On Father's Day: a theoretical physisist, his son and a bit of ordinary life

This Sunday is Father's day. I'm celebrating by sharing this piece about my father with the community. It came to me out of the blue one day as I discovered the truth behind the saying: "Writing is easy. You just sit down at the typewriter and open a vein." (American sports writer Red Smith). On Sunday, do try to remember your fathers.

"When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years." (attributed to Mark Twain)

My father's name is Silvio.

In the old photo below, the guy on the left is my father taking an exam in physics while on a hike. The hut is half-way up the mountain near Zagreb/Croatia, and still stands today. The time is one when rules did not rule as much. The physics professor is on the right, and my father's best friend and my future god-father in the back. Next to my god-father is my god-father's future wife. They both also took their physics exam that day.

Among the students at the physics department my father has a bit of a "nutty professor" image, due to his absent-mindedness and funny quirks.

In a tram, I once overheard two students recounting one of those professor-stories that we all like. This one said that he is so absent-minded that he once forgot his own son in a tram! Overhearing the story was delicious, and I would not be surprised if it were true, but being the son in question I highly doubt it.

But I went to check by secretly sitting in on one of his lectures. At the time, my best friend was his student, so the deception would be easier. In warm springtime, I camouflaged myself in a winter jacket, scarf, sunglasses and woolen cap, knowing that he was too polite to ask me who the hell I was sitting there dressed as a weirdo in a small class of regulars.

The deception worked. After writing his equations on the blackboard with chalk, he erases it with his palm, even though there is a sponge nearby. The palm gets chalk on it, lecture related questions are asked by the students, the palm goes to the face in pensive thought, and there are now chalk streaks in the shape of a palm on the face for the rest of the lecture. At some point, he even erased the blackboard with his stomach by mistake while writing.

I started to reveal my identity by approaching him and vigorously cleaning the chalk from his stomach with my hand. After he protested, I took off the sunglasses. He was so shocked that he had to retreat to his office for ten minutes. That last part with the stomach was probably not such a great idea.

Is he a nutty proffesor?

Most definitely!

But he is also much more, and less, than that.

As time passes, and we both get older, I increasingly realize that my father has an abundance of those genuine qualities which are not always easy to see in people but are, in the final analysis, what counts: wisdom, kindness, generosity, integrity and capacity for friendship.

Bear in mind, he is in no way whatsoever a saint, and often enfuriates me, but it cannot be argued that his life has not born certain fruits.

He often helps others, without saying anything. He forgets the tresspases of his friends to an extent bordering on clinical amnesia, or so it seems. He upholds virtues and commitments, often at his own expense. He dresses in the finest suit, but fails to perceive or care about that big oily stain on it. At 77, he still does physics with a younger man's passion. He goes to church, walking a fine line between belief and doubt and between religion and science.

He can cry and laugh at the drop of a hat.

When I was a teenager, I thought that the worst thing I could become was to become like my father. As time goes by, I notice becoming increasingly like him. This includes a weird, I guess genetic, breathing quirk which results in a sudden influx of air which sounds like a swine grunt. I've only recently gotten this from him and I am yet to meet someone other than the two of us having it. These days, I have revised my original view, and would be quite content if I were to become anything like him.

I feel lucky to have had him as my father, and grateful to have him as my father and friend today.

He is now retired, but has had the luck of being elected professor emeritus, which basically means he gets to keep contact with the department of physics and the University. Upon his retirement, I advised him to take his colleagues out for dinner.

He answered that that would be a bad idea, because then they would get the impression he was actually intending to retire.

May he not tire or retire for many years to come. And if you want to describe him to someone while in a large croud or over the telephone, just say it's the guy with the Einstein hairstyle. Works every time!

If you've come this far, many thanks for reading and I hope you've enjoyed it.

Since this is my first post on this wonderful platform that I do not quite understand fully yet, all comments&upvotes doubly appreciated.

Image credits: N1: public domain; N2: Marijan Husak, personal archive.

On Father's Day: a theoretical physisist, his son and a bit of ordinary life

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