06/16/2002
Barron M Broomfield

70 years of Fathers
As near as I can figure, I was conceived around February 14 in 1952. The nine months in the womb were uneventful. Three little girls made noise all day and night and took turns rubbing my Mommy’s belly and trying to eat her food. “Wait a minute. That’s my food too!”, I screamed. I kicked with all my strength, but they crawled over me and reached for whatever Mom was trying to put in her mouth, causing it to spill on the bed covers. The girls squealed and Mom shooed them away and called out to the Big Guy to come to get his girls. I could sense his presence before his smell and a deep voice announced his arrival. He scooped up my three sisters and effortlessly carried them out of the room. Everyone called him dada or something close to that and he was gone most of the time. Nine months later, on November 12, 1952, I met him for the first time as he held me in his huge hands and made cooing noises. I tried to open my eyes but they refused to cooperate so I just grabbed his cheeks and squeezed as hard as I could, and that is how I met my dad. I was the first male child after three straight girls but as the baby of the family, it did not mean much. We lived next door to my mom’s parents, and they would often watch me when needed. My dad was always working, either at the steel mill, where he operated a large crane, or after work, and on the weekends he and a friend worked together plastering new homes or repairing damaged ones. I remember sitting on his lap a few times and an occasional hug, but Dad was the strong silent type, and Mom was the yeller and disciplinarian. We moved to Oak Hill Ave when I was in elementary school and my parents added two more boys, but I was closer to my sisters’ ages, and they were my constant companions. They taught me all about dolls, jacks, and other girl games, but they were tomboys at heart and the four of us roamed the neighborhood from dawn to dusk during summers and holidays. In addition to us kids and mom and dad, my mother’s great Aunt Dorothy lived with us, and her younger brother, my Uncle Carl, also stayed with us for lengthy periods, in between his girlfriends and wives. He was closer in age to us, but he also served as a father figure to me. He had kids but they lived with their mothers when the parents split, and Uncle Carl would return home. As I grew older, I split time working with my dad in plastering and working with Uncle Carl at his job as the custodian at Youngstown’s Main Library and a part-time job cleaning a General Food warehouse in nearby Boardman. My dad would take with him on early morning fishing trips and there were family outings we all went on, but his special time with me was during work and waiting on the fish to bite. I know we did not have a lot of deep discussions because Dad was not into politics, or religion, and had only gone as far as sixth grade, before leaving home to find work, first in the fields, and then working in various menial labor jobs until he met his wife and started a family. He insisted that his young wife remain at home and take care of their kids and have dinner ready when he got home from work, and he worked hard to ensure that his family lacked nothing. He and my mother taught us that we were not going to receive anything from anyone unless we worked hard at school and insisted that we speak properly at home or any other place we went. They raised us to know right from wrong and expected us to choose right. Uncle Carl was a little easier on us but had the authority to punish us when needed and had perfected a flick to the naked ear that got our attention and kept us in line. He was a left-hander and excelled on the baseball diamond with a live arm. My dad was the catcher and used brute strength where he lacked game knowledge, to get the job done. The two of them were exceptionally good bowlers and I learned to throw a hook after watching them. Uncle Carl was an avid baseball and football fan at the professional level and in 1964 he introduced m nights e to the two teams that I have followed to this day. The New York Yankees and the Cleveland Browns. I remember Sunday nights in the library, listening to the Browns football games and learning how to spin an electric buffer with one hand without slamming it into the rows of shelves holding books. I was twelve years old, and the Browns beat the Colts in the NFL championship game after the Yankees won the World Series the same year. Little did I know the Browns would never play in another NFL title game (which may happen soon), and the Yankees are perennial favorites to win the baseball title (which will happen again this season). In 1970 I left home to begin my college studies. By this time, my oldest sister had married and had her first son. Charles Bufford was the older brother I always wanted to have, and he was another role model for fatherhood. He was outgoing and lived life to the fullest. He was a great man, who left us too soon. Fortunately, his son Chuck has continued in his absence and my nephew is quite a family-oriented person. I count my brothers and brothers-in-law, nephews and nephews-in-law, as outstanding men who have influenced me through their lives, and I hope I have been a good influence on them also. I became a father through an act of love, and it is a journey that has come full circle. I met my firstborn when he was six months in the womb, and he recently blessed me with my first grandson. I know he is going to be awesome as a father because he has been awesome as a son. Choosing him to be my son was one of the smartest moves I made in life. I went on a blind date with his mother when he was three months old and adopted him in time for him to be at my wedding. After my daughter was born four years later, our family was set. When my daughter was in high school, her mom and I began working as foster parents to help a friend and that led us to take in three little boys as foster children. When they were placed for adoption, we, asked our children if they would be okay with our adopting them. They were both all in and now our family numbered five. My kid’s birth mom was Spanish, and she was very light-skinned, Adam’s father was from Lebanon and his complexion was Middle Eastern. My daughter is biracial and has her mom’s good hair, and our new sons are all dark-skinned. You can imagine the looks we got when we arrived at a function as a family. My wife passed away suddenly, after a battle with skin cancer and four years later I took my younger sons’ mother on a date. We were married in 2018 and our multiracial, multicultural family is edging closer to what will one day be the norm. in addition to my natural and adopted family, I have had the pleasure of being the father figure to young students, through my jobs working in high school and the Job Corps program. Many have grown to extended family status, Stephanie, Gogo, Laz, and Nestor are as much a part of our family as anyone else. I am honored to have been a part of your lives and I look forward to the day when we can all be together. As Father approaches this Sunday, make it a point to acknowledge those who have taken on that role in your life and enjoy the day. I hope to hear from all of you.