[Congressional Record Volume 143, Number 82 (Thursday, June 12, 1997)]
[Senate]
[Pages S5646-S5647]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                              FATHER'S DAY

  Mr. BYRD. Mr. President, recently I spoke just before Mother's Day 
with reference to what that day meant to me and generally, I think, to 
most Americans. It is a day that originated in West Virginia. This 
coming Sunday, June 15, is Father's Day. While I am proud to note the 
many valuable contributions made by fathers in the raising of our 
precious future generations, these words are harder for me to speak, 
since that collective noun ``fathers'' also includes myself. Like, I 
suspect, most fathers whose jobs necessarily consume much of their time 
and attention, I carry with me both the realization, of which I regret, 
that I did not spend as much time with my daughters over the years as I 
would have wished, and the gratitude that my very capable wife was at 
home to shoulder so much of the effort in the rearing of our children. 
And she did a fine, fine job.
  Over the course of my life, the American family has changed a great 
deal. More and more fathers are assuming an ever greater role in the 
raising of their children, from the changing of diapers to attending 
parent-teacher conferences. ``Soccer moms'' now share the sidelines--
and the car pooling--with ``soccer dads.'' Fathers, as well as working 
mothers, have learned the day

[[Page S5647]]

care drop-off and pick-up routine. There are even growing numbers of 
single dads taking over the traditional role of mother in addition to 
their usual career track, and fathers who have opted to be stay-at-home 
or work-at-home dads in order to become more involved in their 
children's lives.
  When I was a child, children were ``seen but not heard'' by their 
fathers, and no man was considered capable--or interested--in the 
details of raising a young child. Indeed, few men would have had any 
idea of how to go about caring for an infant, I suppose. And that is 
why I was reared by my aunt and uncle after my own dear mother died in 
my first year of life. I can understand and even empathize with my 
father, and I will always be grateful to my Aunt Vlurma and her 
husband, Titus Dalton Byrd, for the care and the love, the affection, 
the attention, and the advice that they gave to me. But, naturally, I 
will always wonder how my life might have been different had I remained 
within my own birth family. I remember nothing of my natural mother. I 
wish that I had more memories of time spent with my father and my 
siblings. I only can recall spending one week during my lifetime with 
my natural father.
  But I do well remember a kind and gentle foster father, my aunt's 
husband, who gave me my name and who encouraged me to study and to draw 
pictures and to play a musical instrument, who encouraged me to reach 
for the stars and to try to attain goals that were far beyond those 
which were the norm in our small mining community in southern West 
Virginia.
  Now, he did not want me to toil in the mines as he did. He encouraged 
me to read. He never bought me a cap buster or cowboy suit. He always 
bought a drawing tablet or a water color set or a violin or a mandolin 
or a guitar. He urged me to play music, urged me to develop my 
abilities.
  His education probably did not go beyond the second or third grade. 
He could manage poor handwriting. He could read. And he read the family 
Bible. When he left this world, he did not owe any man a penny. In all 
the years that I lived with him, I never heard him once use God's name 
in vain, I never heard him grumble at what was put on the table before 
him. And he and my Aunt Vlurma lived together 53 years. I do not recall 
ever having heard either of them raise a voice in anger against the 
other.
  He never forgot his little foster son. He always saved something from 
his lunch for me. He was a coal miner. And I can recall that late in 
the afternoon I would look up the railroad tracks and watch for him 
coming down the railroad tracks, carrying his dinner bucket. I would 
run to meet him. And when I came to him, he would set his dinner bucket 
down and take the lid off the dinner bucket and reach in and get an 
apple or a piece of cake. In those days, cakes could be bought for 5 
cents at the store--cupcakes, as we called them, some were chocolate, 
some had coconut icing, and so on. But whatever the cake, he always 
managed to save it for me. He never failed.
  I remember his strong weathered face, his long sturdy hands and his 
kind, thoughtful eyes as clearly as if he had only this morning patted 
me on the head and gone off for another backbreaking day in the mines.
  He represented strength and security and ageless wisdom to me--it was 
a time when things were certain and clear and uncomplicated because he 
was there to make everything right.
  As in my own experience, a father's presence looms large in a child's 
life. A father who sits down to help with homework reinforces the 
importance of schoolwork. And when a father takes his children to 
worship services, or better yet, leads them in their bedtime prayers, 
he instills in them the importance of devotion and respect for the 
Creator's role in our daily lives.
  I am glad that more fathers are taking an interest in their children, 
as a general matter, I think. It is not always the case, by any means. 
But they are taking an interest in their children beyond the financial 
aspect that was all-important during my early days as a father--when I 
was making $70 a month working as a produce boy, working as a 
meatcutter, $70 a month--although that is a role that cannot be 
abdicated. Children are a joy and a delight, but they are also a very 
serious lifetime responsibility, both financially and morally. Children 
are not like a job--they cannot be fired, one cannot quit or resign 
from the responsibility of being a father, and even declaring moral and 
financial bankruptcy does not relieve one of the responsibility for the 
welfare of the children.
  So on this Father's Day, as we all remember or honor our fathers--and 
the scriptures tell us to ``honor thy father and thy mother;'' most of 
us were taught at home, to ``honor thy father and thy mother''--on this 
Father's Day, as we all remember or honor our fathers may we also 
contemplate the great joy that is fueled by a special dad. The material 
things which daily drive and obsess so much of American life are only 
transient. When all is said and done they do not amount to much. So 
many things that occupy our thoughts and our concerns, most of the 
things we worry about, of course, never happen, but these things that 
we generally worry about and that loom so large in our daily lives 
really, really, are not all that large. Among the things that best 
endure are the love, the values passed on, and the small shared moments 
recalled with a caring, loving father.
  May I say that the man who took on the responsibility of rearing me 
from the tender age of less than 1 year, I have no doubt that, in 
Paradise, he is aware of what I am saying today, and I have no doubt 
that one day, according to the scriptures' promise, I can meet him 
again. Jesus was mindful of the Heavenly Father when he taught us to 
pray, saying, first of all, ``Our Father who art in heaven.''
  So let me for a moment, in closing, attempt to recite some lines that 
were written by someone whose name does not occur to me at the moment, 
but I think this little bit of verse quite appropriately speaks the 
thoughts of most Americans, as we look forward to Father's Day. I hope 
we will take a little time on that day to contemplate the sacrifices of 
our fathers and to consider the fact that they had concerns about us 
and loved us.

                            That Dad of Mine

       He's slowing down, as some folks say,
       With the burden of years from day to day;
       His brow bears many a furrowed line;
       He's growing old--that dad of mine.

       His shoulders droop, and his step is slow;
       And his hair is white, as white as snow;
       But his kind eyes sparkle with a friendly light;
       His smile is warm, and his heart is right.

       He's old? Oh, yes. But only in years,
       For his spirit soars as the sunset nears.
       And blest I've been, and wealth I've had,
       In knowing a man like my old dad.

       And proud I am to stand by him,
       As he stood by me when the way was dim;
       I've found him worthy and just as fine,
       A prince of men--that dad of mine.

  Mr. President, I suggest the absence of a quorum.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. The clerk will call the roll.
  The legislative clerk proceeded to call the roll.
  Mr. BYRD. Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent that the order for 
the quorum call be rescinded.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. Without objection, it is so ordered.

                          ____________________