Seema Boesky
Thank You, Dad!
For years I credited Mom for any wisdom I developed. After all, it was she who
spent 24/7 lecturing me on responsibility, good behavior, and being respectful
and mannerly at all times. Dad said little on these subjects, a fact which I
resented and interpreted as not caring enough to comment.
I was so wrong! Dad only spoke up when it really mattered. He cleverly allowed
Mom to do the heavy lifting in our parent vs. child disputes. Once he understood
our respective positions, he would step in and settle the matter. His word was
final on those subjects, and he offered an explanation only if he deemed it
meaningful, and only once. Mom got Dad’s unwavering support in exchange
for playing the “bad cop” role. He never corrected or reversed her
decisions, and I bristled every time he said, “Just listen to your mother.”
Their united front gave me strength and confidence, as I always knew what was
expected
and what to expect. Thank you, Dad.
My father readily shared his thought processes, which helped me to develop my
own. He allowed for dissenting views and beliefs, even when he knew mine were
wrong. And provided my contrariness wasn’t dangerous to my welfare, he
let me make my own decisions—and suffer their consequences. As a result,
I learned to value his counsel. Best of all, my Dad never said, “I told
you so.” Thank you, Dad.
Dad introduced me to Hollywood, to glamorous parties and people, but stressed
first and foremost that I was expected make a contribution to the greater good.
“You come in with just your name, be sure you exit this Earth with one
you are proud of,” he used to say. I’ve had many moments of worry
on that score, but I continue trying to make him proud.
While both my parents were philanthropic, it was when my Dad who, when I was
22, gave me an assignment: Determine which African-American charity best advances
education among inner city children. He promised that if I demonstrated a charity’s
worthiness, he would donate $25,000 to my choice. I thrilled to the prospect
of being responsible for such an important decision. I still remember how hard
I worked and how much it meant to me to prove worthy of his trust. His donation
set into motion many years of service to others. Thank you, Dad.
Dad never spent money frivolously on himself and had little interest in material
things, but he genuinely loved the arts. One day, walking along Madison Avenue,
with mustard stains on his tie from lunch, we wandered into Perls art gallery,
one of the city’s best. “I like that bronze statue in the window,
who is the artist?” he asked the proprietor. “Aristide Maillol,”
the owner replied, clearly noting the mustard stain. As he turned, ignoring
us, Dad continued, “Do you think the Detroit Museum of Art would like
to own it?” Minutes later Dad concluded his conversation with the director
of the museum and tasked me with handling the details, including negotiating
the price. Today, Aristide Maillol sculptures surround my home and gardens and
my daughter, a lawyer by training, is an internationally known art dealer, proving
that apples don’t fall far from their trees! Thanks, Dad.
This journey with my father continues, 29 years after his death. I consult him
as if he is still by my side in all that I think and do. I still feel his guidance
and love of life, and try to emulate him, which for me is a true measure of
greatness. My father’s good deeds continue living through me and others,
So THANK YOU, DAD, and Happy Father’s Day!
Send your questions to Seema at
The WAG will publish the most interesting questions but Seema says she will try to respond to all questions via e-mail.
We reserve the right to edit questions as space permits.
