esrosedotblog

SENIOR

My Dad died on this day in 1988. I miss him.

He was the Boss. There was no one who one upped him and no one who missed out on hearing his displeasure when things were not going his way. He was a hard guy to live with. The term 'anger management' comes to mind. But, he was not a man of today. His attitude was one that took him far in a tough world and it was only at the end that his 'coping' mechanisms seemed a bit inappropriate. And he didn't give a shit about that either.

My Dad had to drop out of school in the 8th grade. He worked hard to get jobs that would not depend on his education to make the grade. He hit on working in food stores and he bootstrapped himself to the position of Manager in a small town branch of the A&P. He started in a service store; all counter service. He ended managing a small super store. After a number of years as a manager he had enough of the sales targets and the second guessing and told his bosses they could shove the job up their asses. He joined the union and they had to give him a super's job in a big supermarket; produce.

He loved the work and he loved the people. He was kind to many people who needed kindness in their lives. Times were hard in the late thirties and early forties. When WWII came, he did not have to go serve. He was technically too old and in a 'critical occupation'; so for awhile he stayed out. Then he couldn't be an outsider anymore. He believed fervently that our world would end if we lost the War. He volunteered. He went into the Navy and served on a destroyer-escort as a radar man; perched in a shack on the top of a pitching bucket. First, he ran the North Atlantic and when the European theater was closed they sent the ship to the Pacific. He was wounded there and saw a few of his best friends vaporized by kamikaze hits. He dreamed this war the rest of his life.

When he came home, I was 8 and ready to have a Dad. We didn't always agree. I had a lot of the same shit that he did; independent, don't tread on me. All that. He saw it through with me, got me to work with him in the A&P where I learned more about him than I could ever have at home. He was a good, moral man who had principles that he lived by. I wanted to emulate.

He got me to college and out of that town. He got to be a Grandad--"Pappy"--to my kids; the best.

When I finally came out as a gay man, it hit him hard. He worked through it. In a way he was not surprised; parents rarely are. He just had hoped it would pass or go away. It did not. And neither did he. He hung in. I took John home to visit my Mom and Dad. In minutes, it was discovered that John had also been in the Navy, had served on a destroyer (there is a God) and the picture album and trophies came out of the closet. If there was any shit it was over. Before he died, my Dad told me that he knew that I was happy and that was what counted most. This was the greatest gift he could have ever given me. The final stamp of approval.

In the years that he has been gone, I find my Dad in the most surprising places. I certainly see and hear about him from my kids; but most of all, the really surprising part--I see him in me and what I do and how I think. I ask myself what he would do. I hear myself say things that he would have said. I have his attitude. I work on the rough edges but I know that it is basically good. I am not confused about my principles either because they are his.

I always hated that they called me 'Junior'. I never thought you should do that to any kid and did not do it to my own sons. But now I am easy with it; probably because no one in my universe ever says it or, as far as I know, knows about it (other than the rest of the family and they would not dare). I can relax with it and let my Dad be Senior; the older part of me. I now believe that was the point of it; to have a younger part of him; some kind of immortality; and that was the style at that time.

You know something? I wrote this straight out. No break. I did not have to think about it one minute. That is how deep this thing is. Senior.