Giuseppe "Joe" Zacchia
THE MEASURE OF A MAN
For the past few months, I have had to spend a lot of time at my parent’s home since they are both rapidly losing their autonomy. My mother, 83, is more and more confused and needs help with her medication. My father is weak and has trouble walking. It isn’t fun to see them deteriorate but in many ways it is a great time in our relationship. This is because I get to have a glass (or two) of my father’s home-made wine every weekend and listen to his stories of the old-country. We have never been so close.
I have heard enough horror stories throughout my career about parents and family relationships that I fully appreciate how lucky I’ve been. Neither of my parents are educated beyond two or three years of elementary school. They can’t read much more than a flyer from the grocery store (and that’s because they have pictures of the sale items along with a price). Yet somehow they managed to have three sons who became professionals.
Giuseppe and Maria Zacchia
When I was still in high school, my father had to have his first bypass operation (a triple). Then in 1989, he had a quadruple. He’s been hospitalized at least twenty times in his life. Having had to face the possibility of losing him for so long, when he turned 70 I said to myself, “OK, now if he dies at least he lived to a decent age.” But somehow, he made it to 80. How did that happen? And now he’s 88! Remarkable.
Having thought so often about his death, I have almost come to peace with it. I know it is only a question of time now – months, perhaps a couple of years. As a result, I’ve been thinking of what kind of eulogy he deserves. Most importantly, I didn’t want to wait until he died before delivering it.
My father the janitor (Voir plus bas pour version Française)
(Source: Mon père, ce concierge. Journal Métro, February 14, 2012)When I was young I was embarrassed by what my father did for a living, and by extension, him. My father was a janitor.
Not only did he spend most of his days sweeping floors and emptying ashtrays at the airport, but he also mopped out a tavern every night after his shift. He even involved us in his moonlighting. On Sunday mornings my family went to clean the China D’Or Restaurant and the Brasserie Orly in Dorval. I always came back smelling of beer, cigarettes, and fried wontons. I hated it and made sure no one I knew ever found out what I did on weekends while they slept in.
In CEGEP and University the contrast really hit me. I started meeting people whose parents were lawyers, authors, and physicians. It was hard for me to even imagine parents speaking the same language as their children.
But something else started to happen at about the same age. The more I interacted with people, the more I was struck by how independent personality is of job title, education or financial success. Once you get past the inevitable first impression and intimidation caused by the weight of the title or symbol the real person starts to emerge. You discover personalities that are generous or selfish, self-effacing or boastful, closed-minded or accepting, confident or fearful. In short, it doesn’t take long to see that people are people, and that no profession has a monopoly on good ones.
The measure of a man
So what metric are we to use in measuring a life? The standard yardsticks of title and wealth remain appealing but do not stand up to real-life scrutiny. The true measure of a man is in his heart and his character. The character defined by his generosity of spirit, by what he makes of the lot life hands him, and by the maturity with which he faces adversity and accepts misfortune.I still get that ‘I’m from the wrong side of the tracks’ kind of feeling when I’m surrounded by lawyers at a board meeting, or by wealthy people at a fundraiser. But I also know that I have had it pretty good. My father weighed 39kg while imprisoned in a German Stalag during WWII, he emigrated with no money nor education, he survived a near fatal fall from a balcony, two major heart bypass operations, bladder cancer, and countless other adversity. Through it all, he smiles, tells his stories, and takes genuine pleasure in the success of others.
By any measure, my father is a great man who simply did not have the same opportunities as his children. What he did for a living has become a symbol of his work ethic and strength, and a symbol of what he had to face as a young immigrant and child of the war years.
My father was a janitor. Of that fact I cannot be more proud.
Voici la version Française:
Quand j’étais jeune, j’avais honte du métier de mon père, et par extension, de lui. Il était concierge.
Non seulement consacrait-il le plus clair de son temps à balayer les planchers et à vider les cendriers à l’aéroport, mais il passait également la vadrouille dans une taverne à tous les soirs. Il nous faisait même participer. Le dimanche matin, toute la famille l’aidait à nettoyer un restaurant chinois et une brasserie, à Dorval. J’en ramenais une odeur de bière, de cigarette et de wontons frits. Je détestais ça et je faisais tout pour que personne ne découvre à quoi je bossais la fin de semaine pendant qu’eux faisaient la grasse matinée.
Au cégep et à l’université, le contraste m’a frappé. J’ai rencontré des gens dont les parents étaient avocats, écrivains et médecins. Il m’était difficile d’imaginer des parents parlant le même langage que leurs enfants.
Mais j’ai découvert autre chose, à peu près au même âge. Plus j’avais d’interactions avec les autres, plus je me rendais compte que la personnalité a peu à voir avec le titre, les études ou la réussite financière. Une fois que l’on a passé la première impression et l’intimidation causées par un titre, la vraie personne commence à émerger. On découvre des personnalités généreuses ou égoïstes, effacées ou vantardes, étroites d’esprit ou tolérantes, confiantes ou craintives. Bref, il faut peu de temps pour découvrir qu’aucune profession n’a le monopole des bonnes personnes.
La mesure d’un homme
Alors, quels paramètres utiliser pour mesurer une vie? Le titre et la richesse gardent leurs attraits, mais ils ne supportent pas un examen en situation réelle. La vraie mesure d’un homme réside dans son cœur et son caractère, qui se définit par sa générosité d’esprit, par ce qu’il fait de ce que la vie lui envoie et par la maturité avec laquelle il fait face à l’adversité et accepte l’infortune.J’ai encore cette impression de « provenir du mauvais côté de la voie ferrée » lorsque je suis entouré d’avocats à une réunion du conseil ou de gens fortunés dans une soirée-bénéfice. Je sais aussi que j’ai eu la partie facile : mon père pesait 39 kilos lors de son emprisonnement en Allemagne, pendant la guerre; il a immigré sans argent ni études; il a survécu à une chute quasi-mortelle d’un balcon, il a subi deux pontages, a eu le cancer et d’innombrables autres malheurs. Et pendant tout ce temps, il sourit, conte des histoires et se réjouit du succès des autres!
Mon père est un grand homme qui n’a simplement pas eu les mêmes chances que ses enfants. Ce qu’il faisait pour vivre est devenu un symbole de son éthique du travail, et de ce qu’il a dû affronter en tant que jeune immigrant et enfant de la guerre.
Mon père était concierge. Et je ne pourrais en être plus fier.
Tagged as character, Giuseppe Zacchia, the measure of a man.
Posted in Life.
Posted on 14 Feb 2012
On Feb 15th 2012 at 01:00
Awesome post!
Reminds me I should go spend more time with my grandparents.
On Feb 15th 2012 at 01:29
saw this in journal métro today great story!!
On Feb 15th 2012 at 06:45
I submitted to reddit, here are some of the best comments:
“The more I interacted with people, the more I was struck by how independent personality is of job title, education or financial success. Once you get past the inevitable first impression and intimidation caused by the weight of the title or symbol the real person starts to emerge. You discover personalities that are generous or selfish, self-effacing or boastful, closed-minded or accepting, confident or fearful. In short, it doesn’t take long to see that people are people, and that no profession has a monopoly on good ones.”
Very well said, and a very nice, well-written article.
On Feb 15th 2012 at 06:45
One of the things about society that has been bothering me for a while is how people judge others based on just that – job, education, how much money they make or what material possessions they have. I suppose it is a good first-order approximation but forming your opinion of someone just on that is something I can’t stand. I have a good education background, good job, doing good enough financially but I kind of hate it when people judge me on just that. Just because I meet your n-point checklist doesn’t necessarily mean I’m automatically a good or bad person. Stereotype if you like, but after that, if I do something dickish, call me out on it. And if you think I did something good, I would appreciate that you let me know so I can continue doing it, and contribute more.
It’s a rant that I just have to let out every once in a while. My best friend and I really wish our society wasn’t like this and we try not to judge anyone on these things but if that means we end up being too naive, then that’s the risk we’re willing to take. And that paragraph you quoted, I’m going to be using that in the future whenever such discussion comes up, here or IRL.
On Feb 15th 2012 at 06:45
This is so incredibly touching! Thanks for sharing & having a heart
On Feb 15th 2012 at 06:45
I was at this hospital for a little while :S
Nonetheless, really stunning article.
On Feb 15th 2012 at 06:46
Great article! And, damn, I hope I look that good when I’m 88.
On Feb 15th 2012 at 14:58
Bravo, Cam! In this age of entitlement, this tribute to the selflessness and dedication to family exemplified by your folks (and if i might add, mine as well) is not just timely, but necessary. And for the record, my father was a merchant marine.
On Feb 22nd 2012 at 22:42
Hi Cam,
What a beautiful article.
Thanks,
David
On Feb 23rd 2012 at 03:53
Thank you for having shared my story through yours.
There is nothing more honourable than gratitude shared.
G.
On Mar 6th 2012 at 20:11
As usual Cam you hit the nail on the head every time.Having lost my father when he was 64 years of age was the worst year of my life, him being a barber was also like being a therapist, he heard all the stories of everyone and occasionally gave his advise to everyone who would listen and it almost always worked out for them. When i would go to his shop the customers would tell me how great my dad was and how he helped them out of bad situations.Well I guess that all we have are the memories and the lessons the our parents teach us. Milles grazie caro Camillo et famiglia.
On Mar 13th 2012 at 05:50
You are so right. I can relate. The statue in the park is my dad. One suitcase, one trunk and the courage to leave the comfort and familiarity of home and make a life with little education and a heap of determination to succeed.
On Apr 3rd 2012 at 15:54
Awesome post!
L
On Apr 12th 2012 at 12:49
Très bel article, je suis contente de vous relire à nouveau!
On Apr 27th 2012 at 07:00
This was a marvelous story! So glad you didn’t wait till after he passes to write this!
My grandpa had bypass surgery and a defibrillator inserted into his chest in the mid 80s when he was about 60 something years old. He’s somehow survived to 91. He’s not doing very well at the moment, but for the past few years I’ve grown very close to him, enjoying the stories of his life.
It’s really amazing, the memories that one retains and shares – so incredibly valuable. Anyway, thanks for this post – it is very true that there is no monopoly on good people. I have felt more embarrassed in life BECAUSE of some of my family members’ personalities than of their professions – by far.
On Jul 6th 2012 at 17:50
Thank you Dr. Z for this great article. It’s always a pleasure to read you.
On Aug 28th 2012 at 20:15
Camillo;
What a beautiful story of a wonderful man…Zio Peppino. I know he is very inspirtational to the entire family and helped my dad through his first heart surgery.
Vinnie Zacchia