Father’s Day holds mixed emotions for me. The passing of my dad, Chuck Schongar, on June 18, 2005, just days before his 83rd birthday, still feels recent at times. However, I am grateful that he was able to have a peaceful death surrounded by his family in the comfort of his own home.
My dad was a fascinating individual who embodied contradictions. He held the title of the loudest person I’ve ever encountered. If he needed one of us to come home, his voice could be heard echoing across Lansingburgh. He was also incredibly tough, having served in the 82nd and 101st Airborne during World War II. He fearlessly parachuted and glided into war zones, witnessing unimaginable horrors and losing comrades. Despite this, he never spoke of the atrocities he witnessed.
Growing up, Memorial Day held immense significance for my dad. We would visit cemeteries, attend parades, and then have a family barbecue. The American flag would proudly wave throughout the summer and on other patriotic holidays, a tradition I continue to honor.
After the war, my dad started a family with my mother and worked for 37 years at Niagara Mohawk. For most of his career, he worked as a lineman or line supervisor, enduring extreme temperatures while climbing poles. It was a dangerous job, and he was constantly on call. During storms, we rarely saw him, except for brief periods of rest before he had to return to a double shift. He loved his job and would work extra hours to provide for us.
Despite his loudness, discipline in our household was typically quiet. My dad had a particular stern look that we knew better than to question. Boundaries and rules were well-established, and if we broke them, we were grounded. He instilled in us the importance of taking responsibility for our mistakes and learning from them. He always emphasized the value of keeping our word.
As a child who grew up during the Great Depression, my dad understood hardship and loss. He tragically witnessed his 8-year-old brother drown in the Hudson River and saw his own father’s unsuccessful attempt to save him. This experience deeply impacted him. He honored my uncle’s memory by sharing his story and ensuring that we knew how to swim and stay safe around water.
One of my dad’s distinguishing features was his striking blue eyes. They could express anger, but more often, they twinkled with joy. He had a mischievous side and was remarkably skilled at soothing babies. With five younger siblings and later, colicky twins, my dad possessed a unique talent for lulling fussy infants to sleep. In his strong arms, they felt secure.
Due to his demanding job, our family didn’t go on typical vacations. However, he always made time to support my brothers’ Scout troop and Little League teams. I would often accompany my dad to these events, cherishing those moments spent together. I would also tag along when he ran errands, as long as it was a place where a kid could safely be taken. That was our special time: watching TV and receiving his assurance that Lassie and Timmy would always be fine by the end of each episode. I marveled at how he knew.
He taught me the fundamentals of football and baseball, as well as how to bowl and cook various dishes. He also passed on his knowledge of using and maintaining tools properly.
Of course, there were exceptions to my dad’s typically calm demeanor. There was the time he decided to take a chainsaw to our old upright piano in the living room just before dinner. Needless to say, my mother was not pleased. However, my dad used the salvaged wood to craft new shelving in the laundry room, which somewhat redeemed his actions. Another incident involved my dad and two neighbors cutting molding for a ceiling project while watching a ball game. Surprisingly, they were not using power tools, and the atmosphere was eerily silent. The neighbors made a swift exit after witnessing the mishap. My dad informed my mother that he needed to step out but would return shortly. He had accidentally sawed through both the molding and the back of the couch! However, he returned with a new slipcover to hide the damage and the project resumed. Ultimately, my mom was satisfied.
My parents shared a beautiful love story that lasted 38 years, a testament to the postwar era. As long as my mom was happy, my dad was happy, and consequently, so were we. He instilled invaluable lessons in us, and three generations later, his legacy of love continues to shape our lives.
Kathy Schongar resides in Albany.
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