For My Dad
Stream of consciousness Father's Day. So many I never felt anything; I normally don't like these contrived 'holidays' anyway...my Dad's birthday is June 25th...it was always so hard to get him both a Father's Day gift AND a separate birthday gift. Funny I heard something on the radio that would've been perfect for him...oh well, too late.
It's my 14th Father's Day without my Dad and some years were so easy peasy...after 13 years I honestly can go days, weeks without thinking too much about my dad. It's like he was part of a different world; well it was different then, I was only 28 years old...just a pup...when he died and so much has happened in the last 13 years. I often wonder where I'd begin if he could come back and I could tell him the story of my life and of the world - all the amazing and horrible things that have occurred over the last 13 years. Dad, let me tell you what 9/11 means...
Who knows, maybe he knows it all, maybe he knows more than I do...it's a nice thought. I don't know where he is, if he is, I don't even think about it anymore. I obsessed on it for a couple of years after he died...where did he go? WHERE DID HE GO? Then I let it go for the sake of sanity.
My dad was above all, and below all his failings and faults (and Jesus there were many - you know, alcoholic, violent temper, etc. etc.) a good and decent man. He cried when he accidentally ran over a cat once. He loved his cat Tamarin that I gave him, even though she was kind of a bitch. He deserved better. He made me so angry when he let her out and she got knocked up with 5 kittens but I have two of those kittens now...14 year old kittens and how I cherish them and worship them. One of them was his...Fletcher...Fletcher has a crooked tail and I know my dad identified with her the most (yes it's a her - don't ask about the name - long story) because my dad had a bad back. That's like saying we had some minor problems on 9/11. My dad had a hideous back that put him in constant, unrelenting, chronic severe pain every single day from February 16, 1981 until the day he died, February 12, 1996. Fifteen years of agony and I really am glad he's out of it. He deserved a better life than he got but hey, sometimes don't we all?
My dad was generous to a FAULT. Probably the most generous person I've ever met. I think I got that from him and sometimes being too generous will get you into trouble. He spoiled us rotten from the lavish Christmases he gave us to buying me a new car after my Audi's accelerator got stuck on the freeway and almost killed me when I was 22. I remember him at the Nissan dealer, buying me that cherry red Nissan. He was in so much pain. I remember him holding his back. He took too many pills but now that I know chronic pain, I kind of understand.
He was generous with HIMSELF. He was a Renaissance man. He was brilliant and I'm not just saying that because he was my dad. He truly had amazing ideas - problem was he started one thing and never finished and was on to another in no time...he could talk about anything and everything and he did. He loved Classical music and movies and I can't tell you the times I caught him watching the ORIGINAL movie version of The Producers with Zero Mostel and he LOVED it and I think he would've been tickled to see that they took it to Broadway...although maybe not so tickled to see a remake of the movie. He loved Victory at Sea and anything having to do with World War II. He watched TV so much after he hurt his back...he taught me so much about movies, about actors and actresses way before my time. He loved sports and I know I didn't get THAT gene from him, haha, because I basically hate sports but he'd watch anything from hockey to baseball to NASCAR...whatever was on he'd watch it. He LOVED boxing and even when I said "How can you watch two men just pummel the shit out of each other" he kept watching.
He loved art, and history and oh yeah, art history; I think he loved that I was studying it. We talked about artists and paintings and he loved architecture and sailing and woodworking and industrial design and we talked about it all. He watched CNN relentlessly and we sat and talked about news and politics and I am so so so so so grateful for all the time I spent with him before he died. Just talking. Eating, talking, drinking Pepsi.
Oh yeah, forget the vodka, my dad was addicted to PEPSI - he drank so much of it I'm surprised it wasn't flowing through his veins. Towards the last few years of his life I did his grocery shopping for him and I bought so damned much Pepsi. Every time I came over he'd say "Hi Nee Pie, want a Pepsi?" See, Nee Pie was one of his nicknames for me and I can't even type it without tears running down my face because even though sometimes I have a hard time remembering him, remembering his voice, I can always, always, always hear him saying THAT so clearly.
He worked in real estate, both private and commercial, and he was brilliant at making money. But he sucked at keeping it, haha. I unfortunately am not brilliant at making money but I did seem to inherit the 'suck at keeping it' part, although I've gotten much, much better. He made enough though that for many years we lived a very very nice life and I have been taken care of since he died and for that I am eternally grateful. He was a charmer, a natural born salesman. I hate sales. I couldn't sell you anything - even for free.
He talked so much sometimes you wanted to scream, or strangle him, or even yourself. I think it was a nervous tic or something. He really talked and talked and talked. I think he got more talking done in his 53 years than a lot of people do who live until their 90's.
He talked to me about everything. I could call him with any problem and Lord knows I did. I had a lot of issues in my early 20's and he talked to me whenever, wherever. He was there for me in my 20's - he was working too hard at two or three jobs when I was young to be there for me. I understand that now. My mom had two jobs then - mother and father.
He LOVED cars. He had a lot of fancy cars in his life. Two BMW's, two Cadillacs (one of them was a white El Dorado that I called the Pimp Mobile), a Jaguar, a black Alfa Romeo, an Audi...he just loved cars.
He had really white skin - it was the Irish in him and burned so easily. I got his skin. He had skin cancer on his face a few times. This is why I live with sunscreen and have never tried to get a tan. He had the curliest hair; my niece's hair reminds me of my dad's hair. In his later years he had a balding spot. When he drove, he drove about 5 miles an hour, which drove ME nuts, and with his left arm resting on the door, he'd sit and curl one piece of hair until it stood straight out of his head like a corkscrew. It was a riot.
He showed up for all my big events - pain or not. He died three months before I graduated with my M.A. So I guessed he missed that big event.
Speaking of big, he was a BIG MAN. A TALL MAN. He was 6'4" and damn, why didn't I just get a couple more inches from him? He was never really fat at all (and when he did gain weight he could lose it faster than anyone I know) but he was a BIG guy. Very imposing.
He loved animals and was compassionate and had a pretty open mind; he talked about his gay water delivery man and I think if he were alive now he'd vote for gay marriage.
He bought my brother and I our first computers - plus laser printers! He always bought the best for us. He was a slob; between me and his maid it was all we could do to keep his house in order.
He LOVED magazines. He'd read ANY kind of magazine. He read about architecture and oil painting and interior design and sailboats and woodworking and cars and airplanes and the ones I hated the most, guns. He collected guns and that was the biggest point of contention with us - I was against the NRA, he was for it, and I didn't understand his fascination with guns. He never went hunting or shooting for any reason....all the guns were unused. So we clashed over that over and over.
He loved fine dining - and boy did I get that from him! My dad and mom took us to some of the finest restaurants in cities across the U.S. as KIDS...L.A., San Francisco, New York...he truly loved food. He loved fancy food and he loved low down messy food...a good sub sandwich was his idea of heaven. With about three Pepsi's of course.
This was my father. BTW his name is Dennis and I swear my mom insists they didn't name me after him - they never even made the connection. Notice I said his name IS Dennis. Because it IS and he IS still my father and he LIVES in my heart and no matter how much times goes by I will always be his Nee Pie.