January 15, 2012 I lost my father. No. I lost my Dad. Well, I didn’t really lose him. I’ll never lose him.
My Dad was my best fri
end for along long time. Peas in a pod I think is the saying. We were really fucking obnoxious together. He taught me the art of the Pun. Something I’ve never been able to freestyle with anyone the way I could with my dad. We had goofy conversations. We made wild accusations against one another that always resulted in laughter. My Dad taught me to love books, think for myself and be myself. I never realized how much like him I am. I’m vulgar at inappropriate times. Or is it vulgar at appropriate times but actually uncalled for vulgarity? Or is the vulgarity appropriate but the time just off by a minute? Well, time is relative. And you are my dad. But how do you know? How do we know anything? Ah, it’s because we know that we know that we know! Well played, sir. You are the Master. And the drums beat on.. To Galifry! To Galifry! *it’s ok, reader. He understood it.
The last time I saw him was 2006. We had a strained visit. I wasn’t in the best shape. He knew it. He didn’t push or pry. He never told me he knew. But I knew he knew. I always thought I would have the chance to let him see how well I was doing. There were so many conversations that included the phrase “I’m going to try for coming out there this summer”. That was a lie we both told. Always thinking there would be the chance.
Both my sisters got to visit with Dad before he passed. I have to admit I was insanely jealous. I was having trouble understanding why they were able to see him and I wasn’t. I’ve come to the conclusion that I didn’t need to. I had a really good relationship with my father. We talked about EVERYTHING. There was nothing to settle between us and nothing left unsaid. I know Pop loved me. He knew I loved him. Our last conversation we made sure to tell one another just that. He knows I’m a survivor. He knows that no matter what I will pick myself up from the boot straps, dust the dirt from my shoulder and move forward. That’s how he raised me.
I’d like to share one of my favorite stories. This is how almost every dispute between us went down and was resolved. We had this particular interaction when I was 14 in the kitchen of the Sims house in St. Paul. He was making burger patties for that monster grill he’d made out of a 50 gallon drum.
Pop: Hey, Chrys, hand me that tin foil.
Me: No response
Pop: Hey, goddamn it, I’m talking to you. Hand me that tin foil.
Me: Oh, you said “Chrys” I thought there was someone else in the room. My name is Chrystal. I don’t look or act anything like a “Chrys”.
Pop: *chuckling to himself* Well, Little un, by that logic I should be calling you 'Shithead' right now.
Me: That’s not funny.
Pop: Lighten up, goddamn it! I’ll call you whatever the hell I feel like calling you. I’m your dad! I can do that. Nobody else (‘cept maybe your mom) has that right. So suck it up and hand me that fuckin’ tin foil so I can cook dinner!
Me: throws the tin foil his way and storms off to my room
A couple of hours later sitting outside on the back deck eating:
Pop: *pinching my face* Awww, you still mad at your old Dad?
Me: *brushing him away* Leave me alone. You hurt my feelings.
Pop: Ha! Hurt your feelings? How? By showing you what you already know?
Me: You called me a shithead.
Pop: Well, you gave me reason to. So knock it off, goddamn it, and give your dad a hug.
Me: No! Leave me alone. I’m mad at you.
Pop: Too fucking bad! Give your dad a hug!
Force hugs me and kisses my head and starts tickling me. I start laughing and crying at the same time.
Pop: See? You weren’t mad at your dad. I love you, Little un.
Me: *hugging my dad* I love you, Pop.
And so, over the years, even in deep conversation, my Pop and I would always come full circle. We were able to discuss with each other anything we needed to. Always knowing that no matter what was said, we loved each other.
I’m really going to miss our talks as ridiculous as they were. But I’m not going to mourn him. He told his wife just before he passed that he saw his family that had passed before him. I’m glad. That tells me that when it’s my time he’ll be there to take my hand.
I’d tell you to Rest in Peace, Pop, but that sounds boring as all get outta town. Just do what you do and I’ll see you again.
Take care, I love you!
