For My Dad

I've been thinking about my Dad a lot lately and I guess it was because Father's Day was approaching, although I didn't really put it together. I've lightly mentioned the fact that he died at his retirement party in October 1998, but I haven't really gone into it. I'm still not really ready to go into that. Suffice it to say it was a horrible experience and it took me quite some time to realize I was suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome from the experience. Basically I sat on the couch and drank beer for a long time afterwards and gained a lot of weight. I already had my anxiety/panic disorder before that and I think some more mental problems were added at that point.

My Dad was a VERY interesting person. He was a GREAT storyteller. I loved his stories from being in the National Guard. I think it's called Army Reserves now, but I'm not sure. He also had great stories from his teenage years. He told heartbreaking stories of his childhood. He had a "distant" dad (My Papa, who died when I was 3 or 4). As Dad told it (and I must have heard this expression a million times) his dad was "a man of few words." To hear it from my Dad, his dad pretty much just didn't speak to him at all. Dad didn't have many stories about his dad - and my Dad was a storyteller, so this told me a lot. The only two stories I can remember are the jail story and the car wreck story. My Dad was thrown in jail for something as a youth and when Dad's friend reported the news to Papa, he said, "I didn't get him in, I won't get him out." The car wreck story was Dad walking into Papa's bedroom, terrified and totally freaking out, and telling him he had just wrecked his brand new car and Papa said, "Well, I'll get another one." Dad said he never even looked up from his newspaper.

Dad was pretty insecure about his looks. He was small and wore thick glasses, but it was the 50's and he was tough and cool. He was friends with a group of guys and they called themselves "The Deadly Six." Dad used to say he met many people years later that said they were one of the Deadly Six. Kinda how EVERYONE says they were at Woodstock. Anyway my Dad somehow managed to woo a beautiful girl, new to their high school - my Mom. This was after all, the birthing ground of Ava Gardner (and my grandmother attended HER birth).

Mom and Dad got married when they were 19 and 17. That was 1955. My brother was born in July of '57 and I came along exactly 3 years and 9 months later, which alway made me think I was conceived on my brother's third birthday. I always imagine my Dad thinking, "Damn, he's THREE already? I'm ready for my next one." Although my brother is the first person I remember from my childhood, my Dad was next. My Mom worked nights and slept during the day so I didn't quite get to know her until later. She hates when I talk about this, but I have no hard feelings and she is my best friend now.

Anyway, Dad was such a fun parent. He taught us all the yard games like kickball, kick-the-can, and "ain't no bears out tonight." He was always the fun neighborhood Dad. Sometimes he would set off a colored smoke bomb on the street (did I say "street?" it was a dirt road) and we would all run through it. He was also the Little League coach and nothing was more fun than riding to an away game stuffed into our '64 Ford convertible with the entire team. Yeah, none of that would be legal now but it was fun at the time.

When my parents' marriage went sour when I was 15, it seemed an obvious choice to live with my Dad. Actually the main reason was I knew it was the only way my Mom could get a clean break. Otherwise Dad would be coming around to visit me all the time. At this time, my big brother was in the Air Force, so it was just me and Dad. It was a big adjustment, but we figured it out. Our favorite thing was Duke basketball and we liked a lot of the same music. At 16 I got a job at Sears, in the record department. My Dad was just downstairs in the Allstate Insurance office. I could just walk over to the escalator well and talk to him. The Allstate booth was between the escalators.

He came home one day and said, "Do you want to go to New York?" I already posted about that here: http://geewits.blogspot.com/2005/09/big-apple.html

Although Dad lived in N.C. and I live in Texas, we saw each other as often as possible. Dad and I would take trips when we could. Our first was to Vegas in 1987. It was a while until our next trip (which was always my fault, he was always offering). But over time we went to the Bahamas (where that picture was taken), Puerta Vallarta, New Orleans, and Lake Tahoe. We also visited back and forth quite often between N.C. and TX, and took a few N.C. beach trips.

I miss my Dad. Happy Father's Day Dad! SQUARE!!!!