Dads

Posted on March 18, 2025 by pbwilder

“…you see my new job’s a hassle and the kids have the Flu, but it’s sure nice talking to you, Dad, it’s sure nice talking to you…” – Harry Chapin, “Cat’s in the Cradle,” 1974

Our Dad, Bruce Arthur Wilder, passed away in his sleep, Friday Morning, March 7th.

As most of the “milestones” of human experiences go, parents leaving the earth, permanently, is likely a major one.

And it has me thinking about all sorts of things…

• The genetic lottery: how is it that me and my younger siblings ended up as the children of two caring teachers in Vermont?
• The genetic lottery: that two caring teachers were all about education, health and culture?
• The genetic lottery: that how is it that and my younger siblings ended up as the children of two caring teachers in Vermont who themselves came from an extended list of New Englanders that go back and back and back… and that we actually have been provided this information from forebears?

The one universal challenge of “knowing” where one came from, is the consideration of “measuring up” to the achievements of one’s forebears. Selfishly, I believe I have been an underachiever – financially – but possibly an overachiever in other areas, and it is these moments of reflection that poke my entire value system.

Our mother says of her children and grandchildren, “Everything will be okay, as long as all of you are KIND.” Pretty simple.

And about our Dad… he was NOT the “Dad” in the Harry Chapin song.

In fact, he was incredibly involved in us. He provided an unyielding sense of security, even through some of the most tumultuous times in the late 20th century, and early 21st. He provided and taught us various levels of electrical, plumbing, vehicle and small engine repair, carpentry and more. He loved a good joke and the worst of puns. He loved live stage drama. Old war movies. To achieve all of this, consistently, is incredibly difficult.

He also procrastinated beyond imagination. His epic excuse was always that his lack of get up and go was hereditary… that his Grandmother’s family were procrastinators, “…they possessed an infinite capacity for the consideration of a thing.”

Fortunately for we the children, our mother’s parents were deeply overachievers, which gave us all a lovely choice to find balance within two diametrically opposed poles.

Dad could visualize concepts well. In my willy-nilly professional life, I would describe everything from waveform development to extreme audio algorithmic data reduction (and how to cheat it), the way soundtracks for various visual projects would rattle around my head, and the physical advantages of “less is more” point source theory in Audio Visual Design. He also was profoundly intrigued with architectural acoustics, asking may questions as to why this and why that in my recording studio designs.

He instilled an interest in higher end audio from an early date. Rumor has it that he first located us in Hyde Park, VT, due to the “exceptionally good” FM reception from both Vermont Regional and Canadian radio stations. He built his own integrated receivers, power amps, loudspeakers, etc. He was “into it.” Later on, I played back some of his favorite Classical pieces for him in my own home studio, with Tannoy, JBL, Braun and more. He really liked my collection of Beyerdynamic headphones. When I was able to port FM “HD” into his car – and – get a radio for their apartment with FM “HD” he thought he’d been given a crown.

In point of fact, me and Dad were (and are) friends, good friends. This may seem odd from also being his oldest kid, but Dad shared a whole lot of things with me over the years, that only would be shared with a trusted friend. To this, I remain privileged – if not amazed. Along with this closeness, he introduced me to his generation, as an individual person, not just a kid. This has positively affected my entire life, as I am at ease with my elders, and have learned an incredible amount of not just knowledge, but perspective. Again, privileged – if not amazed.

For Dad, one of the saddest things in his later years was the slow ebb of hearing loss. Music was terrifically important and he participated with a notable bass and tenor range. In fact, I can remember the family traveling together in one of our series of VW Microbus rigs, all of us on a seat or on the floor, and Mom and Dad singing…hymns, show tunes, pop favorites from the 1940s and 50s…they sang with each other and to each other. It was a moment, certainly.

There has been a lot of brouhaha over what it means to be a “Dad” over the past 25 years. I hope that I treated and treat our own sons like my Dad treated us…fairly, and with wide-eyed appreciation, at least most of the time.

One can learn a great deal from those older than ourselves.

If only we care to take the time to listen.