My great-grandfather was born near Kiev, Ukraine in 1910. During this time period, Kiev and the country of Ukraine struggled over Russian oppression, fighting for its independence. This struggle left Russian officers stationed around the city, leading to violence, especially against the Jews. My great-grandfather was a Jew and at an early age, witnessed the death of his grandmother at the hands of Russian soldiers.
By the age of 17, my great-grandfather’s family escaped through immigration to the United States and settled in Philadelphia. Upon arrival, the family’s Jewish names were Americanized as was customary at the time and he was named Joseph Driban. This wouldn’t be his only new name, though. Fourteen years later, Joseph received another name—Fither.
Joseph was not formally educated, but his natural brilliance and ability to self-learn enabled him to master multiple instruments, art mediums, and advanced mathematics. His flair for the creative arts and good looks caught the eye of another young immigrant. Later that year, Joseph married Clare Ostrow who, coincidentally, also immigrated from Kiev as a Jew. They started a family, giving birth to Rita, May, and Bernice between 1928 and 1932. Then after a six-year pause, Melvin, Stanley, and Jerry followed between 1938 and 1941.
It sounds like a wonderful American immigrant story. The Dribans were two young talented immigrants in the land of opportunity with six beautiful children. However, paradise fractured in 1941 when Joseph walked out on his family, only to return sporadically and with little support. Hence the name … Fither.
That was all that I really knew about my great-grandfather for most of my life. He was the butt of sarcasm when and if his name ever came up. Yet, I have always been intrigued by his life and the reason for his nickname of Fither. It was a funny name and one that Clare assigned to Joseph after he walked out on them. She definitely put malice in the term, but from what I’ve been told, it was just a derogatory word and never drew any deep meaning. Personally, I think it is a very clever word blend by combining ‘father’ and ‘wither’.
Fither – A father who withers away.
I am a 39-year-old, father of four. My passion is helping fathers. My own clever word-blended platform is called Dadnamics, or the infusion of creativity, adventure, and silliness into dad time. I am also known as the genealogist within the Driban Family Tree. Therefore, I took my intrigue of Fither to the next level by interviewing my Aunt Rita before she passed and my own grandfather, Melvin a few weeks ago. I feel strongly about preserving stories within families so they can be handed down. It’s a lost art in our culture and I don’t want to squander the opportunity to interview the older generation while they are still with us.
Mel is 78-years-old and is the best living resource of Fither stories. He is also my grandfather, who I’ve always called Pop Mel. Our interview lasted over an hour because I really wanted to probe the deeper feelings and relationships between Joseph and his children. I was not disappointed. Pop Mel was a wellspring of knowledge as his brain is as finely tuned as one of Joseph’s mandolins.
Afterward, I felt a profound sadness for Pop Mel and a deep respect for the man that I thought I knew. I can’t even begin to imagine my own kids scraping by with their mom while I popped in every once and while, offering little support. I can’t imagine the despair and the pain. This is why I am bringing the story of Fither to the world. I want to encourage all fathers to keep fighting. Don’t become a Fither. Choose to be a Father.
It would be extremely difficult to chronicle the entire interview, so I wanted to point out the highlights. I asked about the sporadic nature of Joseph’s visits. Each visit was an hour or two long and they normally comprised of playing checkers and talking. Although on rare occasion, Joseph would take them to a pool or give them a joy ride in his car around the neighborhood. These were Pop Mel’s greatest memories of his father.
The visits were so sporadic that neighbors started to question Clare where he was. Because of the stigma of divorce and separation at the time, she would lie and say that Joseph “worked out of town.” This humbled me and I ran the numbers through a calculator to discover that Joseph spent less than 50 days with my grandfather in his formative years of three to 18. Think about that. Fifty days in 15 years.
During his visits, Joseph rarely brought gifts. Pop Mel can only remember a building-blocks set. The family would purposely leave the blocks spread on the floor before Joseph’s next visit so he could see they were getting use out of it.
I asked Pop Mel a directed question about his feelings toward Joseph as an adult. He said. “I resented the fact that he wasn’t there for me. He didn’t support me well enough. He wasn’t the one that I could throw a football or baseball around with.” If that wasn’t sad enough, he then said. “I don’t recall having ever heard to the day he died that he loved me.” These proclamations shook me to the core.
“Clare raised six kids by herself. She was a saint,” Pop Mel said. But the extraordinary struggle she dealt with day in and day out caused her to resort to sarcasm and bitterness. Over the years, she devised nicknames for her kids, relatives, and neighbors that she didn’t like. The nickname, Fither, came from this bitter sarcasm. She would use it to reference Joseph’s name in front of the kids and Joseph never knew to the day he died that his ex-wife and six children called him that.
In the end, Joseph was laid to rest in the way he lived as Pop Mel told me. “He had a minister and a rabbi presiding; two men of the cloth. It was awkward, odd, but fitting for his convoluted life.”
Fither is not a nice term. I will not joke about it anymore. It’s sad and no matter what may have happened to Joseph as a boy in Russia or a young adult in Philly; nothing excuses what he did. In fact, Pop Mel left me with a quote that I literally had to stop and take in.
Any man can father a child. If a man doesn’t take care of the kids that he fathers, then he’s not a man. – Mel Driban
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I dwelled on this quote for a while, for it brought me to another time frame. In 1976, a 39-year-old Mel found out that his 16-year-old daughter, Lynn was pregnant. I’d be lying if abortion wasn’t on the table. It was. However, two great fathers supported the young couple’s decision to keep the baby. Those fathers were Mel Driban and Ken Carfagno, Senior. The couple married in August 1976 at the ages of 16 and 18 and became Mr. and Mrs. Ken Carfagno, Junior. Lynn carried the baby through the 11th grade and gave birth to a boy on March 1st, 1977.
Today, that baby is writing this article and has four children of his own that call him Father, not Fither.
I love this Kenny! Not only is it a wonderful story but useful information for immediate family. I don’t know much about Joseph or Clare but now I have a brief understanding of how the Dribans came to be.
I love this Ken! Thank you so much for sharing.