident many of them will come to me with the force of a tsunami. They will find me in the strangest places, and they will find me when I need them the most.

If this is what we aspire to in our interactions with our children, our partner, our country, and our families, then our nameless legacy will be much stronger. The world may not remember us, but our actions can contribute to a universal sense of truth.

Eldon, dad, I thank you for the lessons. I am a better man, citizen, partner, friend, and family member because of them. I and all who knew you are the personification of your legacy. I cannot promise a name etched in stone. I can only promise a continuation of the ripples you made with the examples you provided. Your name will not be remembered forever, but those things you held dear will stand the test of time.

Be good to each other,

Nathan 

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Eldon, Part II

You’re eighteen-years-old.

This role is not yours to be had.

If it were, you would challenge the direction of your country.

College isn’t beyond the summer.

Draft cards don’t burn easily.

Enlistment is the only choice; at least you get a choice.

All, because your country called so loudly.

Soon, you will be on a boat halfway around the world.

To get there, you will travel the path of least resistance.

Any attempt to object would be futile.

Sailors do as they are told.

Pain, both mental and physical, are in store for you.

But, for now, you are nervous and excited.

This torment will last you a lifetime.

It will only be known to a select few.

I am proud to be in that group.

Be good to each other,

-Nathan

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