As Father’s Day 2025 approaches, I find myself thinking more and more about my father, Bernard Harold Blieden (1914 – 1973), and all the things I miss about him. I lovingly remember all the advice he gave me over the years and all the good habits he tried to instill. His advice came in many forms: from gentle nudges and quiet examples to firm words, repeated reminders, and the occasional exasperated shout. Some of his “lessons” didn’t make sense to me until years later (and a few still leave me scratching my head). But all of them came from a place of love, and they’ve stuck with me more than I ever expected. Here are a few of my favorites.
Stay Left-handed
When I was in first grade, one night I locked myself in the bathroom.
“Tara, what are you doing in there?” I could hear him banging on the door and asking.
He knew I was up to something. I finally opened the door, and he saw me with a pad of paper and a pencil. I was left-handed like him, but my teacher wanted me to switch to being a righty. I locked myself in the bathroom to practice writing with my right hand. A few days before, I had mentioned that my teacher wanted me to switch hands, and he unequivocally said, “NO!”. You are left-handed and you are going to stay that way.”
When he saw me in the bathroom, he realized what I was probably doing, and that is why he got upset. Once again, he said I was to stay left-handed. I believe my parents both marched to school the next day to reinforce this with my teacher, making sure she did not put any more pressure on me. To this day, I am happily left-handed!
Ira, Pop, Avra in Front, Tara
Create a Distinctive Signature
We learned cursive writing in school when I was in 4th grade. I followed the instructions exactly, forming my name with the standard, plain, cursive “T” we were taught. Pop did not like that. He said I had to have a nice signature, one that had a personality and some flourish to it. Not knowing enough about design, I was a little confused and asked him to show me what he meant. He took a pen and demonstrated his version: a strong vertical line with a slightly curved top that stretched across the “ara” like a little banner.
I loved what he showed me and practiced making the “T” his way until it felt natural. I now had my distinct signature, just like he suggested.
Stand Up Straight
Pop was always after me to stand up straight and would encourage me to do so with persistent reminders. He was happy when we had a posture section in 7th-grade gym class. Between Pop and gym class, I had no choice but to keep reminding myself to stand tall. Strangely enough, over the years, I have often been complimented on my good posture. If people only knew what I looked like before Pop started needling me!
Take Cold Showers to Wake Up
Pop always said that breakfast was the most important meal of the day. I didn’t believe him until I was an adult, but of course, he was right. Mornings in our house were… spirited. He’d wake us by flinging open the blinds and blasting a pretend bugle call, just like he remembered from his four years in the Army Air Corps. Try as we might to bury our heads under the covers, he wouldn’t stop his” bugle blowing” until we woke up. Once we were up (or close enough), he insisted we take cold showers to shake off our sleep. At the time, it felt like torture. But I have to admit, nothing wakes you up faster than a splash of freezing water—and all these years later, I still find myself doing it. Turns out, Pop was onto something.
Smile!
I’ve never been a morning person—never have, never will. Pop would see me trudging down the stairs, hair in disarray, scowl firmly in place, and without fail, he’d call out, “Can’t you ever smile?” as if that might magically fix everything. I wasn’t mad, I was barely awake. But to him, that grouchy face looked like a bad mood. To this day, when I catch myself being grumpy in the morning, I hear his voice in my head asking that same question, and I feel a little guilty that he mistook my sleep-deprived zombie shuffle for a bad attitude.
Ira, Pop, Mavra in Front, Avra
Pick your Fruit and Flowers Carefully
I can still picture him at the grocery store picking out the best fruit and vegetables by poking, smelling and squeezing them, sometimes going from store to store to find just the right ones in each variety that he was looking for that day.
His attention to detail didn’t stop at the produce aisle, I also picture him buying geraniums for the flower box under the dining room window. My mother loved the flower box, and I am sure my father kept it up in her memory. He always picked the prettiest geraniums, usually red in color, and showed me how to plant them and how to prune them when each bloom was past its prime.
Drive Carefully
The first thing my father said to me when I got my driver’s license was, “A car is like a gun. It can kill you, and it can kill other people. Drive Carefully”
And people wonder why I am so neurotic!
Avra, Pop, Tara, Ira, Mavra in Front
Think Bigger
Although Pop never earned a formal college degree, he loved to read and imparted that love onto us. Our house was filled with books, most of which he had read. He also insisted that we all go to college. He kept stressing how important a good education was. He was remarkably forward-thinking and encouraged us to pursue careers that we didn’t think of for ourselves. He always told me, “Be an architect, be an astronaut, be a journalist” even though most girls at the time became teachers, nurses, or secretaries.
He encouraged Ira to go into computers even though they were at the early stage of invention. We didn’t always take his advice right away, but his wisdom stayed with us. Later, when I changed careers, his words helped me believe I could try something new. And though Ira majored in electrical engineering, he ultimately found his place in the computer industry, just as Pop had predicted.
Don’t Smoke
No one is perfect, and Pop had the harmful habit of smoking Chesterfield cigarettes. He would not stop even though he had a heart condition, and the doctors told him to stop. We would yell at him, begging him to give up his nasty, smelly habit, and we would even hide his cigarettes. He got so mad when we intervened that we eventually decided keeping him calm was better for his heart than arguing about cigarettes.
Pop never gave up his Chesterfields, no matter what the doctors or we said. But thanks to him, we never started. Call it reverse psychology at its most persuasive.
Avra, Tara, Pop, Mavra, Ira
Keep The Faith
Pop’s faith was quiet but committed. He always went to Temple on the High Holidays – Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur – and many of the minor ones. He often took me along with him, even when I was little. I always felt special sitting beside him in Shul. He was very strict about our behavior and dress on these special days. We usually got new outfits, complete with hats and shoes, to look our best. There was no playing, no chewing gum, no TV. We had to sit quietly and contemplate the seriousness of the day and what it was about. As you can imagine, those were long days for little kids.
After Mom died, he faithfully attended minyan every morning for at least the first year. At first, I insisted on going with him even though they were surprised to see a girl come in. He also faithfully attended Temple Services every Friday evening and every Saturday morning. We usually walked, as driving to Shul was still frowned upon.
He was very devoted to his faith and repeatedly told us that he did not eat any meat for the four years he was overseas with the Army Air Corps, because it was not kosher meat. That was the kind of commitment he carried quietly, without show.
From Poppy to Pop
When I was little, we all called my father “Poppy”, a name he picked up during WWII while recuperating from malaria in New Zealand. That’s what children there called their fathers. As we grew older, though, he started joking that he was beginning to smell like a flower and asked us to call him “Pop” instead. It felt strange at first—like letting go of a piece of childhood—but it taught us an important lesson: change is part of life, and being flexible is too. Still, in my heart, he will always be my Poppy.
Take Care of Your Family
Pop took care of everyone, and over the years, our Teaneck, New Jersey, home became a haven for aging relatives. First to live with us was my paternal great-uncle Max Abramowitz, who was in his 90s and walked oh so slowly. He mostly stayed in his room praying or reading, but he would walk to the Teaneck Jewish Community Center daily, making me hold my breath as he crossed Queen Ann Road, a very busy thoroughfare.
Then came my grandmother, Minnie Laber Wosnitzer (my mother’s mother), who had Parkinson’s disease that was progressing. She would often fall, and if my father were not at home, my mother would have to call neighbors to help get her back onto the couch. Usually, Grandma was fun and happy, and it is sad to remember her that way.
Later, we welcomed my Grandmother Gussie Abramowitz Blieden (my father’s mother) when she could no longer be on her own. Grandma Gussie spoke with a heavy Yiddish accent. She lived with us after my mother died, and she gave the housekeepers a hard time. They never seemed to meet her cooking and cleaning standards which caused a constant turnover in housekeepers.
Finally, my paternal great-aunt Reve Blieden Bricker came to stay when she became frail and was aging. Normally, she was full of energy, and it was hard to see her slow down.
Pop was good to each of them, never complaining, always showing up, and through him, we learned what compassion truly looks like. He would be proud to know all four of his children follow in his footsteps when it comes to caring about others.
Mavra, Tara, Ira in back, Pop, Avra
In Summary
These are some of the lessons my father passed down, some intentional, others accidental, but all meaningful. I carry them with me still, and in sharing them, I can see his gentle smile and imagine him dishing out his advice or just going about his day. Most of all, though, through my memories, I hold onto the warmth and affection he had for his family, perhaps his greatest lesson of all.
