Charm



A rose by any other name...circa 1980

My father was a charming man.  Or rather, he was good at charming people- to call him always "charming" would be a serious overstatement.  He was the president of the international division of a prestigious insurance company and traveled around extensively- by the time he retired when I was eight years old I had already been to more than 25 countries with him on business trips.  He quickly made friends with all the new people he would meet, from the foreign businessmen to the hotel clerks.  At my young age, it seemed as though everybody was catering to Mr. Jackson and his wife and family.  I remember elaborate parties for his birthday in Japan, private cars driving us around London, and participating in special local festivals in Thailand.  His lifestyle took a dramatic shift when he retired- instead of people giving him rides on elephants he was carting two kids to gymnastics, piano, and horseback riding. 

I think it was a difficult time for him- the retirement wasn't entirely his idea- but he did the best he knew how to.  He would pick me up from school on his bike, with our neurotic dog Rusty riding in the grocery basket.  My friends loved going home for lunch with me because he would make the best grilled cheese sandwiches on sourdough bread, and as a special treat he made stove-top hot chocolate.  In the morning he would cut up plates of fresh fruit and bring them to Mom, my sister, and me while we were getting ready as an "appetizer" before  breakfast- before he made his own famous fruit bowl with a huge scoop of cottage cheese on top.  Many years later, when he could no longer figure out how to cut a grapefruit by himself (and we didn't trust him with a knife), I made sure the caregiver or myself always started his breakfast with fresh fruit. 

I remember taking Dad to Old Navy a couple of years ago to stock up on basic clothing.  Fortunately, I didn't have to get him to try anything on in the dressing room- for as long as I can remember he had been a size 32w x 34L so shopping for him was easy.  While we waited in the checkout line he laughed at the doggie costumes they had set out for Halloween and we imagined trying to get Rusty into one of the ladybug suits.  When it was our turn to check out, he smiled at the clerk and glance at her nametag.  "Michelle," he said.  "That's a beautiful name!"  She smiled, and in his perfect tenor voice he started to croon out his best Paul McCartney.  "Michelle, ma belle.  These are words that go together well...my Michelle."  The young clerk blushed, but she was delighted.  "My parents named me after that song!" she exclaimed.  Dad started beaming, obviously thrilled that he had made her happy.  We walked out humming Michelle and talking about the Beatles.  While this scenario wouldn't have worked out so well in every circumstance- I can imagine it would be different and slightly awkward if I had been the one singing or if Dad had been 30 years younger- in this case the clerk was obviously charmed by the gentle octogenarian on an outing with his daughter. 

I was reminded of this story last Sunday morning as I was driving to work.  I was listening to Breakfast With the Beatles, a show dedicated to all things Beatles on WXRT.  Although Michelle won a Grammy in 1966, I think it sometimes gets overshadowed by their even bigger hits so when I heard it on the radio I was taken by surprise.  My mind immediately went  back to that October day in Old Navy, how happy the clerk was to be acknowledged, and how happy Dad was to make her smile.  While he had a horrific temper and it was easier for him to swear than say "I love you," I choose now to remember the softer, more charming side of my father that was beautiful when he let it come out.