Curiosity--the greatest gift my father gave me

 

John Loughran "Jack" Gillen

4/22/2020--9/27/1984

Above all things, my father revered knowledge, education, learning, questioning--the life of the mind. He didn't get the complete postsecondary formal education he wanted so he did what most of his generation did: He made one.

He read voraciously, critically but non-judgmentally. He formed opinions only after he had as many facts as possible. (Well, except for the Steelers and original-formula Heinz ketchup; those were revered icons never to be questioned, scorned or disdained.) His happiest moments were at the kitchen table or the desk with a newspaper (from wherever) spread out in front of him or a new hardback book about the history of anything. When my parents took a Caribbean cruise for their 25th anniversary and Mother wanted to shop-shop-shop, Daddy went off "into town" to explore local grocery stores and newsstands in hopes of talking to "the real people who live there, not cruise-line employees with a script."

He actively sought out friends from different backgrounds, different origins, different religions, different political affiliations. He listened, he probed, he questioned, he grew. Waaayyy back in the days of lax port security in Long Beach, he talked us aboard a freighter from Taiwan, chatted up the crew, and came home with tea for my mother and a pocket full of Taiwanese coins for me.

As a parent, his greatest dream was that I'd become broad-minded, curious and intellectually fluent. His gifts to me were mostly books, microscopes, gem-hunting kits (to feed my brief romance with geology), chemistry sets and so on. When I tried to half-ass an assignment to "make your own dictionary" in second grade, he brought the hammer down HARD. He happily looked the other way when my high-school English teacher scored inexpensive tickets to Hamlet at the Mark Taper Forum and gave us credit for "attending class" if we brought her the Playbill (attendance office be damned). When my mother and I locked horns over my choice of college, he solved the conflict with a soft, confident "I'll handle your mother."

When I started to grow wings and move around on my own, he encouraged me to get out there, to see and hear and smell and taste everything I could. He was the driving force behind my first "study trip" to Europe at age 14. (Okay, we didn't do much formal studying, but I sure came home smarter and better.) Just before my first trip to New York, he suggested I not eat at routine, banal restaurants every day but to grab survival food from bodegas or vending machines and save my restaurant money for Tavern on the Green or "something you can't get at home." (Best travel advice I ever got!)When I came home from Presidential Classroom For Young Americans, he had to know EVERY DETAIL about every lecture, every visit to Capitol Hill, every discussion with every media representative (ABC's Ann Compton left the greatest mark on me). When I had the opportunity to hear General Daniel James speak at NORAD, Daddy expected me to brief him later.

I acknowledge that his life wasn't easy, he was far from perfect, and our relationship lacked certain essential elements. But I'm over it and this is not the time or place to rehash old wounds. In the final analysis, he was a good man and a wonderful father, and I will always cherish his greatest legacy--the notion that we live in a beautiful, complicated, rich, confusing, layered, colorful, textured world and the best-lived life is one that GRABS as much of that world as possible.

I remember him fondly on his birthday and I know he is at peace with God.

Daddy, I'll keep reading until we meet again. So much love from your little sunshine.