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The Weekly Standard
A Reader: 1995-2005
By William Kristol HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Copyright © 2005 William Kristol
All right reserved. ISBN: 0060852747
Chapter One
Frederic Barnes Sr. By Fred Barnes (Originally published, as "My Father's Day,"
in the July 1, 1996, issue)
A conceit of the modern age is that we're free and independent thinking people who decide, wholly on our own, how to live our lives. Stereotype plays on this theme. One is the rebellion of children of conservative parents who transformed themselves into counterculture radicals in the 1960s. Another is the leftie kids donning suits and dresses and becoming Reaganites and Newtoids in the 1980s and 1990s.
I'm dubious, particularly because my case and that of practically everyone I know is quite the opposite. I'm almost completely the creation of my father, Frederic Barnes (I'm Jr.). Or to put it another way, I'm a lagging indicator: When his interests and ideas and obsessions changed, mine changed, only a few years later.
I didn't realize this until a year or two ago. A friend of mine, John Yates, mentioned that his older brothers had gone into business because in their formative years, their father's life was concentrated on his career. But when John hit those years, his father was focused more on having a deeper Christian spiritual life for himself and his family. So John became an Episcopal priest.
My dad's shifts in focus were played out on only one person: me. Of course, I thought each time I was acting of my own free will. Maybe I operated under that illusion because my father never told me what to do. He simply made clear what he thought was most important in life, and I eventually came around.
My first interest was the military. My father had gone to West Point, class of 1934. He served in the cavalry and intelligence, then transferred from the Army to the Air Force after World War II. West Point was a big part of his life. As a kid in St. Louis, he had scrambled to line up an appointment. He barely made it under the age limit. By the time classes started, he was 22, probably the oldest plebe that year.
Going to West Point became my goal. When I got an appointment at age 18, however, my dad's interests had changed. He'd become a tough-minded anti-Communist, a fan of the House Un-American Activities Committee, and, naturally, a conservative Republican. He was a charter subscriber to National Review in 1955. He loved Human Events. He read the Wall Street Journal every day, especially enjoying the political reporting of a young writer named Robert Novak. After a bit, I was reading newspapers and magazines regularly. And when he began writing letters to the editor, I soon followed suit.
I turned down the chance to be a cadet. My dad was livid, I'm told, at least for a spell. But he never criticized my decision to my face. After all, he had to know I wasn't rejecting him; I was only following his lead. His chief interest was now politics, not the military. When I got out of college, the only jobs I sought were in journalism, and a few years later, I began covering politics.
After he retired from the Air Force and spent 10 years as a stockbroker, he and my mother moved to Vero Beach, Fla. He had always been a devout Christian, though not a demonstrative one. But in Florida he experienced a powerful religious awakening. An evangelical, charismatic faith pervaded his life. He talked a lot about Jesus Christ. He prayed in public. He and my mom began counseling people in trouble. When my wife, kids, and I visited, there was often some stranger there. Folks dropped by at all hours for advice and prayer and warm attention and fellowship.
I was amazed and, initially, appalled. My 70-year-old father had a new personality. He took over as head of Christian education at his church. He went on retreats. He proselytized. My family and I were prime targets. Visit after visit, he and my mother told us about the joys and rewards of their heightened Christian faith. They prayed for us and with us.
My sister and her husband were first to accept my parents' renewed faith, but I resisted for six or seven years. I refused to go to church with my parents. I balked at reading the Christian pamphlets and testimonies pushed my way. I failed to bond with young Christians my dad sent my way in hopes their example would prompt my conversion. But one example was overpowering to me -- my father. I saw how his life was changed for the better. And since his faith had become the most important thing in his life, I was sure to follow. In 1980, my wife and I knelt in our living room and became Christians.
My father died on June 14 at age 87. I don't know if he was aware of how much he'd shaped my life. He never claimed to have swayed anybody's life (if credit was to be given, God got it). But he changed mine more than once, and I'll never be able to thank him enough for it.
Continues...
Excerpted from The Weekly Standard by William Kristol Copyright © 2005 by William Kristol. Excerpted by permission.
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