Dad

the other day (or maybe last month...who can keep track?), Stephen asked me why i don't hang out with my dad more. i wasn't sure how to answer him. i'm still not sure.

i don't talk about my dad alot; not surprisingly, he and Stephen are very, very similar: he's quiet and almost unassuming, especially when compared to the bombastic cacophony of my mother, brother and i. when i think of him, it's almost always as a steady and constant figure who rarely got mired in the day-to-day minutiae of life; standing on the sidelines, unaffected, or better yet, he was consistently unruffled by what was going on around him.

the thing is, Dad was an NYPD cop for almost 30 years. it was a job he loved more than he could ever put into words; he went to work every day with a smile on his face. his hours fluctuated terribly for the longest time; sometimes 8am -4pm, sometimes 4pm to 12am, sometimes 12am - 8am. somehow, and i'll never really know how, we got to see him every single day, regardless of when he came home or when he went in. then, he took on a second job so my mom could stay home with my brother and i; then a third job to put us both through Catholic school. still...somehow...we say him at least once or twice a day. he'd wake us up and fix us breakfast before school (no Cap'n Crunch here; we're talking eggs, pancakes, oatmeal, french toast, etc) and then we'd see him for dinner later that night before he went to his second job (private security). somehow, he still made time to coach little league, pee-wee soccer and be the Scoutmaster of our Boy Scout troop (#245...Brooklyn).

the most astounding thing was that no matter how emotionally cut off he may have been outside of work, the minute he got home he would kiss me and hug me and tell me he loved me. i was, after all, the "baby" (though i'm only 18 months younger than my brother). i remember laughing hysterically every time he'd kiss me, because of his thick, Teddy Roosevelt mustache. then, one day, he stopped. i don't remember when, but i'm reasonably sure it was around the time i hit puberty (a year or two before HS). at that point, any love that was there was assumed, but not spoken of aloud. the hugs and kisses stopped cold, as did the nicknames (ironically, he used to call me "Butch") and "i love you's". he was still very present in my life; i saw him every single day for dinner and he'd always make himself available to drive me to school on saturdays for Speech and Debate tournaments, but for emotional outbursts i looked to look elsewhere (read: mom). conversely, i came to understand that the same was to be expected from me. no more calling him "daddy", no more walrus kisses, no more hugs that lasted more than 3 seconds.

looking back, i realize how difficult it must've been for him to "deal with me". my brother made it easy; he was a fuck up of the highest caliber and dad's actions and reactions were as expected: disappointment, frustration and anger. ironically, i presented the challenge by not making too many waves. i did okay in school and excelled in my extracurricular activities. i had a part time job by the time i was 15 to support my burgeoning comic book and CD habits. i had friends whom they (he and mom) liked and trusted. instead of reacting to it, he ignored it: he's doing ok on auto-pilot, just let him be. so what if he's a tad...emotional and artistic. it could be worse, he could be a felon. he never really pushed me in any direction, in particular. Dad wasn't a big sports fan, so he never had high hopes that i'd be a Yankee or Knick. in a way, he recognized that i was...different...but didn't mind as long a it kept me out of prison.

fast forward to 15 years later to my father being perplexed and nearly devastated about how far we've grown apart from each other. he laments that the only time we speak is when he answers the phone, before handing it off to my mother. that was a few months ago. since then there have been quite a few L--------a family squalls where i pretty much came clean about feeling like the invisible boy for the last 15 or so years. Stephen and i see my parents almost weekly, and the four of us meet for dinner or coffee. conversation is pretty easy and almost always pleasant. parting is usually capped off with a kiss for mom and an awkward half-hug with dad.

i'll always love and respect my father for being the absolute best dad and husband i've ever known. he really was, and continues to be, a rock which weathered alot of shit-storms. i will always love him, but i guess i'm just out of practice when it comes to saying or showing it...