A Love Note to My Father

Last month, as Mother's Day began to draw near, I found myself focusing on fathers. The father of my youth began to play in my mind and hasn't yet let go.

My Dad, who Loved me (and my brother) with a passion far beyond his passion for anyone or anything else, was a conflicted and angry man. Some people manage Life's hardships and knocks with grace and patience. My Dad wasn't one of those. He was quick witted, intelligent and (I have come to believe) abused by his mother. (Those of you who have been hanging out with me for a while know that he was a son-of-a-b_tch to my Mom.)

Dad ran away when he was 13 and sailed U.S. merchant ships around the world several times. I can still remember his outrageous stories of serving as a first cook. The battles and triumphs of men, on those ships, which were not designed for combat (though they served during WWII), but whose sailors were away from home and from tenderness for long stretches of time, were my fairy tales. I think those stories were the source of my wanderlust; they were the stories of the first man I ever Loved, Daddy, and of my Godfather. My Godfather Sammy was one of those sailors too, tall and handsome, he was the second man I fell in Love with - I think I was 5, at the time.

There was something about the way Sammy walked and talked, the way his eyes shone when he lifted me into the air on those rare visits to our home. Godfather Sammy stayed in the Merchant Marines for about 20 years after daddy came home to raise a family. It was my father's supreme sacrifice to give up the sea (after a 20 year love affair with her) and he never once said that he regretted it.

These two men were best of friends and, when Sammy was there, our home was full of energy, back slaps, scotch, laughter and often intense political discussion. I would sit and listen until the talk became so bawdy that daddy would tell me to go outside or upstairs to my room to read. I always snuck quietly down one or two of those steps, where I would sit, hidden by the living room ceiling and listen to those two bass voices share what men who Love each other share - the truth, the past and hope for the future.

I learned on those steps that my father was so much more than the man who worked, drove me to school, got drunk on the weekends and constantly argued with my mother. He was even more than the man who Loved me first and best, more than the postal supervisor role he played 5 nights a week; my father was his unique self when Godfather Sammy blew into town.

As an adult, looking back, I realize that the Life my father lived for the 17 years I lived with him was not the one he had dreamed. I know he was happy to be a Dad to my brother and I and that he would have walked through hell with and for us. But, I am often reminded that he left the Life he Loved for us. And I think that was the source of his anger, at my Mom anyway. They had agreed not to have children and she went ahead and "got pregnant". Yeah, I know, hard to do by yourself. But, she felt he blamed her.

For Daddy, it was the end of Life as he knew it and that was hard. It was equally as hard when Mom decided she was tired of being his excuse for all things bad and left (go Mom!). And, as is often the case in break-ups, he found his freedom and Love of Life again.

He met a woman that was to be his companion until his death and they shared everything. He began to travel again and helped her raise her daughter. He got to be a father and be free, simultaneously. Sweet.

So, it's Father's Day and many of you Dads (Eric, Paul, Michael, Bruce, Jarrod, and all the rest of you Dads - you know who you are) will be honored on Sunday. We will thank you for your Love, patience, hard work and solid shoulder. We will honor those Daddies who have passed on, laughing as we remember the days they shared with us and shedding a tear or two as well.

Long ago, I was a Daddy's girl and I suspect I still am.

Happy Father's Day, one and all.