Category: beloved

Dad talk

I was recently asked what my Dad was like when I was younger.

I love talking about my Dad. In fact, I visited him yesterday. I talked a lot, in fact, I did all the talking. Primarily, because he can’t hear me through 6 feet of dirt and a Veteran’s Grave marker. He may have died 10 1/2 years ago but not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. 

One of the things I remember most about my Dad was a conversation we had towards the end of his life. As Parkinson’s ravaged his body, transforming him into a shadow of the mighty Oak he once was, he became briefly interested in his legacy. He didn’t have much regard for how people felt about him and he wasn’t a man with many regrets, but he was concerned about how he was as a Dad. I was shocked when he brought it up.

“Do you resent me for being out of the house so much”?

I had never really thought of it. He worked all the time. Side jobs, overtime, helping my Grandfather. “Out” wasn’t out with the boys or time spent on himself. It was work. Other than that he was home being a great Dad. And, it wasn’t as if I had a reference point to compare his time home to others. All of my friends’ Dads worked, most of them a lot. I always thought that’s how it was supposed to be, the parents provide so the kids can thrive.

“Not at all, Dad”, I replied. “I didn’t resent you ever, about anything. I admired your work ethic and I always looked to you with pride for your accomplishments.”

A tear formed in the corner of his eye. He caught my reference. I was reminding him of something he thought about every day of his life, his upbringing. My Dad came from very humble beginnings. He lived in the poorest section of town, one of 4 kids. Of he and his multiple cousins, Dad was the one with the work ethic, the good eyesight and the desire to do better. I mention eyesight because it has been theorized that my Dad was the product of an affair. His entire family wore thick glasses, Dad could spot a feather out of place on a Hawk’s tail at 2000 feet. Dad was also the only one to make something of himself. He joined the military, learned a skill, joined a Union, bought a house. Instead of being happy for him, he was chided by his family as the “Rich one”. To them, Middle Class was rich. Me, I was the “Rich Kid”. I hated them for that. I developed a “fuck’em” attitude early on.

So, knowing all of this, I never had a problem with his hard work. It was all for us.

But the real matter at hand here is what was my Dad like when he WAS home. The answer is simultaneously simple and complex. He tried too hard, because someone in his life didn’t try hard enough. He had very high expectations for me, but he forced a lot of them on me because he never had the opportunities I had. He wanted to be an amazing father and husband, but he put on metaphorical “hats” (Hubby hat, Dad hat, Neighbor hat, etc) and in the process denied himself some of the more genuine moments of family life because he couldn’t just relax and be himself. Those moments were rare but so very special.

I am not a revisionist historian. I don’t paint the past pretty colors in an attempt to make it more palatable. I didn’t always get along with my Dad. He pushed me very hard at a time when I was too mixed up to handle my own problems. He didn’t recognize those times when I needed him to take off the damn hat and just be there for me. I don’t blame him, I just feel that at times he was more worried about outrunning his childhood than being present in mine.

I am glad to say that, later in life we became close. We closed the gap, evened the playing field as it were. He went on to be a loving and doting Grandfather to my children and I think he made peace with most of his demons.

He died young from a terrible disease. He is missed by a lot of people. Most of all by me.

I did that

I was recently asked what I have made that I am most proud of. It was an intriguing question that, to answer properly, and tell the story that first comes to mind, required that I take the word “made” out of context a bit. Because the first thing that comes to mind when I hear the words “Made”, and “proud”, the very first thing I think of is my children.

Without putting too fine a point on it, biologically speaking I “made” my children. Putting aside the obvious and fun fact that “making” a baby is a very nice thing, I would also like to think that I helped make them who they are.

This may shock some, but I think all of my children are pretty great. I say that because everyone thinks their kids are great. Sure, many are. Then again, Ted Bundy’s mother thought hers was pretty special also. But I digress. 

My children are a source of great pride to me because they are all good human beings. They have values and act on them. They have big hearts and use them. They are smart, hard-working, caring, generous, and there for each other. They love, and most importantly forgive each other. And their mother and I. That’s a big one.

My children grew up in a tumultuous household with a stressed-out, sick father and Borderline personality (diagnosed later in life) mother. We had plenty of moments of fun and frivolity, as well as loving, tender moments. But many bad episodes ranged from tiptoeing around someone’s bad mood, all the way to F-bombs and words exchanged that can never be taken back. Or forgotten. There were some moments, post-calamity in which I sat back and genuinely feared that the damage done to my children, due to their parent’s inability to control themselves, would be crippling and irreversible. Those moments overpowered me.

I can’t expect someone that hasn’t been through something like that to understand, so I’ll point out the crippling part of such a moment. When you fear repercussions, long-term and crushing ones in which you may have potentially ruined your children’s concept of marriage, relationships, how to treat a man/woman properly, etc., it is not only an unbearable weight but it is also something that will take a long, long time to come to fruition, if at all. All you can do is wait and hope for the best.

Somehow, they all grew up relatively unscathed by the absurdity of their parents’ behavior and are all in healthy, wonderful relationships.

Bullet Dodged. 

I am truly a lucky man to be able to walk free of shame or guilt because my children turned out well. It’s always the goal but there’s never a guarantee of the outcome. I am father to 4 great people, ones that, long after I am gone, will continue to make the world a better place. When people tell me what great kids I have, part of me beams because, let’s face it, I had something to do with it. 

I helped in making them.

Chris in the morning

Perhaps I am easy to excite and easier to please, but I so enjoy it when I see a movie or show that I once loved show up on a streaming service. Given the amount and quality of memories something from the past can provide, I look forward each month to seeing what shows up on streaming. Last month I was nothing less than thrilled to see that one of my favorite shows ever, Northern Exposure, arrived on Prime Video.
Set in the tiny and fictional town of Cicely, Alaska (filmed in Virginia) the mostly Drama with a dash of comedy took a common theme, life in a small town, to an entirely new level. The show centers on a New York Doctor who agrees to enter into a contract with the State of Alaska in exchange for payment of his medical school debt.
He got less than he bargained for, the town of Cicely was as underdeveloped as it was underpopulated. Initially, Dr. Joel Fleischman, played by Rob Morrow, acted as you would expect an uptight Northerner would. He initially scoffed at the town and its people, considering the town podunk and its people simpletons. The true charm of the show is how the narrative is flipped on its head. The characters are all fascinating in their own way. Simple, yes. But simple in a non-pretentious and unassuming way.
You have Maggie the pilot, played by the always lovely Janine Turner. I had forgotten most of the show but I never forgot my crush on Maggie. Strong, fiery, and independent Maggie also possessed vulnerability and grace.
Then there is Hollings and Shelly, owners of the only restaurant in town. Hollings is in his 60’s and Shelly wasn’t old enough to drink when they married. But their chemistry and individual characters lent great depth to the show.
Then there’s Ed, one of the many prominent Native American characters, Native American people and their cultures are prominently featured on the show. Ed is a young cinephile and his love of movies appears frequently in story lines.
Maurice Minnefield is a wealthy, legacy-obsessed former Astronaut who is dedicated to making Cicely a real town. He is a very prominent character as he is always interacting, influencing, buying and otherwise trying to impose his will. One of his local possessions is a small radio station, where the host can be seen doing his show through a big storefront window on Main Street.
Enter my favorite character, Chris Stevens (a young John Corbett of My Big fat Greek Wedding fame), host of the only show in town, the Chris in the morning show. Chris is a highly intelligent ex-con who eked out a living in Cicely, giving the impression that Cicely was one more stop on a still undefined journey and he could pack up his trailer at any time and move on. I can’t say enough how much I enjoy his character.
Quirky, enigmatic, brilliant, educated, empathetic, passive and passionate at the same time, contemplative and capable of going off on a rant at any moment, Chris is a breath of fresh air. In the course of his show, he reads local news and discusses local gossip, and reads heavy material from obscure books and classics alike. He plays music, takes calls, and at other times he simply leans back in his chair and offers a personal diatribe on whatever is on his mind. He speaks of the frailties of man, discusses metaphysics, waxes poetic and bares his soul to the small town. And they hang on his every word. Outside of the radio show, he lives a meager (by choice) existence as he indulges in whatever whim appeals to him. Be it Art, reading, romping with his woman dujour (he is quite the lothario), or getting out into the nature of Alaska to get in touch with it. He seems, except when he is in the throes of an occasional existential crisis, to be unencumbered by the anchors that hold the rest of the world back. We learn a new tidbit about him every episode and with every revelation, I realize more and more that if I could be anyone in the world, I would be Chris Stevens.

What I wouldn’t give to be unchained, present, grateful, and at peace with the world around me. How I desire to be free from my own mind and not experience worry and angst. To be able to reconcile my past and not only make peace with it but also recognize and value what the experience taught. I would love to be the person who reacts to a hostile person with a “hey, it’s your journey, man” type attitude. Oh, to be a free spirit that isn’t fazed by anything.

I’ve been binging Northern Exposure and it has been nothing but a positive experience. One unexpected benefit is that I have a fresh desire to think like I;m from a small town. Because I am, and I have lost some of the benefits that come with it. Small-town people believe in honesty, if for no other reason that it’s costly to get caught lying in a small town. People from small towns believe in integrity, because even though doing the right thing doesn’t require an audience everyone is still watching. Small-town people believe in community in general and caring for your neighbor in particular. I love small towns and that’s probably why I love this show.