BAW

Baw

“And though your dreams may toss and turn you now.  They will vanish away like your daddy’s best jeans, denim blue, fading up to the sky.  And though you want them to last forever you know we never will, you know we never will.  And the patches make the goodbye harder still.”

Cat Stevens

Two days ago marked the fifth anniversary of my father’s passing.  As with most dates which are marked in our consciousness, I found myself reflecting on my father and the effect he had (and continues to have) on my life.  My father’s uniqueness was evidenced by the name my brothers and I called him by: Baw.  Apparently, at two years of age I was unable to pronounce Pa, and so he was forever known as Baw.  My friends, girlfriends, my wife and even my son all took to calling him Baw.  The name fit precisely because it was one of a kind, just like my father.  What made him singular was his ability to teach me and my brothers without effort or lecture.  He led by example and challenged us with well placed questions.  Oftentimes, these lessons were lost on me.  Although I grew to appreciate them once I became a father.  Perhaps Baw did not expect me to grasp the intricacies immediately.  Maybe they were meant to be comprehended at a point in the future. 

Baw was a New York City cop.  This was back in a time when cops wore big blue overcoats adorned with a double breasted set of brass buttons.  Baw was a big man, measuring over six feet with broad shoulders.  The uniform accentuated his large frame.  He was formidable but I always knew him to be compassionate.  His stories from the street were filled with promise, sadness, despair and joy; sometimes all these elements were included in the same story.  Regardless of the outcome, Baw’s stories always offered a beam of hope.  I learned at an early age that the human condition is made of resiliency and determination. His stories taught me that living outside the law was not a crime.  Dishonesty was the crime.  “This above all, to thine own self be true.”  My father did not suffer fraudulent personalities. His world was not reduced to right or wrong, black or white; his perception was much too intricate.  He witnessed life’s complexities everyday as he walked his beat.  These intimate peeks into the lives of strangers provided him with an insight into the fragility inherent in our hopes and dreams.

Once retired, my father returned to the neighborhood where he once walked his beat as a young cop.  My parents moved back to the city and took residence in the East Village.  Walking the same streets that he had once patrolled, he would point out locations and buildings where he saved a life or delivered a baby or provided counsel.  In his pocket he carried a roll of dollar bills which he would give to homeless men and women.  Along with the money, Baw was sure to shake a hand and offer a kind word of encouragement.  “These people are human beings, Joseph.  And human beings need human contact.”  As a middle aged man I looked at my aging father with the same pride I felt as that ten year old boy, watching his father walk down the street decked out in his big blue double breasted police uniform.  He continued to lead by example.  He continued to make a difference.

Five years after his death, he continues to make a difference.