Belated Father's Day Thoughts
My dad will be 71 this September and, I believe, he has lived longer than his own father. He remembers food coupons given out during WWII and toward the end of The Great Depression. He remembers when margarine came with a yellow dot in the center of it and kneading it to spread the color. He remembers how his neighbor used to hang chickens upside down in the backyard and then cut their heads off and prepare them for dinner. I know, a gruesome sight and I cannot even fathom my own little girl seeing that in our neighborhood. But, as my dad says when remembering these things from his childhood, "Things were different back then".
"Back then" seems a world away. My dad bought a car for like $30 when he was 14 or so, couldn't even drive the old thing. He remembers "sock hops" and riding the trolley downtown to see the movies or go dancing. To this day he is still puzzled by his mother's decision to take him out of a vocational high school when he was 16. My dad, who never enjoyed school, really enjoyed this one; it's where he learned wood working. I always assumed it was so he could go to work and help with the family income; but the tone in his voice indicates otherwise.
"Back then" it was cool to smoke cigarettes. So, at the age of 16, my dad began his 30 year pack a day habit. I remember when he quit, with my mom's help, and he attended my First Holy Communion. I was 7 and my father never came to church with us. My brother came up to me later and said, "Did you notice that Dad was in church today?" I was 7 and nervous and saw him there but didn't really think anything of it. I was told that he had quit smoking and thought that that very special day would be a good one to start his new life. He, himself, told me that he wanted to live long enough to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day.
My dad has good bill of health from his doctor's, but damage has been done. I worry, increasingly, about my father. Really, about me. My dad had a heart attack 7 years ago. He had part of his lung removed about 3 or 4 years ago. His hand shakes. These things are all unknown to my daughter. All she knows, all she really needs to know is that her Pop-pop loves her and she loves him like no one else.
My daughter is going through a phase where she needs some time to warm up to people. This is new to me and I don't like it. I am confident that it is mostly due to more teeth coming in, a more aware self, and a growing desire for independence. All this makes her moody for the first half hour she is in a place where there are more adults than kids. This past Father's Day, she was being her moody, clingy self at my family's cookout. Pop-pop, my dad, came in from the deck to greet his "BABY!" and she would not go to him. My daughter, who looks at family pictures and points to her grandfather and says with joy, "Pop-pop!"; my daughter, who randomly says "Pop-pop" before she goes to bed at night would not go to her favorite person in the whole wide world.
And it broke my heart.
I know it's a phase and she did go to him as usual as the day went on. But I couldn't help but think back to my First Holy Communion and the thought that my wedding day was a lifetime away and my dad would live forever. I couldn't help but notice that my dad could barely hold his plate to spoon some potato salad onto it because his hand shook so much. I couldn't help but notice that my dad was quieter than usual that day. Quiet like the night before Christmas 3 1/2 years ago when he sat at my table nearly silent and ended up going to the hospital at 5 a.m. with a collapsed lung.
We are going to Disney World this year to celebrate my parents' 50 years of marriage and I can't help but think . . . well, let's just say I will be enjoying every moment of this upcoming vacation, taking pictures and searing the memory of it into my brain. I've made room, you see, cleared out some clutter in my memory files and I've trained myself to be observant to the little things said and unsaid: A look, a laugh, an opinion, a smile, a thought, a . . . yes . . . a shake.
"Back then" seems a world away. My dad bought a car for like $30 when he was 14 or so, couldn't even drive the old thing. He remembers "sock hops" and riding the trolley downtown to see the movies or go dancing. To this day he is still puzzled by his mother's decision to take him out of a vocational high school when he was 16. My dad, who never enjoyed school, really enjoyed this one; it's where he learned wood working. I always assumed it was so he could go to work and help with the family income; but the tone in his voice indicates otherwise.
"Back then" it was cool to smoke cigarettes. So, at the age of 16, my dad began his 30 year pack a day habit. I remember when he quit, with my mom's help, and he attended my First Holy Communion. I was 7 and my father never came to church with us. My brother came up to me later and said, "Did you notice that Dad was in church today?" I was 7 and nervous and saw him there but didn't really think anything of it. I was told that he had quit smoking and thought that that very special day would be a good one to start his new life. He, himself, told me that he wanted to live long enough to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day.
My dad has good bill of health from his doctor's, but damage has been done. I worry, increasingly, about my father. Really, about me. My dad had a heart attack 7 years ago. He had part of his lung removed about 3 or 4 years ago. His hand shakes. These things are all unknown to my daughter. All she knows, all she really needs to know is that her Pop-pop loves her and she loves him like no one else.
My daughter is going through a phase where she needs some time to warm up to people. This is new to me and I don't like it. I am confident that it is mostly due to more teeth coming in, a more aware self, and a growing desire for independence. All this makes her moody for the first half hour she is in a place where there are more adults than kids. This past Father's Day, she was being her moody, clingy self at my family's cookout. Pop-pop, my dad, came in from the deck to greet his "BABY!" and she would not go to him. My daughter, who looks at family pictures and points to her grandfather and says with joy, "Pop-pop!"; my daughter, who randomly says "Pop-pop" before she goes to bed at night would not go to her favorite person in the whole wide world.
And it broke my heart.
I know it's a phase and she did go to him as usual as the day went on. But I couldn't help but think back to my First Holy Communion and the thought that my wedding day was a lifetime away and my dad would live forever. I couldn't help but notice that my dad could barely hold his plate to spoon some potato salad onto it because his hand shook so much. I couldn't help but notice that my dad was quieter than usual that day. Quiet like the night before Christmas 3 1/2 years ago when he sat at my table nearly silent and ended up going to the hospital at 5 a.m. with a collapsed lung.
We are going to Disney World this year to celebrate my parents' 50 years of marriage and I can't help but think . . . well, let's just say I will be enjoying every moment of this upcoming vacation, taking pictures and searing the memory of it into my brain. I've made room, you see, cleared out some clutter in my memory files and I've trained myself to be observant to the little things said and unsaid: A look, a laugh, an opinion, a smile, a thought, a . . . yes . . . a shake.
posted by Ed at 9:53 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home