Two of the people I compare myself and my life with the most are my father (middle) and my grandfather (his father, left). These pictures were taken somewhere around 1905, 1950ish and 1976-7. Each of us grew up in Oxford, Maryland. It’s safe to say that there is no place in the world that any of us felt or feels more at home when it comes to a location.
Things I have learned from my father: it’s possible to be a lot like someone in character and disposition while also being very different in terms of the gifts you have and the passions you pursue; sports and a love of sports is absolutely a love language; the happiness of your children is a life goal and aspiration and a moving target that as a parent you can never hit; you can say a lot with very few words; time spent with family in any location is something to be treasured; there is grace in putting others before yourself that it is not possible to know any other way; the word “damnit” is a catch-all—tone means everything.
My Dad was born in Oxford in 1944 and lived on a small farm in the town of Oxford, which would be a trip to think of there now. My aunt lives in the house they grew up in. He went to school in the building that is now the Oxford Community Center, then to Easton High School, then to Severn High School, then to the University of Virginia. He met my Mom for the first time when they were about 14 and 13 years old.
He graduated from UVA in 1966. The Vietnam War was going on. He enlisted in the U.S. Army. He got lucky and was sent to Germany, where he lived for three years.
He came back to Oxford, he and my Mom bought the house where my sister and I grew up and where they lived until 2021 when the house burned down.
He got a job as an accountant working for Fall Casson for a few years until he and three others took a chance and went out on their own starting Beatty Satchell & Company, a CPA firm. My Dad was known as “Mr. & Company” because he thought it looked tacky to have too many names on a business and didn’t need his name listed. Of the four that started the firm, he is the only one who still works there.
My memories of him as I was growing up include tax season, fishing with he and my grandfather, his office softball team (he played first base, like Eddie Murray), cookouts on the water at the Tred Avon Yacht Club, haunted houses every year as part of the Kiwanis Club, and him being asked to be treasurer of every nonprofit organization he volunteered for.
Their parenting style has always been to let their kids find their own way, make mistakes, figure out what was important, and to be supportive in every step of the way, helping us up when we fell. I fell, and fall, a lot more than my sister did or does. I always cared less about getting in trouble and more about letting my Dad down.
I have been so incredibly lucky that from childhood to now that my Dad has always been the first person I call to share good news, the first person I turn to for advice, and the first person I look to for solace when life falls apart. And he still picks up the phone.
We’ve been to Baltimore Orioles playoff games and a World Series game, Baltimore Ravens games, including playoff wins and losses. Going to a game together when they win (playoff win pictured above) is an awesome feeling.
Yesterday, my Dad turned 80. I tear up with stuff like this because I am so full of gratitude to have him as a role model, a friend, a grandfather to the girls—for them to get to know and appreciate him like I do—as someone who our family gets to share the joys, sorrows, confusion, wonder, and all the best stuff of life with. One of my all-time and forever favorite sounds and experiences is him laughing.
Turning 80. What a gift. The person having the birthday is the one who gets gifts. But it’s those of us who know and love him that get the biggest gift here.
Happy birthday, Dad. I don’t have the words to say what I actually want to say so these will have to do. I love you. We all do.
A lovely tribute to your dad, and another great example of your way with words. Peace.
What a cool gentleman. So many times men can simply not tell their Dad how they truly feel about them. And in your father’s generation, it was even less. Love and appreciation is sometimes hard to express because emotions are hard to show. I remember telling a gentleman, while I was volunteering at the hospital, to tell his father, who was dying just how he felt. Love expressed is beautiful no matter what gender you are.