My Father and the Fire

He never stopped beating back the flames, and I loved him for that.

A family photo from the early 1970s with me (center) and (clockwise) my brother Steve; sister, Katherine; father, Tom; and brothers David and John.

By Michael Judge

If you’re a regular TFP reader—and I sincerely hope you are—you’ll know that I’ve spent most of the summer with my wife, Masae, and our son, Max, visiting family in Japan. Last week I wrote about my son and his perspective on a world that gave us Pearl Harbor and Hiroshima; but also baseball, ice cream, water balloons, and the simple joys of spending time with a 10-year-old.

Yet, as Max reminded us a few days ago, surprising both his mother and me, “All good things must come to an end.” In a little over a week we’ll be returning home to the daily grind, full of deadlines, bill payments, and other grownup stuff. Max will start the fifth grade—a particularly meaningful grade for me as it was the first year I lived far from my father after my parents’ divorce.

I was lucky to have four older siblings to keep me company—and fight a…