pyroguysr's Diaryland Diary

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Dad

I've debated a number of topics to discuss today... everything from why Bush will win the election again to why I like sushi. Instead, I'll write about the subject I've been avoiding the past few days: I miss my dad.

Dad passed away 8 years ago this last March 29th from cancer. I guess he was one of the better dads that people could have. All my friends loved him and told me many times that they wished they had a father like him. To me, he was "Dad." Nothing more, nothing less. I loved him unconditionally, even though we would fight from time to time. Hell, sometimes I think we fought constantly.

Dad didn't always agree with the lifestyle I'd chosen. I'm not sure he'd approve of the lifestyle I'm living now, but he'd accept it. He wouldn't love me any less. He'd just be disappointed that I left the woman that he considered as the daughter he'd wished he had to become a travelling gypsy. He'd understand because he'd see that I'm happy and that I was being creative. He'd understand because he'd know that I know what I'm doing. He'd understand because he'd see the potential. He still wouldn't like it, though. And he'd tell me.

He wasn't the perfect father. He was a terrible teacher. I used to think he played favorites, but in talking to my brothers, he loved us all equally, just in different ways. He gave something different to each of us and recognized our strengths and weaknesses. He wasn't there a lot during my childhood because he worked shiftwork. Each week the shift would change. Dad could also sleep anywhere and anyplace, in any position at any time... even after drinking a couple pots of coffee. He loved gardening and puttering around the house. Most of all, he loved fishing.

Now, during retirement, dad would go up to "the lake" and fish for hours. It was his form of meditation. Dad would catch close to 300 or 400 lbs of crappie and perch every year. He'd also scale them, clean them, fillet them and fry them up. But he couldn't stand the taste of fish. Wouldn't eat them.

He did give them to the local tavern he used to frequent, though. They'd have fish frys during Lent. I don't recall Dad ever having to pay for a drink in that place.

I'm the oldest of my fathers children and the second of my mothers. Dad was the typical middle child in a family of five. He was born to poor, immigrant parents - not in a hospital like most of us today - but in the bedroom of the house where he grew up. While helping to arrange his funeral, I learned many things about him that I didn't know, which only made me more proud of him. I think the most surprising thing I learned is that my dad never finished high school. He dropped out after his sophomore year because he needed to work to help support the family. I haven't checked to see if that was because my grandfather died at that point (probably the case) but I know my dad worked hard all his life, sometimes working two and three jobs just to make ends meet.

Dad was dedicated, loyal and stubborn. A typical Taurus if you will. As I said, he was a terrible teacher. He tried many times to show me how to use tools properly, but would get frustrated if I didn't "get" the concept right away and would push me away to "do it right." He intimidated me in many ways. He was an artist in a manner that I cannot seem to duplicate. He could take scrap wood and make just about anything from it. He could decorate things lavishly and with a particular attention to detail when he wanted. He could tear apart engines and machines, clean them and put them together again to make them work. I was all thumbs in doing that. The one and only time I tried to rebuild a carburator, I ended up with spare parts. Much to the consternation and amazement of the friend that was trying to teach me about this, the carb worked... better than it had before we took it apart!

Now, while I may have been intimidated by him, I think he was intimidated by me in many ways as well. He considered me the "intelligent" one because I read so much. I never really felt that way, but that was Dads opinion. He had many fond memories that he used to tell people about me... especially the time we went to Gettysburg, PA to the civil war battelfield out there and took the bus tour. Now, at the time, I was very knowledgeable about that battle and was continually correcting the tour guide... to the point where he got frustrated and asked if I wanted to give the tour. I think I surprised him when I said "yes" and proceeded to do his job better than he did. (They offered me a job when I turned 16 *LOL*) It was things like that which made Dad proud.

If Dad had a flaw, it was in his inability to give someone praise to their face. His feeling about that, when I finally confronted him about it later in his life, was that he didn't want us to "get a big head" from the praise. Oh, he was very proud of all of us. I'd hear all sorts of stories second and third hand... but never directly from him... not until the last of his days. He was very proud of me and my brothers.

That's not to say that we didn't disappoint him in many ways. I don't think that any parent likes to see their kids falter or fail at things... they like it less when the child gets hurt. The thing that I learned was that everyone has to make their own mistakes to grow, to learn. That was something Dad didn't comprehend for a long time. I think he expected us all to stay in the area and help him in his later years. Instead, we all spread out to the four winds. He told me that this had hurt him a great deal.

One thing I did learn from Dad was tradition. We didn't have many in our family, but one of them was making Christmas and Easter sausage... Polish Sausage. I should be making it this week. I feel it in my bones. But I'm travelling and I can't. I feel like I'm letting Dad down and I want to cry about that... but I've not been able to cry for over a year now. I supress it each time the urge comes and I know it's not healthy, but it never seems to come around when no one is around. I'm like my late Uncle Leo - Dad's older brother - in that way. At Dad's funeral, I went to get a cup of coffee and interrupted his grieving. We were the "oldest" and therefore "had to be strong for the others." No one could watch us cry... so we did so in private.

Another thing I learned from dad is to put up a good front, no matter what the circumstances. Look your best and you will feel your best. Dad was a sharp dresser. He had style and panache when he wanted to. Dad also had charm. I guess I inherited a lot of those traits from him.

I don't remember Dad ever being sick with a cold or the flu. I don't remember him ever... EVER taking a day off from work because he "didn't feel good." And dad worked as an oil refinery operating engineer. What that means is he climbed 12 story towers, out in the open in both winter and summer three or four times a day to check gauges and valves on the boilers that convert crude oil to gasoline and other refined petroleum products. I mean, he did this 5 or 6 days a week for 20 of the 40 years he worked for Amoco (and like all us other folks from the Chicago area, I refuse to call them "BP"... it's AMOCO, dammit... AMerican Oil COmpany... not British Pricks... erm... Petroleum - apologies to my British friends, but I've no love for BP - they're another "bottom line" megacompany that doesn't care about what they do to individuals or communities, just "how much profit are we making." A megalomaniacs playtoy). I can't imagine working for the same company for 40 years, can you? Doing what HE did? In steaming hot summers and winters where howling, freezing winds whipped off Lake Michigan, only a thousand yards distant to chill you to the bone.

Yes, I remember an honor my dad, a fighter and scrapper until the end. I loved him... love him still... and miss him a lot.

Thanks for letting me ramble on like this. Thank you even more if you read it all. It's OK to cry.

12:32 p.m. - 2004-04-02

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