Somtimes, Wonders Cease
My father died in 1997 at the age of 55. Although my parents divorced when I was too young to understand the process, and my father was not always easily accessible to me, he more than made up for the lost time when I needed him or when my older sister needed him. I’m certain people judged him, based on their own world views of what a father should be. Me? I was just grateful that he had my back when I required a bit of reinforcement.
Beyond that, my father was an amusing character. He had a decidedly odd sense of humor, a love of animals and the earth, a fondness of little old ladies, pancakes, beer and oddities. My father was a talented doodler and produced some rather remarkable art in his off hours. He had a ferocious temper when it came to the impolite behavior of those around him. He was a gentleman, a bastard, a hero and a humble lad.
Though it may be difficult to string all those personality traits together, trust me on this one. It happens.
In my eyes, a father’s greatness did not spirit out of his ability to earn more or provide a groovier family room carpet. It came from a father’s ability to love, honor and protect his children.
It’s not at all surprising, then, that I took to a man by the name of Bob Schindler with rapidity. Bob was the ‘all of the above’ choice when it came to matters of family and community. Schindler was a decent bloke and sorely misunderstood by those who felt qualified to judge him.
Perhaps, you know the name. Bob Schindler was the father of Terri Schiavo. Terri was the profoundly disabled young woman the Florida courts saw fit to dehydrate to death, simply because she lived with a marked cognitive disability.
I took on the task of helping Bob Schindler, his wife Mary and his two youngest children in their effort to protect Terri’s life. They did all the heavy stuff. I just maintained a website and dealt with the news media.
But, bringing such an undertaking into my life also brought with it knowing and understanding Terri’s family. In particular, I got to know her dad.
Bob Schindler was your garden-variety cool guy. We oftentimes talked about politics, religion, the weather, rock and roll, the idiocy of the news media and so on. He retained that long-lost ability to disagree gracefully. He never ended a telephone conversation without telling me to get some rest or drink some orange juice.
This was a man who was facing the loss of his daughter to a court decree. But, beyond all his troubles, he (and his wife, Mary) had the unique ability to still give a damn about the people close by.
I consider it a lost art of common humanity.
He was enthusiastic about good nutrition and whole foods, but he dearly loved tea cookies. He knew he should have walked more, but he spent the better part of every 24 hours behind a computer screen, searching for something – anything – that could benefit or protect his eldest child. You could probably call him obsessed, but how else should a father be?
He drank way too much coffee.
He rarely used foul language.
He liked Monty Python’s Flying Circus (I reckon this was a guilty pleasure).
He loved a dopey joke.
He preferred comfy shoes.
He was quick with a hug.
He adored his wife.
He adored his children.
So, that’s what you want in a husband and father, isn’t it? Pity that Bob Schindler was so mangled by the news media for just doing what good men do.
Throughout the years that this unassuming and affable man from Philadelphia did everything in his power to look after the first child he and his spouse brought into the world, Bob Schindler was admonished. And, that’s a pity.
The news media and editorialists painted Bob Schindler as a religious whack job and a speak-piece for the Evangelical Christian community. He wasn’t. Though the Schindler family (and, Terri, in particular) are observant Catholics, nothing they did for Terri was driven by any church or any ideology. It was far simpler than that.
Bob, Mary, Bobby and Suzanne Schindler all held the firm belief that Terri was a human being, guaranteed of certain unalienable rights, good and innocent, loved and worthy. And, most importantly, that she would have never agreed to the course the circuit courts laid out for her.
Bob Schindler would go broke defending his daughter’s life. He would be called a religious nut by the news media. He endured unbelievable scrutiny and blow back – just for doing what parents typically do.
Bob Schindler was not a crusader. He simply believed a life is a life is a life. I’ve seen him reach out in affection to disabled people, elderly people, children, skateboarders, punks, priests, rockers, housewives, bank tellers, burger sellers, homeless people, cats, cyclists, cooks and the occasional pest control specialist. He just had an empathy for the human condition.
Amazing it is, that a man so filled with appreciation for the good stuff around him, a deep devotion to his family and a love of life could be so carelessly painted an agenda-driven aggressor by people who never had the pleasure of shaking his hand.
I, on the other hand, know better.
Bob Schindler died on August 29, 2009. He never met my father, but I rather suspect the two would have enjoyed the hell out of one another. Both understood and honored the relationship a girl has with her father, both had odd senses of humor, love of life, appreciation of the world, kindness towards strangers and a deep understanding of what it means to be a man.
God rest you, Bob Schindler. You took over where my dad left off.