by Popinki » Mon Jun 22, 2015 5:59 pm
My father died when I was 6. He was the stereotypical alpha male: hunter, fisherman, sole breadwinner (he went to work while my mother had to stay at home raising the brood of children he wanted), his word was law, nothing soft or sweet about him. My clearest memory of him pre-age 6 is him yelling at me for trying to leave the table without eating my dinner and making me sit there until well into the night crying my eyes out. He wouldn't let my mother get a driver's licence, he decided who they'd socialize with, and if she wanted money she had to get it from him. She did all the housework and gardening while he was out at the bar with his buddies.
Right after my 6th birthday in March he had his first heart attack. He had three more between then and when he passed away that July, and he was either in the hospital or very sickly on the rare occasions he was home so I wasn't allowed to "bother" him (bothersome here defined as anything a typical 6 year old girl might do.) I'd be dragged to the hospital to see him hooked up to machines and wires and there'd be the noise and the smell and the beepy things and the cadaverous old guy in the next bed, which creeps the fuck out of a lot of adults, let alone a kindergardener. He'd give my mother grief for "spoiling" me when I'd get freaked out and want to leave.
When he died I was sad because everyone else was sad and sad is contagious, but I didn't understand death. All I knew was that the house was full of annoying people who wouldn't go away for days and days, and when they finally left my mother was very sad and worried and cried a lot, and after that all she did was worry about money and finding a job and learning to drive and raising six kids by herself.
My siblings are older than I am (the next youngest is 7 years older than me) and they all adored our father. They were off doing their own things (high school/college, part time jobs, friends) and so we really had nothing else in common, either. I was an adult before most of them viewed me as their equal and before I heard about the side of Dad I never knew.
He wasn't warm and fuzzy, but he never missed a birthday or anniversary. He'd bring my mother gifts for no reason and treats for the family when he had extra money. He went to baseball games and recitals and fixed toys and bikes and took my brothers hunting, and my sisters fishing, and sometimes he'd even take them to the bar so they could drink a soda at the counter and feel like real grown-ups. When I was born he was thrilled to have another girl (after he got back from his poker party and heard the news, of course) and called me his little punkin', which I found out at age 35. I guess my mother summed it up best when she said "he was a real piece of work, but I still miss him."
It makes me kind of sad that everything good I know about my father, I only know secondhand.
...aaaaaaand the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man in the moon....