My Dad

A few weeks ago, on the night of May 2, 2015, most of the entire Barstow clan gathered in tiny Oneonta, NY to be with my Dad (above, with my Mom right there as always) as he gave his final professional performance.  My dad taught music history, concert choir, and a bunch of other music-related classes for 48 years at SUNY Oneonta.  In case you’re wondering, that’s not a typo.  He taught at the same school for 48 years, doing a job that he (for the most part) loved.

During his tenure as the department chair, the department grew exponentially as he led the expansion of a music industry program that became nationally known and very well respected.  His list of professional accomplishments is too long to list.  None of those things are why I wanted to write this, because in the end glory fades.  Impact does not.

Little Things, Big Things

Things I’ll remember about my dad’s career:

• I remember running up to his window and knocking on it to let him know we were outside, and very ready to go, and knowing that when he said he needed five more minutes it really meant twenty (at least).
• I remember running up and down the hallway outside his office, racing the lights up and down the hall, while he worked. And asking him when we were leaving every five minutes.
• I remember a statue on his desk that said “Never teach a pig to sing.  It wastes your time and annoys the pig.”  He still has it today.
• I remember the way his building smelled.  It still smells the same today.
• I remember walking by practice rooms and hearing music of every conceivable kind happening all the time.
• I remember having an entire philharmonic orchestra from New York City over to our house to eat after a concert.  I remember them remarking about how good the food was, and how nice it was to have a home-cooked meal.  Not catered.  Home cooked.
• I remember sitting through concert after concert and knowing, for sure, that the night was never going to be over and that I might die right there in my seat.
• I remember going to Friendly’s after every concert and having a Strawberry Royale with black raspberry ice cream.
• I remember him staying up all night to fight the idiots in student government who controlled the budget for the campus to get enough money to put on his events each year.  Technically I remember going to bed with him not home and waking up with him sometimes still not home.
• I remember him being moved to tears by beautiful music again and again.  He still is today.
• I remember the way his students and peers talked about him when he wasn’t around.

What I Learned

I honestly don’t know where to start, or where to end, but here’s a few:

• Find the thing you love to do and do it.  The rest is all details.  I’m still figuring this out.  My dad knew it when he was 25.
• Always be honest, even when it is to your detriment.
• Don’t call in sick.  Most of life is being willing to show up when others won’t.
• Turn the other cheek.  Again and again and again.
• Be excellent, because no one remembers mediocre.
• Don’t be afraid to take chances and be bold. No one likes a wimp.
• Be gracious in victory
• Love your spouse, because without them you have nothing.

And One More Thing…

Below is a video of the tribute given to my dad at his finale.  I’d encourage you to watch it, because what is said about him is, I think, what we want to be said about us when our working life is over.  It’s about 5 minutes long, and the quality could be better.  But it’s pretty damn rich.

Well done, Dad.  You crushed it.