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IndieSnob
Guest
This is the tenth Father's Day without my Dad. At times it's hard to believe it's been that long since he passed, but at other times it's felt much longer.
This is a photo of our last Father's Day together, as noted by my horribly irritated red eyes from crying.
My Dad and I were more friends that Father and Son in most way. He was the "cool" Dad. He bought alcohol for my friends and I as long as we drank it in the house. We smoked pot on a few occasions. All of my friends came to him for advice on things. He was always there for them.
There was the part of him that I remember from an early age though that was more Dad like. I remember the time when I was out playing in the driveway one morning when he was trying to sleep because he worked night shifts. I don't remember why it came out of my mouth, but I had said the word retard about something. Before I knew it, my Dad was out in the driveway lecturing me and telling me to never use that word, that those who were developmentally disabled were just as much of a person as he and I are. That came from him working in a large state group home for the the developmentally disabled. My Dad often griped about working there because of the politics and the bureaucracy. He'd get written up at work for refusing not to still reward an 84 year old man, Fritz, with a snack, just because he couldn't make a pot of coffee correctly. My Dad disagreed with trying to teach an 84 year old DD person how to learn such things, when he knew they'd never live out on their own, and to punish them for not being able to was cruel.
There was also the time that he and I came face to face when I was in an argument with a friend over cheating at playing Horse, and I called my friend "gay". Again, my Dad came out and gave me a stern lecture. I grew up around a gay male couple who were best friends with my parents. It was instilled to me from an early age that there was nothing wrong with it, and that if two people loved each other, that's all that mattered.
My Father was the ultimate big kid. He loved fireworks. He'd spend upwards of $500 every 4th of July. He'd go on and on about what he called "kiddy shit" fireworks, little fountains and firecrackers. He wanted the mortars and cakes that went high into the air and made a lot of colors.
He was also a huge music enthusiast, and got me into all of the classic rock he grew up on, along with exposing me to the likes of Captain Beefheart and Frank Zappa. I don't think I would have been as open to music had he not raised me with such an open ear. I still have notebooks of his with his hard to read handwriting, filled with track lists of mixed cassettes and CDs that he made for his friends. He was constantly making them for people.
Note how in this picture he has one great album in Trout Mask Replica, one OK'ish album in Nilsson Schmilsson and one terrible album in Breakfast In America.
What I admire most about my Dad though was his grace when accepted with the fact he had Lou Gehrig's Disease. He was only 52 years old when he was diagnosed, and had just retired after working for the state for 30 years. He was looking forward to retirement, and then this came. He slowly lost the ability to eat and speak. He lost all control of the right side of his body, which frustrated him greatly as he was right handed. I bought him a laptop and setup speech software so he could use it to communicate. There were times when he would sit and have problems breathing due to not being able to swallow his own saliva correctly. Yet there was never a time when he said why me, or pity me. He met it head on, and made sure that all of us that loved him didn't worry. It was just another gift he had, to put his own pain aside for those he loved.
The last thing he wrote was a note saying for us not to cry when he passed. That although he wasn't sure where he would go, that he would be in a better place nonetheless. That we were to lights off a few fireworks in his honor. I pinned that to the wall so that as his death came close, people would know that was his wishes.
The note was posted on this poster board, along with photos of him throughout his life, and a few fireworks attached to it.
Dad, you've been gone almost 11 years now, and in ways it's never gotten any easier to accept you're not around. I'll always have a place for you in my heart, and will never forget the life lessons you taught me, nor how caring of a person you were. I'm the person I am because of you, and although you had your faults as a person and as a parent (and who doesn't), the good far outweighed the bad in the end. Wherever you may be, I love you.
