It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was.
...quote by Anne Sexton.
I had a dream recently...in it, I was at work, but it wasn't my office, it was a big complex, like the TimeWarner building here in New York. A lot of shops on the first two floors, akin to a mall, and offices, and restaurants and conference rooms throughout the rest of the building, with an atrium through the center. I was very busy and running all over the place...we were holding a big event, and Peter Sellars (circa 1960's) was our guest of honor. There was a lot to do, and many people helping to set up, and on one my tours through, I came upon a restaurant that was mostly empty. My dad was sitting outside the restaurant, no one else was around. I walked up and said, "Dad, what are you doing?", and he answered, "Just waiting for everyone else to arrive." I gave him a quick kiss, but hurried off...calling to him as I walked off that I had a lot to do, and that I would see him later. A short time later while still in the dream, I started to realize that it was incongruous for Peter Sellers to be there, as I knew he had died some time ago...I did not realize, until I woke up, that it was also incongurous for my dad to be there, as now he was no longer alive either.
My dad passed away last month. He had suffered with an illness for some years, so it was not wholly unexpected, but it was shocking nonetheless...literally, as I believe I did go into a mild shock at the time. I was working, in a production meeting for the show opening the following evening at the Public Theater when my mom called and told me. I then went back into the theater and sat down, as if I was actually going to try and participate. Thankfully, my associate producer realized immediately that something was very wrong, and got me into a cab quickly.
Everyone loved my dad. He was a pretty unassuming guy most of the time, but he got along with most everyone. He could be kind, and caring and fun and loving. My friends all adored my dad, he was one of those adults who really respected and enjoyed kids, and treated them like real people. Michelle, Jenny, Jeff, Theresa, Emma, Debbie, Lisa, Holly, Susie, Chris, Argo, Mike...these are just some of the names of friends of mine through the years who truly loved my dad, and were special to him; some of whom who have heard of my dad's passing have contacted me to tell me how much they cared for him, and still thought of him now.
My dad was from Chattanooga, Tennessee. He came to California by way of the Navy. I believe the story is that it was the Navy or jail...something to do with risque pictures taken in the girls' shower and then transported across state lines, but I could be wrong. Regardless of the circumsatnces of how he got there, he arrived in the early 60's, and eventually met my mother. They married, she was quite young. My grandmother always told me that she would never have allowed it if my dad hadn't been such a good man.
I came along a few years later, and although at times young and stupid, my parents were pretty great with me, and I always had a great relationship with my dad. My husband calls me (not unkindly) a daddy's girl, and he is correct. I had one of those great, and sometime rare, relationships with my dad where I always knew that he loved me...and as important, liked me. We enjoyed each other through most of my life. We had great times together, sometimes borne out of mishaps, like...
the time he took me for a daddy/daughter day in San Francisco and we went to a Chinese restaurant that he swore served the best Chinese food in the city. It of course was horrid, and the place looked like it should have been closed down by the health department.
the time my mom was away, and he did some kind of flushing of the water pipes with rock salt. Later that night he made salisbury steak, and had used some tap water for the gravy. When we sat down to eat, the meal was so salty I started complaining. He got a bit angry with me, and basically told me to be quiet and eat. I was about three bites into my food before he finally tasted it, after which he immediately threw it all out, and apologized all night long.
the time we went camping together up at Donner Lake. We took the boat so we could go fishing. First day there we get out in the boat, and my dad sets up his new rod and reel (that had cost about $300 at the time) so he can go tralling while the boat is going. Within five minutes, that line got snagged on something and his rod goes flying out of the boat. We spent the next three hours circling the spot where the equipment had gone missing, with the depth finder machine, trying in vain to recover it.
the time my dad Superglued his dentures to his hand, then toothlessly tried to yell at me when I couldn't stop laughing.
the time I made the entire Thanksgiving dinner by myself for the first time, and we ended up eating at 11:30pm...I think he was shocked that anyone could have served a holiday dinner at a later hour than my mother.
...and of course there are countless others.
I realize, and always have, that I am a lucky girl. It shouldn't be an anomaly to have a father that loves you, adores you, believes in you, supports you, is there for you when you need him, and even when you don't, and behaves in a manner that allows you to not even question those things. It shouldn't be, but seems that too often it is. My dad never did anything that would put him the cover of Time Magazine, but he would deserve it over many of the people who end up there. Now, I know he wasn't perfect, and had many faults, but it is my time to idealize him, so I will do so.
I last spoke with my dad on the day of the Superbowl. Ever since I was a little kid, we would bet on the World Series and the Superbowl. We used to actually have stakes...one year, when I lost, he made me wear a Dallas Cowboys jersey the following season. But in recent years there were no stakes, and we just bet to bet...something that seemed to make my mother wild. We would switch off on who got to pick first each year. This year he got to pick first, and he picked the Steelers...my mom was happy he got to win the last one.
I have good days, and sad days. Days where I think about him a lot, and days where I have diversions...at first I would feel a bit guilty about being diverted, but learned instead to embrace them. I have some perplexing thoughts also, such as, when does one delete the cell phone entry of a parent? There is no reason for it to be in there, but it just seems rude to do so. Sometimes I'm emotional, and sometimes not at all. I hadn't cried in a week, then yesterday on the subway I had a small breakdown....but as this is New York City, no one even looked at me twice (god I love this city!).
I'm in unchartered territory, but I try to celebrate who my father was to me, rather than wallow in a depressive state...sometimes that's easy, and sometimes not. Scout and Eric help with that...although, Eric himself has been mourning the loss of who he calls "The only sane member of your family." And he is correct in that...dad was always the port in the storm in the midst of my crazy and loving and wonderful family, and I can't believe he is gone.
So I leave you with this passage, and a request that you think a good thought for my dad, Leon Poe...a great man, who will be dearly missed.
"...then laugh, leaning back in my arms, for life is not a paragraph, and death i think is no parenthesis" - e.e. cummings
I had a dream recently...in it, I was at work, but it wasn't my office, it was a big complex, like the TimeWarner building here in New York. A lot of shops on the first two floors, akin to a mall, and offices, and restaurants and conference rooms throughout the rest of the building, with an atrium through the center. I was very busy and running all over the place...we were holding a big event, and Peter Sellars (circa 1960's) was our guest of honor. There was a lot to do, and many people helping to set up, and on one my tours through, I came upon a restaurant that was mostly empty. My dad was sitting outside the restaurant, no one else was around. I walked up and said, "Dad, what are you doing?", and he answered, "Just waiting for everyone else to arrive." I gave him a quick kiss, but hurried off...calling to him as I walked off that I had a lot to do, and that I would see him later. A short time later while still in the dream, I started to realize that it was incongruous for Peter Sellers to be there, as I knew he had died some time ago...I did not realize, until I woke up, that it was also incongurous for my dad to be there, as now he was no longer alive either.
My dad passed away last month. He had suffered with an illness for some years, so it was not wholly unexpected, but it was shocking nonetheless...literally, as I believe I did go into a mild shock at the time. I was working, in a production meeting for the show opening the following evening at the Public Theater when my mom called and told me. I then went back into the theater and sat down, as if I was actually going to try and participate. Thankfully, my associate producer realized immediately that something was very wrong, and got me into a cab quickly.
Everyone loved my dad. He was a pretty unassuming guy most of the time, but he got along with most everyone. He could be kind, and caring and fun and loving. My friends all adored my dad, he was one of those adults who really respected and enjoyed kids, and treated them like real people. Michelle, Jenny, Jeff, Theresa, Emma, Debbie, Lisa, Holly, Susie, Chris, Argo, Mike...these are just some of the names of friends of mine through the years who truly loved my dad, and were special to him; some of whom who have heard of my dad's passing have contacted me to tell me how much they cared for him, and still thought of him now.
My dad was from Chattanooga, Tennessee. He came to California by way of the Navy. I believe the story is that it was the Navy or jail...something to do with risque pictures taken in the girls' shower and then transported across state lines, but I could be wrong. Regardless of the circumsatnces of how he got there, he arrived in the early 60's, and eventually met my mother. They married, she was quite young. My grandmother always told me that she would never have allowed it if my dad hadn't been such a good man.
I came along a few years later, and although at times young and stupid, my parents were pretty great with me, and I always had a great relationship with my dad. My husband calls me (not unkindly) a daddy's girl, and he is correct. I had one of those great, and sometime rare, relationships with my dad where I always knew that he loved me...and as important, liked me. We enjoyed each other through most of my life. We had great times together, sometimes borne out of mishaps, like...
the time he took me for a daddy/daughter day in San Francisco and we went to a Chinese restaurant that he swore served the best Chinese food in the city. It of course was horrid, and the place looked like it should have been closed down by the health department.
the time my mom was away, and he did some kind of flushing of the water pipes with rock salt. Later that night he made salisbury steak, and had used some tap water for the gravy. When we sat down to eat, the meal was so salty I started complaining. He got a bit angry with me, and basically told me to be quiet and eat. I was about three bites into my food before he finally tasted it, after which he immediately threw it all out, and apologized all night long.
the time we went camping together up at Donner Lake. We took the boat so we could go fishing. First day there we get out in the boat, and my dad sets up his new rod and reel (that had cost about $300 at the time) so he can go tralling while the boat is going. Within five minutes, that line got snagged on something and his rod goes flying out of the boat. We spent the next three hours circling the spot where the equipment had gone missing, with the depth finder machine, trying in vain to recover it.
the time my dad Superglued his dentures to his hand, then toothlessly tried to yell at me when I couldn't stop laughing.
the time I made the entire Thanksgiving dinner by myself for the first time, and we ended up eating at 11:30pm...I think he was shocked that anyone could have served a holiday dinner at a later hour than my mother.
...and of course there are countless others.
I realize, and always have, that I am a lucky girl. It shouldn't be an anomaly to have a father that loves you, adores you, believes in you, supports you, is there for you when you need him, and even when you don't, and behaves in a manner that allows you to not even question those things. It shouldn't be, but seems that too often it is. My dad never did anything that would put him the cover of Time Magazine, but he would deserve it over many of the people who end up there. Now, I know he wasn't perfect, and had many faults, but it is my time to idealize him, so I will do so.
I last spoke with my dad on the day of the Superbowl. Ever since I was a little kid, we would bet on the World Series and the Superbowl. We used to actually have stakes...one year, when I lost, he made me wear a Dallas Cowboys jersey the following season. But in recent years there were no stakes, and we just bet to bet...something that seemed to make my mother wild. We would switch off on who got to pick first each year. This year he got to pick first, and he picked the Steelers...my mom was happy he got to win the last one.
I have good days, and sad days. Days where I think about him a lot, and days where I have diversions...at first I would feel a bit guilty about being diverted, but learned instead to embrace them. I have some perplexing thoughts also, such as, when does one delete the cell phone entry of a parent? There is no reason for it to be in there, but it just seems rude to do so. Sometimes I'm emotional, and sometimes not at all. I hadn't cried in a week, then yesterday on the subway I had a small breakdown....but as this is New York City, no one even looked at me twice (god I love this city!).
I'm in unchartered territory, but I try to celebrate who my father was to me, rather than wallow in a depressive state...sometimes that's easy, and sometimes not. Scout and Eric help with that...although, Eric himself has been mourning the loss of who he calls "The only sane member of your family." And he is correct in that...dad was always the port in the storm in the midst of my crazy and loving and wonderful family, and I can't believe he is gone.
So I leave you with this passage, and a request that you think a good thought for my dad, Leon Poe...a great man, who will be dearly missed.
"...then laugh, leaning back in my arms, for life is not a paragraph, and death i think is no parenthesis" - e.e. cummings
