My Dad…

An essay…

Any New Year’s day at 12:01ish. That was the first phone call of the year my Dad would receive. It was from me. It was always me. He knew it was me. He’d say, “that is Alma.” I only missed a few years here and there.

My Dad died in 2002 from a massive brain stroke. A lack of knowledge about stroke cases and prompt care in the three hour window caused him to lose all faculties. He remained in a state of coma for 13 days, which was unheard of then. But, he was holding on for my brother. Then, he let go. If I said that I think of him daily, it would not be an exaggeration. I do think of him daily.

I have a profound admiration for my Dad. Our relationship could be complex at times but in the long run, we understood each other. He was after all driven, intelligent, and ambitious. As the product of an affair in the late 30s, he carried the stigma and shame of being born out of wedlock. His mother had land but was cash poor. She’d sew to give him a quarter to go to school. The shoes he’d wear, were covered with cardboard to protect his feet during his walk to school. He was officially recognized by his father when my Dad turned 18. Once in college, as a first generation college student, he studied and worked non stop.

We would often banter quite a bit and joked. He’d tease and I would return it. Until I’d use slang; he did not approve of it. Once he chastised me for not paying my bill at the gas station he owned. I said to deduct it from my inheritance and laughed. He was not amused but the wit left him speechless. Sometimes I had a lot of fun rattling him. I’d tell him I would grow up to own a motorcycle, dress all in black, and stand next to him in a light to rev the engine and race him. He’d hold a chuckle with a mixture of admiration and disapproval over what he thought was defiance.

Sometimes the weight of his trust in me was heavy. How could I not behave like a teen every so often or like a young adult? It was hard at times. On other hand, he’d pick his fights with me. Not every fight was worth having. He was selective. Sometimes he could have chosen better. Nonetheless, many times, he was the level headed person who understood my comings and goings.

My Dad went from being called a bastard to being called a Don. It sounds so “godfather” but small town politics are real, tight, and toxic. But, that was his goal. He wanted to become someone in the same town that despised him and he did. He did become the person people came to for financial help.

Therein lied the bittersweet feelings he’d get when anyone got close. For which reason, I barely asked him for money. If I did, it was often as a loan which I’d pay back diligently. Many times we’d negotiate terms of financial engagement. I had to learn.

Even though he was hard and quite frankly less than kind at times, he’d come to my rescue when I was in need. My first car accident was my fault. And as luck would have it, the driver knew of my Dad. We exchanged information and because this was before cell phones, as soon as I got to pay phone, I called my Dad. After explaining and providing the information, he said, “I will take care of it.” He drove to the house of the driver, examined the car, and suspecting the man was trying to pass other damages as mine, my Dad said “no, my daughter did not do that. Here is x amount. Take it or leave it.” That was the end of that story. Other times though, he’d push me to take care of things. And I had to in spite of my protests.

My biggest sadness is that he did not get to meet my kids. Each time my son accomplishes something, I think of what he’d say. When my daughter astonishes everyone with her leadership skills and singing, I think of what he’d say. And sometimes my eyes tear up because I know he’d have enjoyed both of them, their quirks, their jokes, their personalities, and their lives.

My Dad was not perfect. He was full of shortcomings. Somehow we always managed to come out to the other side and keep going. Towards the end of his life, which we did not know, we spent over an hour discussing his newest love conquest as friends would do.

Happy Father’s Day!

Until next week. Love,

Alma