Sunday, January 21, 2024
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A week ago tonight my father passed away. I’ve had time to reflect on my relationship with him. I remember nights after everything was done. Dinner (always at 6p) chores everything. My mom and I would be in the living room watching TV (Kate & Ali; Who’s the Boss? we’re favorites) my dad would go into the dining room where the stereo was put in a Neil Diamond tape and read a Zane Grey book. Every so often you might hear him warble a lyric he liked.
Except on Monday nights. During football season it was Monday Night Football in the kitchen on a small tv on our movable dishwasher. As I grew older my brothers and I switched bedrooms and mine was right outside the kitchen. I listened to Howard Cosell and Frank Gifford to fall asleep. Then when I was allowed a later bedtime. It was MASH reruns at 11p on Channel 5. (When I hear that theme it puts me right back there).
My father was as involved as he could be in our lives. He was our Pack Leader in Cub Scouts and one of the Scout Leaders in the Boy Scouts. I remember a trip home from camp with my best friend, Jimmy Coleman, his father and my father. Jimmy’s father was driving us in a wood paneled station wagon. We stopped at some local diner upstate and had a great time. He supported us in whatever we wanted to do.
He was my first soccer coach. I remember him making me the goalie. But I couldn’t stop the ball without spraining my thumbs. So we ended up taping my thumbs to my hand so the ball wouldn’t bend them back.
Later on during the summer I went out into the backyard and saw my dad sitting and repeatedly drawing his weapon from an ankle holster because he had plain clothes detail and needed the practice.
What I realized is I remembered the good times. The fun times. After I became an “adult” (not sure it’s happened yet tbh) we had our issues, arguments. There were times I felt like he still saw me as his 10 yr old kid. (He always called me “Butch”) The one thing I never really questioned is that he loved me. He was never my hero (sorry Bri). There were things I saw that broke that view of him for me, but I felt I could call him if I needed advice or guidance.
After Brian called me to tell me he had passed I wanted to do something to connect with him. My father loved ‘50s and early ‘60s music: Doo Wop, etc. At first tho I thought of Neil Diamond. But I brought up a ‘50s and ‘60s mix on Spotify. The first song that came up was “Goodnight Sweetheart. (It’s time to go)” by the Platters. I lost it. I want to believe he was saying goodbye, that it’s ok he’s not in pain anymore.
I miss him. During this week every so often something would happen and would think oh I gotta call my dad and then the realization would hit me. I miss him yet I’m happy he’s not suffering anymore. I would see him in the hospital or after he got discharged and he looked diminished. Every admission and release just took more out of him.
