Past, present, dad, Spring

 

 

 

Winner of Canadian blog award 2013 GLBT category

Today is the first day,

of Spring.

Now,

in my part,

of the world-

not quite,

but,

still,

soon.

As the calendar moves,

forward,

🙂

and,

the days,

lengthen,

the inevitability,

and,

yes,

hope,

of Spring,

comes with it.

Spring,

is an important season,

and,

metaphor,

for us,

Canadians,

Quebecois,

because we,

live,

and,

deal,

with,

the endless,

Winter.

Seventeen years ago,

I was at work,

after tearing up,

my knee,

and,

hobbling around,

with a cane.

I had some sort,

of special assignment,

a change,

from the intensely,

active and sometimes,

difficult,

world of customer service.

I worked in a basement,

listening to and evaluating,

other people’s service.

It wasn’t great,

but,

it was smoother,

and,

I got a call…..

from my mom,

“he’s gone”,

is what she said,

my dad,

had passed,

a third heart attack,

had killed him,

he was,

fifty-eight years old.

I’ll never forget that day.

It was one of the most,

mentally and emotionally,

trying and confusing,

I have ever known.

My mom is a strong,

little woman,

on that day,

she needed me,

to be strong too.

I was,

I am,

she was,

she is.

We got through it,

together.

The arrangements,

the funeral,

the grief,

the being strong,

the sympathies expressed,

sometimes,

so,

oddly,

people don’t know what to say, I so, understand, that.

It took me a long time,

to process,

the death of my father.

When I was a child,

we got along,

great,

and,

then when I was a teenager,

it was very difficult.

He made some,

questionable choices,

in his life,

don’t we all?

and,

he paid the price,

for them,

as we,

tend to.

He was a handsome,

charismatic,

and,

lovely guy,

my dad,

and,

he was angry,

and,

melancholic,

and,

hard to take.

I loved him,

he loved me,

in retrospect neither of us,

was very good,

at showing it.

He was,

a man of,

his generation,

very male,

virile,

but,

also vulnerable and sensitive.

He could be,

the most argumentative,

man,

on the planet,

twisting your arguments,

making you doubt,

for fun,

for sport,

it seemed,

he was hard,

he wasn’t always fair,

and,

yet,

when he walked down the street,

he talked to cats,

and,

dogs came right up to him.

Old women,

adored him,

most women adored him.

He loved music,

so much,

all music,

opera,

jazz,

rock,

he taught,

me that.

I credit mom,

with teaching me,

the love of books,

but,

dad read,

as well.

In our house,

we watched television,

as a family,

just the three of us.

We watched in both French and English,

we watched movies,

and,

political conventions,

and,

the wonderful world of Disney,

and,

Les Beaux Dimanches.

We fought, we screamed,

but,

we were a clan,

of three.

Dad knew things,

no-one else knew,

you could give him, any address in the city, and he knew where it was, he knew what to order in any restaurant, if you doubted the greasy spoon you ordered a western sandwich, always safe, he taught me, don’t suck up to bosses, be nice to secretaries and receptionists and the world is your oyster, he was right, about a lot of things

he was hard on me,

it was his idea of making me a better person.

No parenting method is perfect,

but,

he loved me,

in his infuriating way,

he was kind,

he was sensitive,

and,

he was self-absorbed and selfish,

even,

weak,

aren’t we all?

Some people,

saw more of,

one side,

than others,

he was a complex man.

He understood,

about me being gay,

maybe,

before I did,

it didn’t bother,

him.

Only once,

when I was an adult,

when losing an argument,

he said to me,

“I never questioned your life style”

and,

I replied,

“why should you?”

he looked at me,

and,

said,

“you’re right”

boy that didn’t happen often.

He was big and strong,

in my youth,

and,

then,

he was diminished,

by health foes,

and,

excess,

and,

life wearing,

him,

down.

He was hard to love,

sometimes,

but,

love him,

we did,

we do.

I have,

over the years,

heard many stories,

of peoples fathers,

and,

when I look back,

on mine,

I think,

that for all his faults,

and, mine,

I was lucky,

to have him as a father,

someone,

who questioned,

and,

prodded,

everything,

who made me think,

on my feet,

all the time,

who didn’t allow me to become,

complacent,

who drove me nuts.

He taught me to deal,

with people,

all kinds of people,

He was a master class in complexity.

He made me a better person,

not always intentionally.

I am so like him,

vain,

and,

good with people,

a talker,

and,

a brooder.

Indignant and iconoclastic.

‘Never join anything’

was his motto,

and,

yet,

he took home,

strays of all kinds,

people,

cats,

dogs.

he wasn’t cynical,

he was critical,

very,

critical

and,

now that I look back,

probably most,

of,

himself.

Maybe,

dad,

should have been a writer?

Later girls,

BB