Remembering My Father on Father's Day

My father, in the middle, with his grandchildren

Father's Day means a lot to me for two reasons: one its a reminder of the wonderful daughters I am father to. My pride and joy in these two young ladies is unbound. The other reason is that it reminds me what a great father I had.

Aimo Johannes Hourula (1916-2008) was the first of eight children (seven of whom survived well into adulthood) born in northern rural Finland to Saimi and Otto Hourula. He had to quit school in his mid teens to help support the family. He worked in a mill. Aimo joined the army in the immediate aftermath of the Soviet invasion of Finland in 1939 in what became known as The Winter War. The Finns fought bravely and did so much damage to the invading army that though overwhelmed by sheer numbers, they gained the satisfaction of denying the Soviets all the land they sought.

After the war my father joined the merchant marines set on seeing the world. His timing wasn't perfect as World War II had begun. Twice he was on ships that were strafed by Nazi planes and he was at the helm of a ship sunk by a Japanese submarine in the Indian Ocean.

He had long stays in Australia and Argentina in both cases because he had found a female companion. Aimo also spent a lot of time in New York where he worked diligently to learn English. Eventually he joined the U.S. Army and was thus granted U.S. Citizenship. 

In 1945 he met Gertrude Kurki, a student at Columbia University. Gertie was born in San Francisco and raised in Berkeley by Finnish parents. The couple had a whirlwind romance that culminated in marriage in late December of '45.

They subsequently switched coasts and settled in Berkeley. By this time my father had taken up carpentry. Here his timing was perfect for a building boom was sweeping the country and the Bay Area was a particular beneficiary. 

My brother, Robert, was born in 1947 and yours truly appeared on the scene seven years later. 

Aimo was a great success as a carpenter, working steadily and highly regarded. He was also a member in good standing of Finnish organizations like the Finnish Brotherhood in Berkeley.  He was an avid outdoorsman, enjoying hunting and fishing and a regular at various sports events. Aimo Hourula liked nothing more than a good party and for that matter social gatherings of any sort. He was a humble man who enjoyed the company of people.

But to me -- and here I am clearly biased -- it was as a father that he excelled. The number one requirement for being a parent is loving your child or children and no sons were ever more loved by their Dad than my brother and I. He took me to pro and college football games, major league baseball, pro and college basketball, ice hockey, boxing and track and field. He also encouraged my sports career. He would take me to a nearby field and hit fly balls to me, he would play basketball with me and once I started doing well in soccer he drove me to all my practices and never missed any of my games.

As a parent Aimo had to negotiate through difficult times. I was a teenager in Berkeley during the Sixties. I was rebellious, wanted to grow my hair long; I experimented with drugs and alcohol and participated in demonstrations on the Cal campus. My father was a Democrat and a touch to the left of center but he wasn't having any of my radicalism. We continued to love one another despite the ongoing cultural wars we were engaged in. I got angry at him at times but never lost an iota of respect for him. It was his belief in me that kept me from going too far with drugs.

There was also the matter of my mother's growing insanity. Dad had been living the American dream and it fell apart around him when Mom's paranoid schizophrenia became too much to bear. Aimo was crushed but responded by being more protective of me and making sure that the damage I suffered was minimized.

Dad was fun. He listened to me. Shared stories. Encouraged me. He was a nice man with a lot of friends who was well-respected, even admired, by co-workers and fellow members of he Finnish-American community. People would come up to me at large Finnish gatherings and tell me they were friends with my Dad and how long they'd known him.

I was enormously proud of my Dad and throughout his life was convinced that I had the greatest Dad in the world. Mind you, I know better than anyone that he was not perfect. Some of his foibles, some of his stinging comments, some of his biases still rankle today. But they overshadowed by what a kind and loving man he was. I learned a lot from him about being honest, enjoying life, being a responsible, caring father, sharing stories, treating everyone equally and maintaining a positive outlook no matter what. He was not only a good Dad when I was young but continued to be as became a young man, then an adult. He was always proud of me, even over a minor accomplishment.

Not surprisingly he was also a terrific grandfather, well-loved by the next generation.

I still miss him.