Every Day is Fathers Day!

In my last blog I told the story of how I hated my father when I was younger. Truth be told, after all this is what this blog and website are all about...truth; I did not understand what my father meant to me, in fact I believe I misunderstood him most of my life. Although I remember what I recall as the first time I was angry with my father, I also know that some time shortly after that I set out on a journey of understanding and making my presence known to him. I realized at a young age that sometimes to get your fathers attention, you need to put yourself directly in his path. When the plan was in place to start to dig the basement for our new home, we started preparing the lot for the transition. I was still only about 7 when our home turned into a construction site. Trees needed to come down, and my curiosity once again made for a funny story in that there was a very tall pine tree that sat right about where our new garage would be located. We had moved the back porch from grandma's house to the backside of the old one stall garage, and it became a workshop and a hangout for me and my neighbor, Doug Gust also known to most as "wormy'. Again, the smell of the dirt floor pungent with memories, where my oldest brothers parking stall for his old truck, vintage tools and remnants of grandma's house. The pine tree needed to come down, and as we watched it drop to the ground, I heard a noise and ran to where the treetop landed. I was so excited yet sad yelling look baby birds! Thinking they had lost their home, the empathy kicked as my instinct was to save them until one of the boys hollered those aren't birds, they're BATS! I covered my head as we were taught to do from swatting the bats in the old house with tennis rackets and brooms and ran off into the house hair intact. It was really exciting as a small child watching our dreams come alive while living in an old house on a temporary foundation watching the new one come alive. Music has always been a part of my life, some of the memories I have are from checking up on dad while he was putting the finishing touches on the woodwork in the new house, the door trim and baseboards lined up in each room as he diligently stained and varnished them before nailing them in the place they would remain to this day. It truly was the house that built me. The sounds of Bad Bad Leroy Brown, or Kaw-liga, or Johnny Cash crackling on the AM radio. Once the house was finished, I would take my journey to know my dad out to the garage. I would watch the time the boys spent in the garage with Dad, and I wanted in, although my attention span at the age was not adequate for changing tires and learning what I could about cars, but those years would follow soon enough. I would not have a clue as to how to be as independent or self-sufficient if it weren't for his tutelage although he may have had a little more patience and leniency with me as the 4th born. I feel like I did not fully understand the challenges that my dad faced and why he was built the way he was, he also lost a lot at a young age, a baby brother who died at birth, and his own father when dad was only 33 years old; my grandpa died when I was just a few days old, ironically I lost my first child when was also 33 years old. I knew I was a lot like him, and that I would grow apart from him before I grew back to appreciating the value he brought to my life. Going through his things when he passed away, I found a tattered picture of him and I from my christening day. Mom then told me that it was so tattered because he carried it in his wallet for many years. I was so touched yet also realized how much I misconstrued my father's love for me in the early years. And also ever realized that the picture held a beautiful memory for my dad at a time when he lost his own mentor, his father. I hope that you hear me dad when I say that I saw you for the man that you were, the hard ass teddy bear that would step up and protect, defend, comfort, and support me even during the times I didn't deserve it because that's what fathers do. You put me in my place, when I needed it, and you picked me up from the depths of hell when I couldn't do it myself, and then you let me take care of you when you could no longer do it yourself. For that I am forever grateful, even in the worst of times, I always knew you would be there for me no matter what. That is what being a father and more so a family is all about.

Love Lives On

Joan Marie