“The best thing to spend on your children is time.”

—Arnold Glasow

Today’s story is from Mort Dukehart

My dad Mort, adventurer extraordinaire. “Pack your bags. We’re taking a weekend trip.”

Mort (right) with his younger brother Jon, circa 1950

Virtually every weekend, my brother and I took a trip with Dad. Sometimes near, often far. We piled in the car. Off we went. We never knew where until we arrived. It might be just a few hours. It could be days. It was always a surprise.

Even on a rare weekend at home, Dad took us on long walks to pick up driftwood from Long Island Sound; or a short drive to check out new local sites. The Dukehart boys were doers, not observers. Dad wanted us to learn the world by experiencing it. And, he loved to spend time with his boys. We felt the same about him.   

“Where are we going this weekend, dad?” asked my brother and me. Dad’s answer was always the same,

“It’s a surprise boys, we’ll just have to see.”

We were lucky. We lived near New York City—endless opportunities, emblems of every part of the world close at hand. The Museum of Natural History. Chinatown. The Bronx Botanical Gardens. Little Italy. Coney Island and its Aquarium. The United Nations. Or Yankee Stadium, to see the NY Giants play. We watched the West Point cadets walk in their parade and play lacrosse.

Best of all was when Dad would say,
“Pack your bags. We’re taking a weekend trip this time.”

The anticipation was palpable. We drove, often for hours, toward our next surprise. Dad usually kept it a secret until we arrived.

Roadside diners. Motels with their humming neon signs.
Their floors creaking with mystery.

Mort with his sister Susie and dad at the Bronx Zoo, circa 1950

What my brother and I learned on those trips went beyond what we experienced and saw. The conversations were like a “University of Dad.” Our father shared stories of triumph, stories of loss, practical tips, savvy and smarts. Each trip was a primer on life.

These days kids get around easily, often with friends—but in the 1950’s travel was harder. You needed a dad. Today, time with our fathers, adventures alone with our dads, that seems to have faded away.

I reflect back on those trips, the talks, those special experiences with Dad. What did I learn? What is my advice for the fathers out there?

Quality time with Dad breeds curious boys into quality men.

“The Baseball Hall of Fame; the Gettysburg Battlefield and Thomas Jefferson’s House at Monticello…magic to me. And they planted the seed for my passion for history. It’s how I make my living today—a teacher of history, now a principal of schools. Like Dad, I spend my time igniting passions in young minds.” —Mort Dukehart

Mort today