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June 20, 2009
Father's Day
Yesterday we received sad news that the father of a dear friend of ours passed away. "Tom" was much loved by our friends' wife (also very dear to us), and their children. Life can feel unbearably sad sometimes.
I always think about my father a lot this time of year, and the sad news from our friends makes me think about it even more so. This June marks the 25th year since my father died, suddenly, just a few days after Father's Day.
It's been so long since it happened that no one close to me now knew me when he was alive. I've recently made contact with some friends from 7th grade, people who I haven't spoken with in twenty years, and they only knew me for a year because we had all transferred into a gifted program for 7th & 8th grade, so we were new to each other.
If I wasn't here as proof, if I didn't have pictures and some (albeit fading) memories, there wouldn't be much to remind me of my dad.
As much as the threads tying me to my father are stretched with every year, they are still there. Supposedly, I look like his mother. I'm sentimental and he was, too, although I am probably sentimental to a fault. I'm taller than the average woman, and that runs on his side of the family. I don't know whose side I got my green eyes from, or my nose. I have many great traits from my mom and her family to be sure, some even from her grandmother, who I adored, but there is no doubt that I am my father's daughter too.
Both of my parents are (were in my father's case) artistic, and I picked up some great cooking skills from my mom. I picked up an odd curiosity from my dad, however (we called him Tato). I remember Tato coming home from a hunting trip and he had saved me the heart when he cleaned a deer. I was fascinated by it, and I don't know how he knew I would marvel at it, but he did. I rinsed it out and cut into it and examined the chambers, the still attached aorta. It was miraculous to me, and Tato laughed. He knew me a bit better than I knew myself. He knew I would be interested in what he was working on, (he designed cooling/fluid handling systems for power and chemical plants), so he would make copies of some of his drawings, bring them home and spread them out on the floor and try to explain things to me. I remember feeling such gratitude that he would do that, considering I was about 10 and understood very little, if anything, of what he said. He knew I liked science and loved the shuttle and space, and that was one way he could nurture my curiosity.
We didn't have a lot of money and our house was only 1400 square feet and five of us lived there, but my brother and I didn't notice that too much. Christmas always seemed magical and full to us and it was only after I was on my own for a while that I realised what an amazing feat my parents pulled off, considering the resources they had.
Of course no one is perfect, and Tato was a strict disciplinarian, and he and my mom expected a lot out of us. Still, I always think of my childhood fondly, as a very happy time, a very good time, and my brother does too. (Even if we did pick on each other sometimes).
My brother was graduating grammar school (from the same gifted programme I was in), and it was a few days before graduation. We went to a ceremony at Jersey City State College where they handed out certificates for the college courses the graduates had completed. I remember I drank too much (non-alcoholic) punch and felt weird from all the sugar.
I awoke at around 2AM to my mom calling my father's name. Paramedics were called and they tried to revive him, but it was no use. I still remember the pattern on the spread that covered him as we waited for the mortician to come and take him. We sat at the kitchen table to wait, and I sat in his chair and looked at the Father's day cards that he had propped up there. It was at that moment that what had just happened began to sink in; I had given Tato his last Father's Day card.
Just a few days before, as he was driving us to school, he mentioned the prospect of going fishing. Every summer my brother and I, Tato and my uncle (my mom gets seasick), would go fluke fishing on the Palace II, which was docked in Hoboken. I remember having a bit of a casual attitude about it, not wanting to be pinned down to a date just on the cusp of summer vacation. We would go, we always did, I thought to myself.
Perhaps what happened in 1984 is what made me so sentimental. I realised young that you can't take anything for granted, particularly as it concerns the people in life you love. Perhaps it's why when I was younger I tried hard to fill my life full of people and get togethers (often running late in the process). Maybe it's why my husband and I spend so much time together - I treasure being with my best friend and I don't know what the future holds. Maybe it's why I save receipts from trips that other people would throw away, and perhaps its why I still have the bathrobe my mom made me when I was 4; blue and yellow terrycloth with butterflies stitched on to it. For all intents and purposes it's long since lost its usefulness, not only because I've grown out of it, but because the fabric has separated and it looks shredded. I still treasure it just the same; it's in the top drawer in the dresser next to our bed.
Perhaps this seems like an odd entry for a political blog, but Father's Day is tomorrow and C&M losing "Tom" Friday brings it full circle. They spent time with him the past few weeks, and I know they treasured it. It is so easy to be caught up in life, when in truth the things we occupy ourselves with are, on the whole, trivial in the grand scheme of things. Work and grocery shopping and TiVOing your favourite programme are important in terms of providing money, diversion and sustenance, but the store will still be there in twenty minutes, or the next day or even twenty years from now, whereas our time is limited.
We all have regrets in life and none of us are perfect, though we try to plan and organise. I find the memories I treasure most come from unscripted and unguarded moments. Be open to having more of that happen in your life; you won't regret it.
I may not remember what my father's voice sounded like, but I will never forget him shaving with the bathroom door open as I watched a shuttle launch on TV. I jotted down notes on one of his pads of graph paper and relayed to him what was going on during the launch countdown. When I was overcome with excitement and tears of joy as the shuttle took to the sky, he didn't think I was silly, he just smiled. That's a memory I wouldn't trade for all the money in the world.
Happy Father's Day everyone.
Posted by hanyap at June 20, 2009 12:02 PM
Comments
Hanya...you brought a tear to my eye, girl. -Dave
Posted by: Dave at June 20, 2009 8:20 PM
... beautifully written, ma'am.... and a very touching tribute......
Posted by: Eric at June 22, 2009 7:23 AM
Thanks, guys, for your kind words. It was a difficult blog to write, and I appreciate you taking the time to read it.
Posted by: Hanya at June 26, 2009 11:43 AM