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June 14, 2002/Tamuz 4 5762, Vol. 54, No. 39
The joys of fathering
VICKI CABOT
Contributing Editor
I see it all the time. The need to call home, that is. It transcends age and accomplishment, drawing even the most successful among us to pick up the phone to report on our latest achievement or those of our offspring. A new job or new communal position may inspire a call. Closing a deal or snagging a lucrative contract may initiate the communication. Moving up, moving out, moving on, has all of us reaching for our cell phones and punching in the familiar numbers.
Why?
Because there is nothing like hearing that familiar voice respond, crackling across the wires with heartfelt pride.
Shepping naches is what Leo Rosten calls it. Rosten has been the unofficial arbiter of yiddishims, those pithy phrases that reek of the old country but capture with uncanny precision deep felt sentiments or emotions that just can't be defined in mere English, no matter the breadth of vocabulary or depth of communication skills.
Shepping naches according to Rosten's "The New Joys of Yiddish," means to "get contentment or pleasure," particularly from the accomplishments of a child.
And that's what dads do.
Sure, they have serious responsibilities that sometimes seem to interfere. Parenting is hard work, and most of us, dads and moms alike, have little preparation for the job. Our tradition elevates the joys of family while reminding us continually of our obligations as parents to guide and teach our children. This was no more evident than in the face of a new father at a recent bris. The young man gazed at the eight-day-old bundle cradled in his arms with a mix of pure awe - and apprehension - suddenly aware of the weight of responsibility he now shouldered.
My dad taught me to study hard and aim high. He taught me to play ball and play fair. He taught me to dive into the deep end - and swim to the side. He taught me to have confidence in my abilities and to know my limits. He taught me to balance my checkbook, to budget my money, to plan for a rainy day. He taught me to make dry runs - and contingency plans. He taught me to ride a two-wheeler, to drive a car, to fast on Yom Kippur. He taught me to honor my parents and to respect my teachers.
And he taught me what stability and security can mean to a child. It was dinner every night at 6:15. It was visiting my grandparents on Sundays and family vacations every summer on Cape Cod. It was the predictable once-over he gave all my boyfriends, along with the quizzing: "So what is his last name? And what does his father do?"
And it was the constancy of his parenting, his unremitting encouragement and support, the unstated knowledge that he would always be there to ease my disappointments and celebrate my triumphs.
To shep naches.
So this Father's Day, I'm going to call my dad, fill him in on what we've been doing and allow him to do what dads have always done and will continue to do.
Shep naches.
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