“The son becomes the father; and the father becomes the son.” - Jor-El, from Superman II

You may wonder I chose this quote; this line from one of my favorite movies, The Richard Donner cut of Superman II. I think of it now as I think of my father, Anthony S. Fusari. I think my love of classic movies began with him. I remember all the times I watched old movies with him. It was usually on a rare Sunday he had off from doing work around the house or working his second job to keep a roof over mine, Anthony, my brother, and my sister, Kathy's, heads and food on the table back in the day. He had a particular fondness for westerns. In his words, “Give me a movie with a horse in it any day of the week over the ___ that's on now.” 

When I think about it, my father was probably my greatest hero. He took me and brother fishing. He prepared us for the world, that it was not an easy place. He impressed upon us, my brother, sister, and I, that there was a right and wrong way of doing things. Now, Dad was human and had his flaws like any other person. In my teenage years, we had our troubles like any other father and son. But we got past them, and grew closer. At the end of the day, he was still always there and always did the best he could by his wife and children. I didn't always tell him that the way I should have, at least not until a good two years ago. Some of my own life experiences mirrored his in some ways and I think I came to understand him better, once I walked in his shoes. 

He wasn't Superman, Batman, or Guy Williams as Zorro. He was more like the character of Dardo, the Italian version of Robin Hood in the 1950 film, “The Flame and the Arrow”. We talked about that one from time to time, to this day I love this movie. I remember my Dad telling me again and again, “You know, Burt Lancaster did all his own stunts for that movie!” And it was a Sunday back in the late 70's again. 

Like Dardo, my father would take a stand if he were pushed. Of course, he couldn't storm in like Burt Lancaster and handle it like a swashbuckling hero. Still, my Dad would not tolerate an injustice. One particular time comes to mind was when I was being bullied in junior high school. He was frustrated that things weren't like they were in his day, when he was growing up. Back in his day, the kid you fought with was your best friend later because you stood up to him. But it was different when the 80's rolled around, the bullies were a lot worse. They didn't stop. Only when my parents threatened the school and the bullies parents with legal action, did it finally stop. 

He was also very protective of my sister, his only daughter. I remember another time where he gave my brother and I, we were adults at this point, that if anyone messed with Kathy that, well, let's leave it at he expected us to do something about it. One thing he used to remind me of, “How would you feel if someone treated your mother or sister like that?” This was in response to something that happened when he was 17. Some guy was mistreating a woman on a city bus and my Dad shouted this at him after he knocked him flat. 

My Dad was tough, strong, a good man. He was also a bit of a softie, though he told me on more than one occasion why he wouldn't have a dog, there were many times back in the day that he would grumble the same thing he told me and yet toss whatever dog was around a piece of steak. He was a little excitable at times, because he didn't always have patience for people with a lack of common sense. I know there were a lot of times I frustrated him because I didn't always think things through the way I should have. But I did learn a lot from him, about right and wrong. He taught me morality. 

Rest in Peace, Dad. While we all miss you down here, I keep getting this image in my head of Nana seeing you first, saying, “Anthony, my son!” with Papa, Uncle Sammy, Uncle Angelo, and Uncle Frank, and sitting down for dinner.