To My Father. The Glue, the Gold, The Nose That Knows.

June 17th, 2018

And now to talk about my dad. I had a guy from years past reach out to me recently. We “dated” in eleventh grade. I haven’t heard from him in forever and one of the things we chatted about was my dad. It’s so interesting how everyone remembers my dad. People will go on and on about my dad. “Your dad was cool.” I always hear that. People would meet him just once and remember. Yup, he was cool. He was something else. There are so many things I remember about my dad, but the biggest thing I remember is that he loved to laugh. As a neighbor I grew up with once said, “When your dad laughed, the whole world laughed with him.” He had this laugh that I can still hear. It’s been 30 years since my dad passed away. 30 years in August. I still remember him so well, which says a lot about who he was as a person and as my father.

My dad grew up outside of Detroit. He grew up on a farm and wasn’t a fan of the farm. He was the oldest boy so he had to do all of the work on the farm. He got up when the roosters came up, fixed the tractors, fed the chickens, you name it. He hated it. He was a good looking kid and a football quarterback, but he didn’t like school either. My dad admitted that he was a bad kid. One of the things I loved so much about my dad was that he was honest. He never lied to me. Ever. He came clean in saying he was a bad kid who joined the navy and fought in the Korean War. He always said, joining the navy was the best thing that ever happened to him. He learned structure, discipline and responsibility. He also learned to smoke pot and he got his ear pierced. He told me this when I was in high school. I would laugh because I could never believe my father smoked pot. He was a white collar worker who had a good job and never missed a day of work in his life. He was a workaholic who oozed of responsibility and of being an “adult” in his sharp suits with his firmly pressed handkerchief. I used to go over to his ear and feel his ear for where his ear had been pierced. The thought of my dad having an earring gave me a thrill and to think he smoked pot? Far out! He was cooler than I ever even knew.

When I was a child, every Saturday was our special day. My mom would sleep in and he would get up early with me and watch cartoons. He loved The Roadrunner more than I did. His laugh, that bellowing laugh made me laugh more than any show. He would get me dressed and we would drive to McDonald’s on Macdade Blvd in Holmes. Then we would go to Hill’s Hardware and pick up parts or tools for what he needed to fix, whatever it was that he was going to fix. He loved repairing things, working around the house and mowing the lawn. He was a true lover of home owning. My dad’s idea of fun was building things and taking them apart. Cars, lawnmowers, building our kitchen cabinets, you name it. Someone in my family said that my dad was cheap, I don’t think so, I think my dad was resourceful.

He built all of our cars and they were all Volkswagens. He used to sit me on his lap and let me steer the wheel. No hesitation, just pure joy watching me drive while he kept his hand on the wheel just in case. We had a Buick for my mom, but he would build himself a Volkswagen bug. Bright canary yellow convertible. My brother had one in brown. We all drove a Volkswagen at some point. A friend from high school, Chris, will say to me, “I remember that Volkswagen bus your dad had. It was blue. It was like a hippie bus for The Dead.” Yes! It was one of my dad’s several cars. He drove his Volkswagen bug to the train every day and one night he got off the train and the VW was gone. He reported it to the police and eventually they called him up and said, “We found your VW, but it’s missing seats. It’s been stripped.” And here is what I remember about my dad, a personality trait that was/is a GEM. He took a log or plank of wood and had my mom drive him to the car. He put the log in the car and drove it home since it had no seats. He wasn’t angry, or sad. Instead he was laughing. To him it was just another thing to fix, a new hobby, something to work on and give him pleasure. He laughed that he had to drive home with a log for a seat. THAT is a quality that not everyone has. To laugh at the disappointment that can sometimes be life. To make the best of the situation.

To sum up my dad in a blog would take forever. When I think of him, I think of a bright light. The brightest light. A beacon in the storm. It took me years to get there though. He died when I was young. Seventeen. You don’t realize at that age what it is to lose your father. I had college to think about, my first love and all the buzz of my future that felt like a big bowl of candy for me to put my hand into and take a bite. I wanted the candy. I took the candy and walked into the future and it took me to hit my thirty’s to realize the gifts my father had bestowed on me.

My dad was from the school of hard knocks. Thank God. He wasn’t one of these parents that talked to their kids like the child was the same age as the parent. He didn’t hold my hand through life. He said no and he meant NO. You were not allowed to ask why. You could ask, but it usually was meant with a look. A look of, don’t ask me why. He told you straight up how it was going to be. He disciplined us and taught us strength. The pearls came my way at the dinner table. Never ending pearls. The pearls of wisdom. My sophomore year, I wanted to run for class officer for junior year. I told my parents. My dad sat at the head of the table like he always did and asked, “Well, are you going to do it?” I said, “I don’t know. What if I lose?” His response, “What if you win? How will you know if you don’t do it? You can’t lose if you try. Trying means you already won. Not trying means that you lost.” Wow. Fifteen years old and that has been branded into my brain ever since. “You can’t lose as long as long as you try.” Pearls. More pearls. “Life is not a bowl full of cherries. Get used to it. Learn that if you want something done right, you better do it yourself.” FACT. That is a fact. He was right. Also, I remember going to him and saying, “I can’t wait to get to college. I hate high school. High school sucks. The kids are mean and they do awful things. Once you get to college, people grow up.” His response, “You wait. You think it’s bad now, wait until you are a full blown adult. When you are an adult, the number of the age doesn’t change who a person is. It’s worse. You expect older people to act older and instead they act like children. Age is just a number. It’s worse when you are older, you’ll see.” Then he added, “I want to go back. I want to be young again.”

And here’s where it get’s interesting; I have been to therapists and some therapists will say, “Wow, your dad didn’t validated your feelings. He was negative. That is something you shouldn’t tell a child.” I disagree. My dad was right. I will soon be 48. We all know people who are 48 going on 15. We all know people who cheat on their wives and husbands, who lie, who act like they are twenty when they are soon to be 50. He wasn’t wrong and he wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t true. I am glad he told me those things because he was right and I always thought he was cynical until I hit my 30’s and realized, he was the Dalai Lama of info. At least for me. Yes, go ahead and laugh. He told me I could be and do whatever I wanted. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you can’t do something. You can do whatever you want to do if you work at it. Never let anyone tell you differently.” Also, “You can never ask a stupid question. There are no stupid questions, only stupid answers.” Hence, I ask a lot of questions.

But, the biggest thing he taught me was that I was loved. He truly loved me. He loved me from the heart with no expectations, no games, no bullshit. I was loved. Every night of my life up until he became really sick with mesothelioma, he would knock on the wall of my bedroom. His room was next to mine. He would knock and wait to hear me knock back. No matter my age, this was one thing I always loved. I never pooh-poohed it even as a teen. It was our ritual. He would knock on my wall and I would knock back. Then he would say, “I love you, Holly,” and I would respond, “I love you, too, Dad.” Joy immediately fills my heart after writing that. It always provided me with a sense that everything was alright. Our ritual was intact, no matter how his day was or my day, that knock on the wall would remind me that everything was just as it should be.

He was another great love of my life. The greatest of loves. I always feel him around me. I can hear him laughing. I wonder what it would be like to go to the movies with him. He loved James Bond and I know that he would have loved “The Terminator.” That would have been the greatest treat to watch him watching that movie. He would grip the arm of a chair if a movie was intense. It was hilarious to watch.

Whenever I had a cold he would tell me to come sit on his lap and take a sip of his scotch. “Here, this will make you feel better.” And he was right. It did. Just a sip would allow me to sleep without the wheezing.

So, the guy who reached out to me recently asked me a question about my dad. Years ago, I was a junior in high school and I was having this small party. My parents were supposed to be out for the night. Agi Zapka, Kim Hull, Cheryl and a few other friends, we all sat around the dining room table doing God knows what thinking we were so cool. Listening to music and talking about the idea of having a party. Uh, with just us. Like four people, cause you know we were so cool. So, this guy who had big lips and moves like Jagger is ready to come over and bring some party favors. BEER. My parents end up coming home early and “Mick Jagger” knocks on the door and has a case of beer in his hands. “Mick” quickly brings the case of beer to the side of the house to hide it in the trees/bushes and my dad goes out to inspect. My dad acted as cool as a cucumber. Not too upset, not bent out of shape at all. In fact, I think he actually liked the fact that his daughter (me) was a good kid and isn’t it nice to know that yeah, she has this idea to throw a party with a few of her friends? My dad came in the house with a very small smile and said, “Were you going to have a party?” I responded, “Well, not really. I guess. Maybe. But I didn’t ask him to bring beer.” Of course I did! But my dad let it go. In fact, it’s almost like the night got a little bit better for my dad.

So, to the guy who looks like Jagger, the guy who asked me earlier today, “What do you think your dad was thinking when he saw me at your door with beer?” What he was thinking was, “I like this guy. He reminds me of me. A kid, a punk trying to get away with something at a young age, just like me when I lived in Dearborn, MI.” In other words, you were off the hook and yup, he was super cool. He was my dad.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. It’s been thirty years, but I still hear your laugh and smell your Aqua Velva. You were the greatest parent to me and a true teacher and leader. You taught me to be a survivor and to be resourceful. You taught me to laugh and to enjoy the little things. You taught me to not spend money on extravagance (I do from time to time) and that if I ever need a new lawn mower, all I had to do was find one in someone’s trash and fix it and get it up and running. Other’s people’s trash could be your treasure! And to others, we seemed rich. We were. I do not know how to fix a lawnmower, but I liked your style. My point is, you taught me gems, pearls and things to get me through life and for this I am ever grateful. You were pure GOLD, a gem and I love you.