Flashback: Thinking About Dad

This story originally appeared on Father’s Day 2019.

First time Dad said he loved me (without Mom’s prompting) I was 30. Not sure how I responded. Probably, “Love you, too.”

Had two kids at the time. One by my first wife; one by my second. It was 1979.

Having kids changes your perspective. (It changed mine.) Found myself more forgiving of my parents. Why? Because kids are impossible—cute though they may be. When they’re babies, they can’t listen. Not really. As they get older, they won’t listen. That’s a fact.

Growing up, Dad and I didn't have the best relationship: I was a nerd-type before that term existed. He was a World War Two guy. Like John Wayne. Strong silent type. Worked construction.

Me? Liked to read: Books. Magazines. Comics. Backs of cereal boxes. You name it.

My geeky behavior frustrated Dad. Whether I was sorting boxes of nails, screws, and washers, or holding a flashlight as he worked on cars, I’d mess up. Then he’d chase me way, saying, “Go read a book.”

Which, of course, I did.

After high school graduation, I went away to college. Hung out with the wrong crowd. Messed with drugs. Eloped with a girl I’d known just six weeks. Flunked out of school.

Couldn’t get worse, right?

Wrong.

Got drafted by the Army; joined the Navy instead. Messed with drugs. Ended up in Vietnam. Got a “Dear John” letter.

Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.

When my four years in the Navy were up, went back home to see Mom and Dad. Had to tell ’em how bad things were; had to tell ’em I had no money, no-where to live.

They let me sleep on the couch.

I share this fall from grace to show how arrogant I’d been. Big shot. Self-important. Egotistical. Like a modern-day Prodigal Son who thought he knew everything and deserved everything—turned out I knew nothing; deserved even less.

Eventually, I used my G.I. Bill to go back to college. Double-majored in Mass Communication and Political Science. Graduated Summa Cum Laude. (Amazing what you can accomplish when you focus.)

Within two weeks of graduating, got a newspaper job. Dad, who only had an eighth-grade education, subscribed to that paper. Read every article I wrote. Even gave me story ideas. We finally had a relationship.

I cherish the day Dad said he loved me. It was great. Huggin’ that big bear of a man. Feelin’ him hug me back. Heart-to-heart. Soul-to-soul. I also remember the day a few weeks later when my brother Doug showed up on my doorstep about six in the morning. He was crying. Through his tears, he managed to speak: Dad was in the hospital. Paralyzed from the neck down. Doctors weren’t sure why.

Ten days after that, Dad died. It happened so fast. Too fast. It took me months before I could cry. When I did, it was in a store at the mall. In the men’s department. Where mannequins wearing construction work clothes stood guard. Blubbered like a baby. Wishin’ I could hug Dad and say, “Love you.” Just one more time.

Copyright 2019