{"product_id":"wisdom-of-our-fathers-isbn-9780812975437","title":"Wisdom of Our Fathers","description":"What does it\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003ereally mean to be a good father? What did your father tell you, that has stayed with you throughout your life? Was there a lesson from him, a story, or a moment that helped to make you who you are? Is there a special memory that makes you smile when you least expect it?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter the publication of Tim Russert’s number one \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestseller about his father,\u003ci\u003e Big Russ \u0026amp; Me\u003c\/i\u003e, he received an avalanche of letters from daughters and sons who wanted to tell him about their\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eown fathers, most of whom were not superdads or heroes but ordinary men who were remembered and cherished for some of their best moments–of advice, tenderness, strength, honor, discipline, and occasional eccentricity.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMost of these daughters and sons were eager to express the gratitude they had carried with them through the years. Others wanted to share lessons and memories and, most important, pass them down to their own children. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis book is for\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eall fathers, young or old, who can learn from the men in these pages how to get it right, and to understand that sometimes it is the\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003elittle gestures that can make\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003ethe big difference for your child. For some in this book, the appreciation came later than they would have liked. But as\u003ci\u003e Wisdom of Our Fathers\u003c\/i\u003e reminds us, it is\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003enever too late to embrace it. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom the father who coached his daughter in sports (and life), attending every meet, game, performance, and tournament, to the daughter who, after a fifteen-year estrangement, learned to make peace with her difficult father just before he died, to the son who came, at last, to appreciate the silent way his father could show affection, \u003ci\u003eWisdom of Our Fathers\u003c\/i\u003e shares rewarding lessons, immeasurable gifts, and lasting values.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHeartfelt, humorous, engaging, irresistibly readable,\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eand bound to bring back memories of unforgettable moments with our own fathers, Tim Russert’s new book is not only a fitting companion to his own marvelous memoir, but also a celebration of the positive qualities passed down from generation to generation.Tim Russert is the moderator and managing editor of Meet the Press, and the Washington bureau chief of NBC News. He is married to Maureen Orth, and they have one son, Luke.Small\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Moments\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"In the years when my parents were broke, Dad would give Mom a daisy   for each year they were married.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    -Donna Pizzolongo, daughter of George E. Raboni Sr.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Small moments? It's often those little gestures-a knowing look, a pat   on the back, an unexpected kindness-that make a big impression and   shape our favorite memories. When I came home from college to visit, by   the time I woke up in the morning Big Russ had already cleaned my car   inside and out (windows too) and filled up the gas tank. I once   realized too late that I had left behind evidence of a spirited evening   the night before, but Dad was nice enough not to mention it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Dad's small moments weren't limited to me. When one of my sisters had a   hard time, especially after breaking up with a boyfriend, Mom would   console her, of course, but Dad would be there too, trying to change   the subject-often with some good humor. He didn't always know how to   comfort his daughters, but he always tried, and they appreciated his   efforts.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    As a new father, I looked forward to providing some small moments for   my son, and I hope there have been many. I have also been on the   receiving end of quite a few, and they started very early. When Luke   was two, I went to China with the Today Show. My wife, Maureen, flew   over to join me for the final week, leaving Luke with her mother and   sister in San Francisco. It was difficult for us to be away from him   for so long, and on the flight home I actually found myself wondering   if our little boy would remember us. When the plane landed in   California, we went through customs, picked up our luggage, and looked   up to the glass-enclosed balcony where family and friends were waiting   to greet the passengers. And there, next to his grandmother, was our   little Luke, jumping up and down with excitement. My heart pounded. It   was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Flash forward about sixteen years. When Luke was graduating from high   school, his class asked me to give the commencement address. It was a   great honor, but this was the most difficult speech of my life: I had   to say something meaningful and inspiring without in any way   embarrassing my son. I spoke from the heart and gave the class a kind   of blessing: \"May you always love your own children as much as your   parents love you, as much as Maureen and I love our Luke.\" I must have   passed the test, because when I finished speaking, the class rose to   its feet in appreciation-led by Luke.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Then, one by one, the students came up to receive their diplomas. When   it was Luke's turn, the headmaster motioned for me to take over for a   moment. Neither Luke nor I had been prepared for this possibility, and   again I wondered how he would react. To my delight, when I gave him the   diploma, I received a rib-crushing bear hug from my six-foot-two baby   boy. I actually had to say, \"Luke, enough. Put me down!\" His classmates   laughed. It was funny, but there was more in that embrace than humor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The graduating seniors received their yearbooks that day, and each   student had been given a full page to reflect on his high school   career. That night, when I got into bed, I began flipping through   Luke's copy. His page began with expressions of gratitude. \"Dad,\" said   the first one, \"you're the driving force behind it all, and my best   friend in the world. Thanks for always having my back. I love you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Now if you had asked me to identify a specific moment when I had Luke's   back, I couldn't point to one. He was reminding me that tender moments   are the ultimate wisdom-whether it's the mutual love and respect that   two parents share, a supportive word, or one of the many little   comments and gestures of daily life that are more powerful than any   lecture. Small moments accumulate and last a lifetime and, what's more,   they get carried on into the next generation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I lay back, smiled, and closed my misty eyes. The pillow had never   seemed so soft.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    THE SOLDIER\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    A father who wipes away twenty years with a single hug.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    One thing I'll never forget about my father-a hard-as-nails tough-love   man who fought in two world wars and a war in Africa during the   twenties-was the single tear running down his cheek the day he dropped   me off at Fort Dix on my way to Vietnam, and the one hug that made up   for twenty-two years of no hugging. Only he could understand what the   coming year had in store for me. He couldn't even share his sorrow with   my mother. Because of her weak heart, we told her I was going to a   missile base in Guam. It seemed as if all the years of absence from   each other's lives came together at that moment in New Jersey. We   finally shared a bond no one else in my family could ever understand,   father to son, man to man, soldier to soldier.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    -Joseph E. Colussi, Spring Grove, PA, retired telephone tech, son of   Peter C. Colussi, mosaic artist (1900-1975)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    THE TOUCH\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    It was a routine gesture during an ordinary car ride, but she still   remembers it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    As a young child, I sometimes stuttered. Once, when I was six and our   family was traveling in the car, I was trying to tell my parents   something and couldn't get the words out. Stuttering confused me, which   caused me to stutter even more. Although this didn't happen very often,   it was painful for my parents to witness. That day, while my dad was   driving, he calmly reached into the backseat and pulled me closer to   him. Then he put his arm around my shoulders and patted my right arm. I   remember feeling a sense of immediate calm that allowed me to get the   words out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    -Kerry A. Bostwick, Mount Vernon, IA, associate professor, daughter of   Robert R. Bostwick, superintendent of schools (1927)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    THE SAME ROOM\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Father Theodore Hesburgh, longtime president of the University of Notre   Dame, said it best: \"The most important thing a father can do for his   children is to love their mother.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I was visiting my parents a few years after my mother's health started   failing, when my dad had completely taken over her care and the house.   I was up early and heard them talking. I didn't want to disturb the   moment, and I tried not to listen, but I overheard my mother tell Dad   that she was sorry she was such a poor companion these days. She wanted   to be traveling and doing things together, as they had often discussed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    There was silence, and then Dad said, in a choked voice, \"Don't you   know I just want to be in the same room with you?\" I was struck by the   simplicity and love in that remark, as my mother was a complex and   brilliant woman given to philosophy. I loved my parents for the example   of their relationship.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    My mother died several years ago. Dad is still alive, but he is   suffering from some dementia. He lives with me now, and I have come to   understand the simplicity and importance of being in the same room with   him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    -Katherine M. Newbold, Peru, IL, FBI (retired), daughter of John M.   Newbold, FBI, state police (1920)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    THE LOCK\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    There is nothing like something that's just between you and your dad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    My father was a talented man who liked to build things in his fully   equipped workshop in our basement. My little brother liked to follow   him downstairs to watch and \"help\" as Dad made such things as   chandeliers from old wagon wheels, a rotisserie for our fireplace, and   an unusual light fixture out of the copper bulbs that float in the tank   of a toilet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    When Jim was seven, he began going to Dad's workshop on his own, where   he would remove Dad's tools from their rightful place, use them, and   not replace them. After telling him many times about the importance of   putting things back, Dad decided to build a small tool chest with a   lock, where he would keep his best tools so my brother couldn't get at   them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    As Dad worked on the tool chest, my brother watched him and helped   enthusiastically. As Dad was installing the lock, Jim asked, \"What's   that?\" Dad said it was a lock, and that in order to get tools from the   chest, you had to open it with a key. Jim got a strange look on his   face. He looked up at his father and asked, \"Who will have the key,   Dad?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Dad paused a moment, reflected on the look on his son's face, and said,   \"There will be just two keys, Jim. One for you and one for me.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    -Merabeth Lurie, Hubbard, OH, retired teacher, daughter of Jerold S.   Meyer, retail executive (1903-1997)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    THE ANNOUNCEMENT\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    It was a tough thing to hear, and an even tougher thing to say, but   within a day they were right back on track.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Coming out to my dad was one of the most difficult experiences of my   life, as it is for most young gay men. After all, our dads represent   all things masculine, strong, and \"normal\"-words not commonly   associated with the gay community.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    My announcement was not exactly a textbook example of how it should be   done. Note to closeted gays: Don't tell your dad during the ten o'clock   news, right before he's going to bed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Despite my poor timing, my dad responded as many dads do. He cried all   night. The next morning, he watched me pass in the living room, my head   and shoulders slung low and my eyes focused on the floor beneath me. I   was feeling the utter shame of the grave disappointment I had caused   him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    By the fourth time our paths crossed, he had seen enough. He grabbed my   shoulders, pulled them back, and said, \"Look me in the eye.\" I refused.   Again he said, \"Stephen, look me in the eye.\" This time I did. With   tears rolling down his face, he looked right at me and said, \"I love   you, Stephen. I don't care what you are. I just want my boys to be   happy.\" Then he hugged me, just like he did the day before, when I was   straight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    That's all I ever wanted and needed-to know I would still be loved.   Five years later, my relationship with my dad has never been stronger.   We still talk daily after each Cubs game. I still ask for advice with   my job. And my dad still asks if I'm dating anyone, although this time   around he wants to know if I've met any good guys lately.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Unconditional love. That's all we ever want, and I got it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    -Stephen Westman, Chicago, IL, vibe manager, son of Gary Westman, sales   (1945)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    THE GRADUATE\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Just because a dad doesn't show his emotions doesn't mean he isn't full   of feelings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    My father was the strong, silent type who wasn't effusive or openly   affectionate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I was the first one in our family to graduate from college. Two weeks   before graduation, we were having a normal family dinner when out of   the clear blue, my father broke into uncontrollable sobbing. He left   the table, followed by my mother. A few minutes later she came back   with tears in her own eyes. She explained that my father was overcome   by the emotion of my imminent graduation from college, and that if it   hadn't been for the Depression and the war, this was what he had hoped   to do at my age. Never again did I see such emotion from him, and that   included my wedding and the adoption of my only son. He passed away   more than twenty years ago, but each spring, with the arrival of   graduation season, I think back to the day when I learned how proud   strong, silent Stan was of his oldest son.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    -David S. Wrobel, Syracuse, NY, retired, son of Stanley J. Wrobel,   machinist (1918-1983)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    THE BREAKUP\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Time is not the only thing that heals. So do kind words.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    When one of my silly boyfriends and I broke up and I thought I was   heartbroken, my whole family tried to cheer me up. When everyone else   had gone off to bed, my father turned back to me and said, \"You know, I   love you so much that I'd marry you if I could.\" That was the nicest   thing anyone had ever said to me, and I was speechless. I don't think I   even said good night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    -Jean A. Astorino, Media, PA, optometrist, daughter of Ross Astorino,   equipment operator (1922-2001)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    THE SHAVE\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Who ever imagined that the memory of learning to shave with Dad could   turn a man's life around?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    A few years ago, I became the victim of a senseless, unprovoked act of   violence that left several scars on my neck. I survived, and the   assailant is in prison, but I will never really be the same. When I   shave I see one of the scars, and, until recently, to see that scar was   to trigger a visual memory of my assailant's rage-filled face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The obvious solution was to stop shaving, but that didn't work. I began   to remember the terrible event with increasing vividness, until I   finally sought help.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    My therapist's first question to me was, \"Do you have a good   relationship with your father?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I said, \"Yes. We have a great relationship.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The therapist asked if he had taught me how to shave. Before I could   answer, a memory I had forgotten for many, many years popped into my   head, and I smiled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Doctor,\" I replied, \"this is so cool. I remember standing at my dad's   side as a little boy, infatuated with the process of shaving. It got to   the point that when he shaved in the mornings I was always there,   watching him. My dad bought me a little toy razor, with a little knob   on the bottom of the handle that opened the top, just like his. The   blade was a piece of cardboard that looked like a razor blade.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"After that, I got to smear shaving cream all over my face and shave   with my dad.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    My therapist then suggested that I think of this happier memory every   time I shaved, to displace the memory of the attack.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    And, indeed, the \"new\" memory has replaced the violent one. Now, when I   shave, I feel the love my dad showed me, and I also remember what it   felt like to be innocent. My shaving memory marked the start of a long   journey best described as posttraumatic growth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Precious memories are made in an instant and last forever. I am so   thankful that my dad had the patience back then to let me \"shave.\" That   memory has strengthened an already strong relationship, and what made   me happy then is making me a happier man today. Bless you, Dad.#1 New York Times bestseller With new memories and reflections","brand":"Random House Trade Paperbacks","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305221738725,"sku":"NP9780812975437","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780812975437.jpg?v=1767744398","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/wisdom-of-our-fathers-isbn-9780812975437","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}