Trevor, this made me think that in certain families love doesn’t show up with casseroles or hugs. It shows up as an argument you’re finally allowed to win. Which is thrilling. And terrifying. And, if you’re lucky, unforgettable.
You start with that line about one of you possibly ending up in the morgue, and it’s so blunt it feels almost polite. No warming up, no throat-clearing. Just: here are the stakes, let’s proceed like adults. I trusted you immediately.
Your father comes across not as a tyrant or a legend, but as a man whose intelligence walked into rooms ahead of him. The story about the professors hovering over the math problem while a six-year-old solves it quietly is both impressive and a little alarming. The kind of brilliance that doesn’t ask for admiration, it just rearranges the furniture.
So when we arrive at the argument itself, the real one, it doesn’t feel like a win so much as a moment of atmospheric change. That line, the almost casual admission that you’d read more than he had and might be right, is doing an enormous amount of emotional work. In some households that’s nothing. In yours, it’s a standing ovation delivered at conversational volume.
The trichloroethylene “beer” story does what the best family stories do. It makes us laugh, just long enough to realize we probably shouldn’t be laughing, and then leaves us sitting there with that realization. You have excellent timing.
The Pont du Gard, the olive tree, the ashes, feels less symbolic than sensible. Of course you put him somewhere ancient and sturdy. Some stories need architecture.
This isn’t really about winning an argument. It’s about being seen, briefly and unmistakably, by someone who didn’t offer that lightly. For anyone raised on intelligence as affection and restraint as love, this reads like recognition. And for the record, the score was never Dad 11,679, You 0. It was Dad 11,679, You 1. And that one mattered more than it looked at the time.
Hate to break it to you (actually, if I'm honest --- perversely delighted...) that you and dear departed dad are very much alike in the matter of grey matter. Artists and physicists/mathematicians share comparable, interconnected mental abilities. You both seek to understand and represent the world using different tools, but deeply related cognitive tools --- and an ingrained ability to piss each other off.
It takes a lot of chutzpah to argue over and over again with a genius, and in that you are not lacking. Let us hope that our descent into third world status is short-lived.
Poignant story, T...the things that aggravate you in a person are often the things you miss most. It's clear you loved him (maybe from a distance...), and he, you.
I'm gonna go out on a limb here (pun intended) and say you got the last laugh (?) on old pops ---seeing how his cremains are within sight of the Pont du Gard, a masterpiece of design, engineering AND (wait for it...), aesthetic beauty. Masterpieces of aesthetic beauty don't happen until someone draws something. I think even pops may be smiling. Maybe.
He loved that Roman aqueduct. He first saw it in the late 1940's and loved it everyday since and it is an architectural and engineering marvel. He wanted to spend oblivion next to it.
My grandfather was a fighter pilot in WWI and a lieutenant colonel in WWII and helped to de-Nazify Germany after the war. He would be livid and shocked beyond all comprehension.
Each of us are endowed w/ God- given special gifts- you’re a very talented artist- your Dad a very talented physicist.
My best friend in HS, and my eventual best man was like him- became an aeronautical engineer and worked on the development of the B-1 Bomber- Hughes Aircraft, and Rockwell. He was light years smarter than me.
I studied Physics and Calculus in College, but was more interested in using my hands to build and repair. As much as I enjoyed my studies- I was far better w/ my hands.
Was your Mom or any relatives artists?
My Mom was a fashion artist after College and dabbled in painting- acrylics, watercolors, etc, and charcoals and pencil. Some rubbed off on me and my siblings. My Dad was incredibly smart, member of Mensa, and taught me alot about anything that needed to be fabricated or repaired.
I never took shop in HS but learned as I went, my Dad allowing me to repair the family car, and my ‘62 Ford Falcon that he bought for me for $100 from a farmer.
I learned more from doing, than I did in any classroom.
Don’t ever discount your artistic abilities- I enjoy everything you draw, especially political figures. Your rendition of tRump and Miller are spot on.
I’m sure your Dad’s influence pushed you to do your best- mine sure did!
Irvin curves - Telestar! - wow - you sure showed him! Seriously, great story sir - helluva shadow he cast.I wish I'd met him...on second thought maybe not
Yeah, but your dad throwing the cigarette lighter out of the car window was an even better story! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told that one at parties…
Thanks man… I wrote his obituary when he died, I may publish that sometime. We had a difficult relationship but I owe both my parents a lot. Wouldn’t have made it this far without them.
Thank you for that excellent story. When I was a teenager, I was convinced that my parents were the biggest morons on the planet. Now that they are gone and I'm in my elder years, I look back and realize that I was correct...OK...not about everything.
And yet, Trev and I had the same dad, and I never lost a single argument. Dad and I had discussions, and good ones at that! Many a good discussions were had on chairlift rides up the slopes of White Face Mountain in NY where we I spent much of my youth and informative years. So there were no arguments to be won or lost. Seemed much easier, and more enjoyable. Trev and I were cut from different cloths… not good , not bad, just different. And that’s what makes life so good. (by the way, I still have that bottle of “beer” that dad drank from… that wasn’t really beer). I can’t share it with you here… but maybe Trev can. (I sent him s pic). Life is Good!
There was something deeply and seriously wrong with my brother - we all suspected he'd been dropped on his head as an infant and never recovered. He'll behave if you give him enough candy and bourbon.
Trevor, this made me think that in certain families love doesn’t show up with casseroles or hugs. It shows up as an argument you’re finally allowed to win. Which is thrilling. And terrifying. And, if you’re lucky, unforgettable.
You start with that line about one of you possibly ending up in the morgue, and it’s so blunt it feels almost polite. No warming up, no throat-clearing. Just: here are the stakes, let’s proceed like adults. I trusted you immediately.
Your father comes across not as a tyrant or a legend, but as a man whose intelligence walked into rooms ahead of him. The story about the professors hovering over the math problem while a six-year-old solves it quietly is both impressive and a little alarming. The kind of brilliance that doesn’t ask for admiration, it just rearranges the furniture.
So when we arrive at the argument itself, the real one, it doesn’t feel like a win so much as a moment of atmospheric change. That line, the almost casual admission that you’d read more than he had and might be right, is doing an enormous amount of emotional work. In some households that’s nothing. In yours, it’s a standing ovation delivered at conversational volume.
The trichloroethylene “beer” story does what the best family stories do. It makes us laugh, just long enough to realize we probably shouldn’t be laughing, and then leaves us sitting there with that realization. You have excellent timing.
The Pont du Gard, the olive tree, the ashes, feels less symbolic than sensible. Of course you put him somewhere ancient and sturdy. Some stories need architecture.
This isn’t really about winning an argument. It’s about being seen, briefly and unmistakably, by someone who didn’t offer that lightly. For anyone raised on intelligence as affection and restraint as love, this reads like recognition. And for the record, the score was never Dad 11,679, You 0. It was Dad 11,679, You 1. And that one mattered more than it looked at the time.
Thank you for that Glorius, that was wonderful.
T
Hate to break it to you (actually, if I'm honest --- perversely delighted...) that you and dear departed dad are very much alike in the matter of grey matter. Artists and physicists/mathematicians share comparable, interconnected mental abilities. You both seek to understand and represent the world using different tools, but deeply related cognitive tools --- and an ingrained ability to piss each other off.
I can doodle better than he did….
Ah, but how good were you in coming up with a set of normalized curves plotting surface concentration versus average resistivity, eh?
I kin drawr a dog an’ it looks jest like a dog …
Well, as I've said right along, you do have otherworldly abilities.
It takes a lot of chutzpah to argue over and over again with a genius, and in that you are not lacking. Let us hope that our descent into third world status is short-lived.
Your dad was smart and so are you. Love your artwork. You are also a very clever writer.
Thank you very much, kind of you to say... as he said, "at least he can do something!"
T
If he said that when you were within earshot, of course, he downplayed it.
God forbid a child hear praise -- they might get a swelled head.
😁
Poignant story, T...the things that aggravate you in a person are often the things you miss most. It's clear you loved him (maybe from a distance...), and he, you.
XO
Karen
I'm gonna go out on a limb here (pun intended) and say you got the last laugh (?) on old pops ---seeing how his cremains are within sight of the Pont du Gard, a masterpiece of design, engineering AND (wait for it...), aesthetic beauty. Masterpieces of aesthetic beauty don't happen until someone draws something. I think even pops may be smiling. Maybe.
He loved that Roman aqueduct. He first saw it in the late 1940's and loved it everyday since and it is an architectural and engineering marvel. He wanted to spend oblivion next to it.
T
Another great story - thank you!
Youze bez most welcome...
Good piece, good memories. Reminds me of my yute. Kinda wish my Pa were here to help me navigate this mess. Though glad he isn't having to see it.
My grandfather was a fighter pilot in WWI and a lieutenant colonel in WWII and helped to de-Nazify Germany after the war. He would be livid and shocked beyond all comprehension.
T
Four of my Ma's five brothers were Army grunts in Europe, WWII. One is still over there, facing home. Am glad they're not seeing this.
My concern is whether we have the courage to stand up.
The jury is still out on that …
Too far out....
Each of us are endowed w/ God- given special gifts- you’re a very talented artist- your Dad a very talented physicist.
My best friend in HS, and my eventual best man was like him- became an aeronautical engineer and worked on the development of the B-1 Bomber- Hughes Aircraft, and Rockwell. He was light years smarter than me.
I studied Physics and Calculus in College, but was more interested in using my hands to build and repair. As much as I enjoyed my studies- I was far better w/ my hands.
Was your Mom or any relatives artists?
My Mom was a fashion artist after College and dabbled in painting- acrylics, watercolors, etc, and charcoals and pencil. Some rubbed off on me and my siblings. My Dad was incredibly smart, member of Mensa, and taught me alot about anything that needed to be fabricated or repaired.
I never took shop in HS but learned as I went, my Dad allowing me to repair the family car, and my ‘62 Ford Falcon that he bought for me for $100 from a farmer.
I learned more from doing, than I did in any classroom.
Don’t ever discount your artistic abilities- I enjoy everything you draw, especially political figures. Your rendition of tRump and Miller are spot on.
I’m sure your Dad’s influence pushed you to do your best- mine sure did!
That photo and caption form a beautiful coda - ashes, roman arches and olive trees. As close to immortality as anyone can hope to get
Irvin curves - Telestar! - wow - you sure showed him! Seriously, great story sir - helluva shadow he cast.I wish I'd met him...on second thought maybe not
Yeah, but your dad throwing the cigarette lighter out of the car window was an even better story! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told that one at parties…
T
Thanks man… I wrote his obituary when he died, I may publish that sometime. We had a difficult relationship but I owe both my parents a lot. Wouldn’t have made it this far without them.
Great story; well done.
Thanks …
Great story about a brilliant man, Trevor. Thank you for sharing him with us. I’m sorry he was right in your last debate!😣
You can't imagine how bad that pissed me off!!! He always had to have the last word!
T
Thank you for that excellent story. When I was a teenager, I was convinced that my parents were the biggest morons on the planet. Now that they are gone and I'm in my elder years, I look back and realize that I was correct...OK...not about everything.
And yet, Trev and I had the same dad, and I never lost a single argument. Dad and I had discussions, and good ones at that! Many a good discussions were had on chairlift rides up the slopes of White Face Mountain in NY where we I spent much of my youth and informative years. So there were no arguments to be won or lost. Seemed much easier, and more enjoyable. Trev and I were cut from different cloths… not good , not bad, just different. And that’s what makes life so good. (by the way, I still have that bottle of “beer” that dad drank from… that wasn’t really beer). I can’t share it with you here… but maybe Trev can. (I sent him s pic). Life is Good!
There was something deeply and seriously wrong with my brother - we all suspected he'd been dropped on his head as an infant and never recovered. He'll behave if you give him enough candy and bourbon.
Such an interesting story Trevor. Please write about your mother. She and your dad met in Paris?
Yes, I will have to do that …