A note to my Dad on his 98th birthday

Hey Dad,

It’s another September first, and I find myself thinking about you.

I came across this really cool picture of you, above, from when you were a rakish young lad with a full head of hair. (FYI, better break out the Brylcreem; this is how Mom expects to find you when she meets up with you, Jesus and Johnny Cash on the other side some day.)

I suppose it’s just as well you’re not here anymore, I don’t think you’d much approve of the state of the country or the changes in the world lately.

For one thing, having a “colored fella” in the White House doesn’t tend to play well with your age group. But there you go; times may change, but the dead are not required to change along with them. Call it one of the perks.

On the other hand, I don’t think you’d like the way America is sticking it to the poor these days, either. I’m sure you didn’t believe in coddling the indolent, but I do remember you standing outside of church every Sunday for a couple years, collecting canned food for Tucson’s hungry.

Funny thing, though, I don’t remember you vetting the people to whom the food was distributed for ethnic origin or ideological solidarity, or having to approve of the particular details of their unfortunate circumstances. Hungry people had to eat, and you could help. Done deal. I like the way you kept it simple.

For an Old School dude down to your three-pack-a-day cigarette habit, and a man I don’t ever remember voicing what could be described as a liberal sentiment, your actions spoke much louder than your words.

I wish you could have met The Missus, oh, you would have liked her; young, smart, pretty, even-tempered, accomplished… you definitely would have no idea how I had landed her, any more than I do. And you would have said so, but with a smile and a wink.

God, you were cute as a Little Old Man.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you at the very end, but at the same time, I’m glad I wasn’t. That isn’t how I’d like to remember you, and due to an inescapable scheduling conflict at the time, I don’t have to.

I get to still remember the round, bald little tough guy with a heart of gold. All Jimmy Cagney on the outside and Father Flanagan on the inside.

You were a sweet, kind man, but you were also hard as Detroit steel when you had to be. That’s why going to war in the ’40s didn’t destroy you inside, your mettle had already been put to the test, growing up during the Great Depression. Walking up endless flights of tenement stairwells, selling Coca-Cola products to the good citizens of Chicago for what must have been pennies on the dollar, back when Coke was a nickel a bottle.

Pretty sure you wouldn’t be too happy with the way I turned out—a recovering-everything, hippie-artiste type with flagging professional prospects and a lousy attitude about doing anything about it—but from an early age, I did everything I could to lower your expectations. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.

Still, despite my (previously-documented) total failure as a boy-child in your eyes, I always knew you cared about me; I just knew you cared more about Mom.

With whom, unfortunately, I was at war for the better part of my upbringing. You were occasionally called upon to take sides and could almost always be counted upon to take hers. Which as a husband and parent now, I understand better. If The Missus and I were outnumbered two-to-one by our kids, I’d probably toe the party line more consistently, too.

In spite of which, I have many memories of you secretly ameliorating what damage you could. I remember you repeatedly sneaking me food when I was being punished with skipped meals, always with the promise—well kept—never to tell Mom about it. The same with secretly reinstated TV privileges, returned comic books… wherever you could discreetly correct Mom’s parental missteps you did, but in front of her, you always went with the United Front protocol.

Again, you and Mom were outnumbered two-to-one. Being a former soldier, you appreciated the importance of unit cohesion.

But you couldn’t ignore your innate instinct to be the deliverer of kindness, even in stealth. That’s probably the reason I’m the kind of bleeding-heart liberal you likely would have looked down on in your prime, despite the fact that it was your example that inspired me to walk in the other guy’s shoes, and look for ways to lighten his load.

I think that aspect of your personality, and its appeal to me, is what kept me from growing up to be the complete sociopath into which Mom was trying to mold me. There was always shelter from the storm, even if it was just a lean-to in a hurricane. And there was nobody who understood better than me why you were determined to keep your random acts of kindness on the DL from Mom.

The example of your simple humanity is also, I think, what drove me to aggressively redress the grievances of my own childhood when I became a parent myself. To make sure when I shuffle off this mortal coil, my replacement will be less volatile, less angry, less broken inside and spoiling for a fight with any and all comers.

And as you know, Dad, we have done very well in that regard. The Boy might be too much of an artsy type for you, but as a Granddad, one generation removed from parental responsibility, I really don’t think you would have cared in the face of the kid’s overwhelming sweetness and easy humor.

He’s an awful lot like you.

Your Grandson goes to sleep every night under the watchful eye of your vintage Army induction photo on his wall, have I told you that? Your image has been in his line of sight since the first day we brought him home from the hippie birthing center you assuredly would have advised us against.

Sure wish you guys could have met each other, though…

Well, as you can see, I’m starting to get maudlin, so I guess that’s about it for this year, Dad. Like the song says, I don’t think of you that often; but when I do, you come rushing back all at once. And unlike most flashbacks of my childhood, the tears that accompany the memories of our time spent together are those of loss, not terror or regret.

Hope you’re enjoying your reward for a life well-spent in the great Hereafter. And as always, if you run into Mr. Cash up there, make sure you tell him I said hey, won’t you?

Love,
Fang