The Colonel

After yesterday's introduction a good place to really start this blog is with the aforementioned career Army man, Frank R Foery, my father, affectionately known around the house as "The Colonel." Dad was born in Rochester, NY, in 1914, the second of four children to Olive Brauch Foery and Frank William Foery. Most of the rest of the family pretty much stayed in Rochester their whole lives; Dad left to join the Army, moving halfway across the country and then halfway around the world. He won a Bronze Star - and several other medals - for his service in Korea and elsewhere during almost 35 years in the Army.

Frank Foery was, I have come to realize, a pretty typical father in the 50s and 60s. He worked hard to support his family but left most of the child-rearing and child-handling duties to Mom. He was naturally not very demonstrative of his feelings and was dealing with his two sons before many of us had ever encountered the touchy-feely approach to family relationships. When I went to college I learned that there were dads who were much more "in touch with their feelings" -- and their son's feelings -- but that was not the Colonel.

He was a strict disciplinarian, though not to "The Great Santini" extreme. We were expected to do our chores and to behave properly; had you asked him, he probably would have agreed that children should be seen and not heard.

Still, there was plenty of love and laughter in the house and I grew up thinking we were a normal family; and we were normal -- I simply had not yet learned that normal means dysfunctional, to one extent or another. We were no more or less so than many families.

As I said, he expected us to be well behaved. Most fathers expect that from their children, but as Dad was an Army officer, this carried even more weight. The excellent documentary "Brats: Our Journey Home" addresses this issue. In military families kids grow up learning that their behavior can have a direct impact on their father's livelihood. Had Major Foery raised juvenile delinquents for sons he never would have earned the silver eagle signifying his promotion to colonel.

Dad taught me to do things right the first time. Just this morning I thought of him: I stepped out of the shower and needed to run downstairs to stir the oatmeal. I considered leaving the towel and mat on the sink, instead of hanging them in the their proper place. I could do that later. But no, that would take more time; makes more sense to do it right the first time. Thanks Dad, that's just one of thousands of things you taught me.

Frank Foery died on January 10, 1998.  By then he was much more comfortable with his feelings and he knew well how much his sons and his wife of 53 years loved and respected him. Next time I'll talk about that remarkable woman, known as "The Mother."