Continuing from A Look Back – Part V

My father died suddenly and tragically when I was around 5 years old. I have very little recollection of him. My mother remarried a year or two later. It was my stepfather and mother who raised me and my other siblings. As children we called our stepfather dad. If I had the chance I would ask him now, “Why would you marry a young widow with three small children?” As it turned out he was probably the most ill-equipped man to raise children as there ever was. On his behalf I’ll answer for him and say that his ignorance of small human beings was only surpassed by his love for my mother. The normal and primary emotions I had as a child and teenager were fear and insecurity. I rarely felt safe. My dad for me was an unpredictably volatile man. No one ever really knew if he was going to be pleasant or mean after he came home from work. He seemed angry most of the time. I always assumed he was angry pertaining to the circumstances of having me….or us. In retrospect I imagine he hated his job. He probably had the least desirable job for a man to have in south Florida. He was a house painter by trade. I’m sure it was hot and miserable work but he was good at it. I’ve been told that he was probably a fully functional alcoholic. I never saw him as what I perceived as “drunk.” As a child being “drunk” was something I saw on TV. Otis from The Andy Griffith Show was a drunk. He was funny and likable. My dad was on the other end of that spectrum.

Therefore, to ask me what were fun things my mother and I did together was something far outside of my frame of reference. We just wanted to get by…to get through the day…without upsetting my dad.

During a particularly ugly familial storm my mother gave me advice I have never forgotten. “Grow up and leave this place. Learn to take care of yourself and never depend on another human being for anything…because they will die…or they will turn into someone else.” In practical matters my mother taught me everything I needed to know to take care of myself and be independent. Some years after receiving that advice I met the girl who would later be my wife so my mother’s advice had to be abandoned.

My favorite memories of my mother have happened within the last year. At my daughter Nicoleta’s wedding, that I was privileged to officiate she told me, “I’m so proud of you.” During a recent visit with her she complimented me by asking a question. “How did you get to be such a good father? God knows you didn’t have an example to follow.” Finally, during the same visit I knocked on her heart’s door and she let me in…for a minute.