Dad

I’d take you to Stonehenge and ask you if you remember telling me we are inextricably linked together forever. I’d point out we are in a place of magic where druids and witches tapped into the magic of the earth and used its majesty to create a place of wonder.

‘Cuz some fires never burn out and remain lit forever with the temperature varying solely based upon whether the flames are tended or not.

The plan was never to go to the Asian buffet for dinner tonight, especially not at an hour that is as close to lunch time as to dinner.

But given the two slices of toast for breakfast and the lack of lunch because we weren’t going to pay to buy the junk at the soccer game hunger dictated an earlier meal.

Of course the stop at the new Buc-ees in Denton chewed up a solid 45 minutes inside, not to mention the stop for gas at one of the 100 pumps outside.

Those that haven’t been might think that is an exaggeration but it isn’t, because the real number is something like 96 or 120 so splitting the difference seems minor.

I had no idea they would only charge $2.16 to a gall0n to fill my tank so I was grateful because the stop last week at the Costco in Southlake was more like $2.39.

Still the buffet probably wouldn’t have happened had hunger not been so aggressive in making its presence known, but it did and the buffet is right off of the freeway.

What hadn’t crossed my mind was how the walk from the parking lot to the front would trigger me.

Why?

Because the last time I was there was in January with the folks and during that walk dad yelled at me when I asked if he needed a hand.

That was before we knew about the cancer but given how he was then I knew something was happening, just not what.

It Never Stopped Ringing Or Is It Burning

There is no punctuation at the end of the subhead. No punctuation to help decipher whether we are commenting or questioning.

All that we have are the words hanging in the air.

Kind of reminds me of how you can hug someone you haven’t spent time with in forever and catch their scent.

If the right chemical mix is there you can feel your synapses fire and get an instant answer to questions you may or may not be conscious of.

You can hear a bell go off and know there is connection or you can hear an alarm and break the union because your unconscious rejects it.

Maybe Freud or some other scientist can explain the the who, how, what and why in terms that are clearer and more easily understood than I can, but then again maybe I intentionally do not spend real time trying to do so.

Maybe it is because it is similar to holding water in your hand. You hold your palm steady and try not to squeeze because if you do the drops will leak from between your fingers and run away.

Or maybe there are people whose tears you kiss away and others whose tears you cause.

*****

During the middle of the visit I ask dad to go to work with me and he obliges.

It is probably forty some years since the last time we did this but this time mom we don’t carry lunch boxes filled with sandwiches mom made.

This time I won’t sit on the couch outside his office while he is on an important call or fall asleep during the drive back from downtown LA to 0ur home in Encino.

Dad will fall asleep as I drive a few times never knowing how much I liked hearing sounds he makes while he sleeps, sleep noises.

The mix of snoring and breathing has been with me as long as I can remember and provides a familiar comfort.

The shooting at the shul in Pittsburgh has made me think about him for all kinds of reasons, not just because he was Bar Mitzvahed in Pittsburgh but because blatant antisemitism is something we absolutely would have discussed.

He would have pushed to go to Shabbat services to make a point to the community and to those who wish us ill.

I had intended to go last night and then something I ate declared mutiny so I didn’t, but I feel guilty about it.

‘Cuz I can hear dad tell me it is important to make sure we show the community we are not afraid, that it will lend courage to those who are frightened. And because those antisemites should know we say ‘fuck em.”

The Lighthouse

There is a boy who got lost on the road and wandered well off the path into bushes and brush.

For a long while he was so far away he couldn’t hear me calling and even though he knew I jumped off of the cliff and dove in after him it didn’t matter.

Didn’t matter that I fought the monsters of the deep and those of the light. Didn’t see that where once there were no wrinkles or lines there are now plenty and that is ok because it I knew the job was dangerous when I took it.

I built a lighthouse and set up beacons all around the mountain range and islands upon the sea. Set fires upon the islands and tried to find a way turn the stars in the night into a flashing neon like sign to help him find his way back.

When I dove in the water I didn’t bring anything along or stop to plan. I didn’t do as I taught, I acted without thinking and went based upon instinct.

Sometimes I feel like Odysseus after the Trojan war and wonder will it take 10 years to find my way home. Will the lighthouse and beacons still be lit so that I can figure out where to point my sail or will I just keep going and hope.

Sometimes the outstretched hand is taken and sometimes it remains empty.

Whither Goes The Blog…s

The hosting company I have used for a number of years has been sold and now I need to make some decisions.

Need to decide if I want to hang my hat with the new company, go elsewhere or just close up shop.

Sometimes I think about shutting it all down and letting the words get a rest.

Fourteen years is a long run and I wonder if I am saying things that need to be said or just retelling the same stories.

I can make a case to support either side. Can make a case to take time off and maybe come back.

Sometimes I think about starting over.

Give myself a clean slate and see what I can create, see what I can build.

Start over where there is no preconceived notion about who I am and what I am about and just go.

Make like Bruce and see if I can avoid going down the darker paths and just enjoy the wandering.

*****

I keep thinking about the last time dad was really awake and the moment we shared.

He didn’t say much, just looked at me, smiled and squeezed my hand. There were a couple of moments after that where we made eye contact and I knew we connected, but they don’t match this one.

Bright blue eyes that could see right through you were soft, but sharp enough for me to see the clarity and awareness there.

I’d tell him I know what I am doing because I do.

I cannot confirm nor deny having told a teenage boy that teenage girls spend time in the bathroom practicing the many faces they share with the world, especially siblings and parents.

But I can tell you my soon-to-be-deceased for 90 days father told me a while back that I might not enjoy learning what it is like to be the father of the aforementioned teenage girl.

“Joshua, your sisters were experts in making me want to run away from home and just as good at making me wonder why I would ever think of something so dumb. You on the other hand were an expert at pissing me off. You’re much more interesting now.”

I thanked him for the warm wishes and said I was starting to understand somethings about teenage girls that I never appreciated as an older brother.

“You have no idea, but you will. When she wants to be sweet there is no one nicer or sweeter, but when she decides you have aggravated her watch out.”

I asked him if he really wanted to talk about his granddaughter like that and he laughed. You only wish you could aggravate your sister the way your niece can. It is unreal. Payback is sweet and it is just as sweet watching yours do it to you.

He laughed and then smiled as broadly as you’d ever see him smile. Dad loved being grandpa.

Maybe Grief Scares Them

Tomorrow marks 90 days since dad died and a bunch of people haven’t said one word to me about dad dying.

If it wasn’t for Facebook I am sure I wouldn’t know this or be far less cognizant of it, but the thing is I am.

Those last few days of hospice when I posted constantly weren’t to generate sympathy or comments.

They were to keep me sane because every minute that went by felt like a lifetime and I alternated between the feeling of dread that the end was coming and the hope it would come soon.

Guilt always came along for the ride because I knew the end would come and I would think it was too soon and so I asked how I could wish for us to all to grieve sooner.

And yet at the same time I knew the drugs would ease his pain and begin to increase ours because as his comfort grew he slipped farther and farther away.

It is the nature of how these things go.

So I wrote down my thoughts and steeled myself for the eternity of being son whose father has walked into the cornfields.

Intermixed with this I got some amazing support and messages I never anticipated and was pleasantly surprised by the lift it gave me.

And then I saw the posts from those who said nothing about dad but lots about the exciting things they were doing.

I told myself it was silly to get upset and later on mentioned it to someone and they said people don’t know what to say.

I understand but I don’t.

They could have said they were sorry and that would be enough.

Maybe they are afraid of grief and mourners.

Maybe I should be the bigger man and let it go, but maybe I am not the bigger man.

Maybe I am just the guy who whose dad died 90 days ago and who hopes he was better at offering condolences/support than the people he is complaining about.

Where The Wild Things Are

I have thought about making like Max and taking my boat to the secret island where the wild rumpus is held.

Thought about going with the dog and together we’ll become the King of the Wild Things and do as one does but responsibility has prevented that.

Some days I find it easy to say responsibility has made my life better and sometimes I think it fucked my shit up.

Sometimes I think about what I haven’t done and wonder how many times opportunity knocks and whether I can get some of those knocks to come back again.

It is a natural thing, thinking about what is, what was and what could be.

Once the aforementioned teenage girl l0oked at Facebook and asked me why there were girls commenting and I asked her if she thought boys and girls could be friends.

“Of course we can. I have friends who are boys, but you are different.”

“No, I am not. I am your father but to some girls I am an old friend.”

Her eyes narrowed and she said it was good that I admitted I am old.

“Abba, some of the girls commented multiple times. Why?”

“Because they are old girlfriends who once loved me and like being close.”

That made her face pucker up, “Ewww. That is disgusting.”

“They don’t think so.”

“You mean they used to. They must not know what you do to a bathroom.”

I laughed and smiled.

“DAD! Don’t smile like that, it is creepy!”

“Why?”

“Because that is the look you give when you know something and don’t want to say. I don’t want to think about that.”

“No, you don’t.”

I laughed hard and wished dad was here for this.

Voting & MacArthur

The line at the polls for early voting were long and it wreaked havoc upon my work plans.

It took almost 90 minutes from start to finish so I had to adjust plans on the fly and found myself clearing most of my afternoon schedule.

Hit a couple of meetings in Las Colinas and went to lunch at a Shawarma place that had recently opened.

It was good, probably the best I have had since I moved to Texas so I’ll absolutely go back.

But because things got so mucked up earlier I spent most of it eating while working on a spreadsheet. Sat there wondering when I turned into the grumpy old man who muttered to himself about fixing broken formulas and making sure text fit into cells.

When I walked out and got ready to leave a guy asked me where we were and I told him we we were off of MacArthur, like the general.

The guy had no idea who I was talking about. It made me shake my head because I am pretty certain he was a 30 something year-old American.

Got in the car, looked at the empty seat on my right and said “it is too bad you are not here dad because I could have said ‘old soldiers never die, they just fade away’ and you would have gotten it.”

And the silence that started 90 days ago continued so I turned on the motor and drove away.

My middle sister calls and asks if I have finished fighting with the doc’s office about my upcoming procedure.

“Little sister, you know I don’t lose fights like that. I am our father’s son. I got the business manager on the phone with my provider and took a screenshot of the section online that says preventative and diagnostic are covered.”

She ran the office for my BIL’s practice for a number of years and is very familiar with the coding and billing procedure between insurance companies and doctor’s offices.

When she tells me she can’t remember the exact code for preventative I tell her she is closer to 50 than 40.

It doesn’t faze her the way it used to, but she does say it is weird to think I’ll be 50 in a few months.

“I hate the idea of doing this. If I could skip it I would. Hell, if they would have said I had to wait to 50 I would have said screw it. What is a few months.”

We go back and forth about a few things and talk about hospice because she has a friend who just went in.

“You know what freaks me out a bit? That first night, after dad’s surgery when we knew the end was coming and weren’t clear if that was it.

About 2 AM he called me by my first and middle names and had me come to the bed. He held onto the bed with one hand and squeezed mine with the other. I have never seen him in that much pain. I felt a little guilty, but I told him that you were coming and to hang on.”

Is It A Manly Fear?

At dad’s retirement party one of his coworkers took me aside to say a few things about my dad.

“Do you know your father is fearless? That guy isn’t afraid of any one or anything.”

I smiled and nodded yes.

That is how I thought of him and it wasn’t until many years later that I realized it wasn’t completely true

Some of it was because I hadn’t been a father long enough and been through enough to appreciate certain aspects of life in a way that allowed me to really follow and appreciate certain things.

It wasn’t until my grandfather was clearly on a downward spiral and dad asked for my advice about whether to go away with mom that I saw he truly saw me as a man and not just a kid.

I was 37 but it wasn’t until around I was around 47 or 48 that we really hit our stride. Don’t mistake that to mean we weren’t close before that because we were but something changed around then.

It might have happened a few years before that but I can’t say for certain and it doesn’t matter.

What matters is I did what every son does and measured myself against him.

In most areas I felt solid but when it came to career I always felt a step behind.

Why?

Because dad worked for the county for 38 years. He held multiple positions and did well there, but I didn’t have anything close to that.

I had multiple jobs.

Got promoted and had success.

Got fired and laid off.

Dad never had any of that and for a long time I wondered what he could do that I couldn’t because I figured some of it had to be me.

And then one day he told me he thought I had caught some bad breaks and that in many ways he had gotten lucky.

My jaw might still be on the floor. My father was a great dad, but he could be very tough about some things and you never got to make excuses about accountability.

****

I don’t think of myself as a tough guy. Don’t think of myself as a wimp either.

Upon occasion I have had to use my fists to defend myself , I never liked getting hit or kicked, but I always felt better after that first punch.

It is like jumping into a really cold/hot shower. There is the initial shock and then you settle in.

The old man had the same procedure I am going in for multiple times, heck so has mom and millions of others.

But I am thinking about dad because we had a conversation about when I might have this and I told him I found the idea a little traumatic.

“It might not be a manly fear, but this gives me the willies.”

He rolled his eyes hard enough for the shock to extend all the way from LA to Texas.

“Josh, the prep sucks but you’ll take a really good nap. You’re old enough to appreciate those now.”

I’ll Fight A Lion

“Dad, I’d rather fight a lion. If you want we can market it as almost middle aged man takes on lions, gorilla and a great white shark.”

I felt the second eye roll and heard the sigh, but continued anyway.

“The only catch is the shark has to fight me on land. That is only fair, he’ll have several thousand pounds on me and might even be more than twice my size. But that won’t matter because I can beat him. Just promise you’ll watch.”

“How are my grandchildren?”

“Dad, don’t change the subject. When your son says he wants to spend time with you that is precisely when you need to do it. He could get busy and do more important things. Trust me, I have a teenager.”

“I had four, you have two.”

“Let’s not turn this into a competition. I would have had another four but that would have meant forcing the issue, getting married multiple times or casually picking up lost kids at the mall.

Forcing the issue and picking up lost kids at the mall tend to be marked as felonies so that is a non starter and getting married multiple times is a lot of work and costly.

Ya know dad, I don’t think I want to deal with all the mishegoss involved in multiple marriages and all those diapers. Hell, I haven’t had to change one in a decade.”

“Joshua, I am not interested in playing games.”

“That’s too bad dad because I have gotten really good at chess and I think I could beat you now.”

“Your sisters are right, you are a pain-in-the-ass.”

“That might be true, but I am the favorite. Just remember that.”

****

I am standing at the side of the bed, looking down at dad.

Mom is sort of sleeping in the corner and I am trying to process it all.  I woke up in Dallas, worked a full day and went about my business.

Now I am back in LA wondering how long my father will live.

The doc who said he wouldn’t make it through the night doesn’t know dad, he can say what he wants but it doesn’t matter.

Part of me knows some of that is wishful thinking and that I need to be prepared because if the doc is competent he has some professional expertise I don’t have and isn’t personally invested.

When I tell dad to hold on because Jennifer is on a plane and will be there soon I tell him it is his fault.

“You remember who told me I always had to protect my sisters and that I would be in big trouble if I didn’t. I am protecting her.”

He squeezes my hand but I have no idea if it is because of a spasm from pain or if it is agreement.

Seventy-nine days later much is still a blur but some of it is less so and new memories are taking their place alongside the old.

I think I have PTSD.

The prep kit for the procedure is nearby but dad isn’t.

If I offer to fight a lion or a gorilla do you think he’ll answer and more importantly, if he can make it happen will they give me time to stretch.

I don’t want the animals to win because I pulled a hamstring. This getting older shit sucks.

Got a free subscription to Apple Music and have been exploring a bit just to see what is out there that I might not have heard yet.

Haven’t a clue who this guy is but I kind of like this song. I flip around some more and find Babs new song is a shot at the King of the Oompa-Loompas.

Flip on another, but this one I know and it touches a nerve.

That’s not saying much because it is only two months and grief has secured free rent in the corner penthouse.

I told him for the time I’ll let that be but to be aware a reckoning is coming and when it does eviction won’t be an accurate description of what will happen.

Take The Gloves Off

There is a moment at the gym during the fourth set on the bench where my arms are shaking and I wonder if I can pump out three more reps before I drop the whole damn thing on my neck.

It makes me angry, this refusal by my body to do as I want.

My back still hurts from standing for too many hours on concrete. I bend, twist and fight to work the kinks out and a godawful noise escapes from between my lips.

“Sir, are you ok?”

I nod at the trainer and say I am fine but he doesn’t look like he believes me.

I pay it no mind and push by to get to the free weights. Got to push through this, got to find a way to make it work better than it has been.

Got a cover of a Dylan song playing courtesy of that music subscription and it gives me enough lift to manage.

In between the clink and clank I think about whether it is time to hold out my hand and say “can we talk?”

Most of those who offered have disappeared and I am not about to reach out to those who never said boo.

People say I shouldn’t hold that against them because people don’t know what to say” but that rings hollow.

Maybe I’ll let that go and forgive them but I probably won’t forget. I mention this in passing and they say it is a waste of energy.

“Not really. I don’t think about them. It only comes up when I stumble across something on Facebook and that doesn’t happen often.”

They say ok and ask if I am still battling online and I smile and say occasionally.

“You’re not very nice are you.”

“Nope, take the gloves off is the motto.”

It is only partially true, if people are civil I try to do the same. But it doesn’t always happen and more than few FB friends complain about my posts focusing on the grifter.

“Read or don’t read. I am not interested in hearing anything more.”

They take the hint and we get beyond the stupidity…for the moment.

Back at the gym Nine Inch Nails hits my headset and I think about how this song would have made dad shake his head.

There are stories but we’ll save them for places that aren’t family blogs.

Useful or Useless Information

I prefer my peanut butter to be creamy and room temperature.

Pizza should be thick crust.

I don’t mind watching movies that are subtitled but dislike those of you who read them out loud in the theater.

Wolverine is my favorite comic book hero, kind of like Ghostrider too.

Not a fan of the DH.

The Giants, Celtics and Pats can lose every year and it won’t be enough.

If there happens to be a sudden stink in the elevator I may look at the guy next to me and shake my head.

Sushi, Steak and Pizza are probably my top three favorite foods, but I love a good sandwich too. Must have good bread.

Snow is something you visit and don’t live in.

Some walls will remain forever and some will be torn down.

The violin is a nice instrument until you live next to or with someone who is just learning how to play it.

****

My spidey sense is tingling and I am trying to suss out what to focus on and where.

If you ask me to explain and I choose to answer I say “I know things and what I know feels closer than ever but I am not sure of time frame.”

It is the sort of specific non-specific that makes people crazy but this time it is not my intent, it it just the best explanation I have.

I wonder about the hate, bile and venom being pumped out because our collective political differences won’t allow us to accept differences in opinion.

Where is it going and what is going to happen. Are we going to see the ship tear itself to pieces and spend time fighting each other for the pieces of a disintegrating homeland or will we figure how to be better than a simple sneetch.

Trying to keep my eyes open because I don’t want to have another conversation about missed opportunities, bad circumstances or anything like that.

Except I hear dad saying it doesn’t matter what you do, you can’t plan for everything and to just roll with it.

I shake my head and tell him he fit the typical Virgo profile in many ways. The lists, the labels and the attempt to plan in spite of his words otherwise.

It doesn’t require any effort to remember him calling me one day last Spring.

“You know Josh, you are a lot more fun to talk to now.  You were a pain-in-my-ass when you were younger.”

I hear the smile in his voice but I also know he is serious. He isn’t trying to offend me but he isn’t trying to spare my feelings either.

It would be fitting to say it took almost fifty years for him to feel that confident but we had that conversation in 2013 when I first moved here.

“I don’t worry about you figuring it out anymore. You are going to be fine.”

He is right, I am and I will, but damn…

It is only two months.

The question of when to take the next trip to Los Angeles has come up and it is not something I have a particular interest in discussing.

This won’t be like the last ones as there is no hope of getting to see dad one more time, no praying for miracles or hoping that science comes up with some sort of reprieve.

He is gone and he isn’t coming back.

Though I am quite capable of getting on a plane and dealing with whatever I have to handle it doesn’t mean I am looking forward to it.

I can’t say how long it will or won’t take for me to feel differently.

What I know is I if I went today I would go visit dad but I would do it alone. It is father and son time.

A Pirate’s Life For Me

I don’t know where my head is at but I know exactly where it is.

The music plays and I follow the threads to where they begin and go beyond.

It would be more fun to set sail and live as the pirate I know myself to be.

Maybe one day, maybe not.

Too hard to say what will be tomorrow let alone a year from now.

*****

Doc scheduled the first test, gave me two pages of prep and talked through a bunch of things.

I am not looking forward to it all but I want to get this and the other crap done so that I can focus on what has to come afterwards.

Can’t keep going down this path without eventually hitting walls that might be too hard to tear down.

Part of me wants to, part of me says the hell with the consequences I manage them all as I always have.

That is what pirates do, but the really smart ones find ways to make life easier and not harder.

Struck Again

I woke up on the floor and tried to figure out if I had been struck by lightning again or if it was something different.

My legs didn’t want to work, but my arms did and I pulled myself to where I could stand.

Got myself together, put on the headphones, listened and thought about it all.

Not broken, nor beaten, but beat up…a little bit.

Could slip and have might have.

Maybe the blast was in my head or maybe it was real.

Maybe I am three cards short of a full deck and subject to the luck of a guy who always pulls the joker.

Or maybe I am the guy that makes that joker smile for me and not at.

Maybe.

*****

The moments come and the moments go.

For an instant meteors streak across the sky and light up our worlds and for an instant their magic makes us forget that seconds that last a lifetime are still just seconds.

Doesn’t matter how hard we wish or matter that we take steps to stop or slow it down, life happens.

It is the most loving and cruelest mistress.

And so it goes.

“I hear you live in Texas now.”

“That is true.”

“How long have you been divorced?”

“Which time?”

“Oh, yeah, this time.”

“Long enough that people like you are asking questions.”

“Well you know we used to see you all the time and now we don’t.”

“It is a long commute from Dallas to LA.”

“You’re still pretty funny. What brings you out to LA?”

“My dad has Pancreatic cancer. Since you heard about all my divorces I am surprised you don’t know about that.”

“You and I don’t really talk so I didn’t think it is appropriate to bring it up.”

“I appreciate that. Talking about my divorces is appropriate, but my father’s health is far too real so probably best to keep that low key.”

My expression gives nothing away and that is my intention. I want them to feel uncomfortable because this is the dumbest conversation I have had in a while, especially since I can’t remember his name.

It is a mad world.

The Secrets Of Our Lives

It is early July and I am standing alone in my father’s room telling dad about the idiot.

“Why would you waste time talking to him?”

“I was curious to find out about the rest of my life. Maybe I am the owner of an empire and I can retire. You didn’t leave me one so I am stuck.”

Dad smiles and tells me it is my grandfather’s fault.

“Grandpa would blame his dad and I bet Zayde would blame his. If your grandchildren are lucky I’ll break that chain.”

Dad says he hopes so too and then we sit for a while, a comfortable silence settles over us. It is easy and familiar, but a voice inside me whispers I ought not to let it go too long.

“Dad, I need to tell you a few things, you can call some of this the secrets of my life. Some of what I say is just a bare overview because you don’t need any more than that. It is stuff that I might have eventually shared or might not have, I don’t really know. I just know now it is ok.”

Bright blue eyes absorb all I share and his head nods but he doesn’t say much.

“I trust you to make the right decisions for you. Do what you need to do. It will all work out.”

“Thank you. I am going to miss this.”

“Me too.”

Just A Rookie

The phone rings and I hear a familiar voice ask me how I am doing.

“I am checking in. You’re not real good about asking for help or leaning on people and this is really hard, especially the first couple of years.”

“Yeah, I am just a rookie at this and you are right, it is hard. But I am pretty good about gutting out the harder days.”

“You don’t have to gut out the harder days alone. You have more support than you realize.”

“Maybe, but there are lots of moments where it feels less than stellar. I don’t want to be that guy who does nothing but complain. It is a short list of people I talk to.”

“You’ll figure it out and if they are good friends they won’t mind.”

“True. This getting older thing sucks. Doc looked at my test results and said I need to come back in, gave me a bunch of tests to do.”

There is a short chuckle and a list of questions about which tests I am going to do and an assurance that I am not the only one who has to do them or has done them.

“You know what is funny? I felt like I was making real progress before I heard I needed to do them and for the last few days I have felt like Samson after a hair cut.”

“It is just nerves Josh, you’ll get your results and find out that you can take corrective action.”

“You are probably right, but damn I hate waiting. I want to run do them now so that I can find out what the hell is going on. Anticipation sucks.

And I am even more irritated that dad isn’t here so I can ask him if he remembers this time.”

Your Father

So much of those last few days and the funeral was/is a blur. As time passes some of the blurry parts are coming into focus and memories are forming.

“Your father was fearless. He saved my job. I owe him so much. You remind me of him. I bet you don’t take shit from anyone either. Your dad had such a big heart.”

“That’s why he had the bypass. They had to shrink it to make it fit inside his chest.”

He tells me I am funny but I am not so sure I was. Still I appreciate the kind words about dad.

The service is going to be starting soon so I excuse myself and walk through the chapel towards the family area.

I pause by dad’s casket and tell him if he wakes up to knock like hell and I’ll pull him out.

“You know I’ll do it so don’t knock unless you really need me dad. People will flip and I don’t need to fight them off while rescuing you. Besides that fucking amputation is going to make this harder. Do  we always need to do it the hard way.”

Though I whisper the sound of the last sentence sounds exactly like dad talking to me. That makes me giggle and I quickly turn away from the crowd because I don’t know if I’ll lose it.

I might laugh so hard I collapse or I might cry–I can’t tell which and though I don’t care what people think I haven’t any patience for anyone trying to talk to me about it.

****

It has been a challenging day and there have been at least three different times I have though I ought to give dad a call.

The third time I went to the garage and grabbed dad’s hammer and held it.

“If life worked like the movies you’d talk to me through this hammer but this isn’t a movie is it.”

I pause and listen carefully but there are no lightning bolts, burning bushes or signs. Just silence.

“Yeah, I get it. This is me and I’ll figure it out. Kind of funny dad, I spent years trying to prove I didn’t need or want your advice and now here we are.”

The silent monologue makes me snort, because it does sound like a movie. Can’t do anything more than keep on keeping on and see where it all leads. Ain’t life a kick. 😉

I almost called June to provide instructions to read this and then I changed my mind.

Decided I needed to try and double my workouts so I hit the gym twice today and got lost in what some people might call angrier music.

Made a mental note to check what my kids are listening to because some of what I will put on isn’t appropriate for them.

The thing is I will move from something that people call angry or has questionable lyrics to something soft and easy without a second thought but I know who I am.

I know what I am about and what drives me and have the maturity to manage it. I want them to gain a little bit of life experience before they move into some of this. Can’t guarantee that is how it will go, but it might.

****

We went out to dinner tonight to celebrate dad’s birthday and I feasted upon a steak and a $7 dollar Margarita and talked about the sermon our rabbi gave back home.

It raised a ruckus and debate because he didn’t hold back and he labeled POTUS as being toxic. I applaud him for it as many would avoid taking the risk he did.

I am grateful and appreciative because there are moments where you must speak out or accept you fell short of your responsibility and obligation to fight for a better world.

You Should Write

I found a couple of rejection letters from people who said they don’t think my writing is strong enough to be a professional writer.

It reminded me of high school when I was told I wasn’t good enough to be in the AP English class and how during my senior year a couple of teachers asked me why the Editor-in-Chief of our high school newspaper was in a regular English class.

Thirty-one years later I don’t care about having missed out on being a part of that AP English class. It didn’t stop me from becoming Editor-In-Chief of my college newspaper or having been paid to write post college.

It is not my where I make my money now. No one talks about Thomas Friedman, George Will and Josh Wilner’s columns.

Given current circumstances it doesn’t look like that is going to change any time soon, but I never say never.

If you ask for an honest assessment I don’t think I am there yet. I have work to do but with some effort, a decent editor and opportunity much can happen.

The funny thing about writing is how subjective it is.

Flip through the posts here and you’ll see more than a couple of comments here about this. It is a common thread, the subjectivity about writing that is.

Given the weight of the day I am not in the mood to spend much time here so I’ll reiterate that I am certain I am a better writer than some people who use words to make their living.

And there are many who are better than I am and I am good with that.

I am not interested in trying to prove I am the best and I wouldn’t know how to establish metrics that prove it.

Between you, me and the rest of the Internet I sometimes wonder if some of my online kerfuffles would or will cause some heartache for writing positions down the road.

I don’t spend time worrying about it but I have thought about it.

The world is a funny place about some things now. If they think you have said something offensive there are people who are determined to make you pay for it for life.

I mentioned this to a friend and he asked me if I still thought a country bumpkin attorney should shoot himself in his left testicle.

“He can shoot himself in the right and or choke on the rotten meat from one of his hunting expeditions.”

“That is generous of you, to suggest he can shoot himself in either nut. You are a giving person.”

“I try. I’d give him some of the secret sauce to suck down too. Does that make me more generous of just sick and twisted.”

“Nah, it just means you have a memory like an elephant.”

“You know some people say I have other things like an an elephant.”

I pause, smile and say “ears. People say I have big ears. They also say I don’t listen so maybe there is no correlation between size and…utility.

 

Playdough and Subdivisive

In the madness of the moment a man tells me he is tired of my making fun of POTUS and claims that if I understood what Playdough said about the Republic I might feel differently.

“The problem is you’re a liberal from California and you are used to the country subdivisiveness your state.”

Confession: I read his words and started salivating at the thought of unloading upon him.

It has been a while since I read or discussed Plato’s Republic but it doesn’t fit with his claims.

The thing is I hesitate to jump in because his writing makes him look like a caricature of a person and there might have been a time where I intentionally created a ridiculous online persona.

Though I can neither confirm nor deny that such a thing happened it gave me pause and I wondered if this dude was trying to set me up.

Eventually I said screw it and jumped in because when it is your recently deceased father’s birthday and you’re not sure what to do with yourself you get involved in silly stuff.

“Sir, if you are phonetically spelling Plato I follow why you spelled it as you did. OTOH, If you ate bowls of paste in school I understand why you misspelled it too.”

I get an all caps response and tell him to stop mangling subsidize.

‘That is the word you’re thinking of but after the nonsense you spout I am not convinced you understand it.”

****

The quiet of the evening has hit and I have finished my second workout of the day.

I am sitting at the end of the table in my seat. I suppose in my house it might be considered the head of the table but it is not how I think of it.

Dad had the head, directly opposite me and it was a format we usually followed for as long as I can remember.

I don’t have to close my eyes to see Dad’s copy of Plato’s Republic on the shelf in our old house. I haven’t any idea if it lives in a box in the garage in mom’s place or if it was given away.

Were I in Los Angeles I probably would be tearing through boxes of pictures in the garage looking for more shots of dad.

He isn’t in as many as my mom, siblings and I because he was usually behind the camera.

I am curious to see if my memories of these photos in the boxes holds true because I think of him as being very serious in those old shots.

As we all got older he smiled more or so I think the pictures will show.

I made a point to ask lots of questions, especially as it became more apparent that time was slipping but you don’t always ask what you don’t think of.

Got my follow up appointment on Monday and I’d like to compare notes with Dad, but obviously he isn’t available.

And so it goes, you don’t ask what you don’t know or think will be important.

You just play the hand you are dealt.