Father's Day

When things were good, they were very very good, but, when they were bad.........This can be said of my relationship with my father.

Growing up, I was scared to death of my father. My brothers and I used to get whipped. With the belt of our choice. While that may sound flip or as if I am joking, neither are true. I am serious. And I can tell you, the thinner belts hurt worse.

My father was raised to discipline that way. His brothers and sisters would line up to get a whipping when one of them did something wrong. There were just under ten siblings and the thinking was, if one of them did something wrong, chances are the others did as well, and perhaps just hadn't been caught yet.

My father was a musician. Country music. Played the guitar and sang. But he could play most any instrument. Never learned to read music, played by ear. He was good. He played the violin at three. Most of the family played one instrument or another. There was a lot of music in their house in Oklahoma.

My father's mother died when he was five. He was he youngest. My Aunt Dorothy took over as mother, even though she was 15. In that respect, he was one lucky boy. To this day, she is the kindest person I know. She is the reason he left Oklahoma and moved to California when he was nearly 20.

My father met my mother on a blind date when both were 23. The got married six weeks later. He had a son from a previous marriage. His son Danny, was living with his mother Colorado. My parents went on to have three kids together. I am the middle and the only girl.

We used to fish often. When my father taught us how to set up a line, he made sure we knew, he would only show us how to do it once. He wanted to fish too and didn't want to be setting up our lines if we lost our hooks and sinker on rocks. We quickly became quite adept at fishing. We loved it. My mother never did, but she got to relax from her grueling job at the bank.

I mentioned my father was a musician. He played night clubs, bars and pretty much any gig he could get to make money. I used to love him coming in at four in the morning with a pizza and then he turned on the TV. Sometimes I would get up and sit watching TV with him. All the commercials seemed to be Cal Worthington selling cars. You know he is still alive? Seems like he wouldn't be....probably still wearing his ten gallon hat too. Anyhow, I loved those times with my father. He was fun and animated, likely three sheets to the wind.

My father would sleep late in the mornings. My brothers and I prayed none of our friends would knock on the door. He didn't like being awakened. We all paid for it if he was. That was the scary father.

My father played music with famous country singers and some not so famous. We met some of them, sometimes at our house. They would sit around playing music and it was great, our own little concert.

When I was about eight, my mother finally made him get a real job. One with benefits and a regular paycheck. He began working as a maintenance mechanic. He could fix anything. Electrical, woodworking, construction, making guitars, violins and mandolins. He could do it all. All with only an eighth grade education. Never thought about how young that truly was until right now. My daughter is graduating eighth grade next week.

We had a huge garage the was beyond full. He made all of our bikes from parts in that garage. He taught us how to ride them as well. He would tell us he was going to let go, and he did. Forgot to mention how to use the brakes until the last minute. But we learned fast! I made a bike once myself out of the parts in the garage. Of course, he helped.

When I was ten, we moved closer to a new plant that his company was opening. We got a big new house. Two story in a new neighborhood. A new county. It was probably one of the best things my folks ever did for themselves and my brothers and me.

He was then on the swing shift and during the summer, he would wake us, at four in the morning, to go fishing. I never minded getting up for fishing. We would make doughbait the night before. We would drive forty-five minutes to the lake. Wait until daylight and fish for a few hours and drive home so he could get a nap in before work. We did this at least three days a week. We loved it. There was a limit on how many fish one person could catch, based on the kind of fish. Since there were four of us fishing, we could get twenty bass. Or one hundred bluegill. No limit on carp, we loved to catch them for fun and gave them away. If we hit our limit, we put some in the trunk! There was a great lesson for the kids!

Later, after we had grown up and moved away, my father became a locksmith. We visited my parents often, didn't live too far away. We seemed to get along with him much better as young adults. Aside from the fishing, we were afraid to piss him off when we were younger. That changed when we grew up. We spoke our minds more freely and openly, without fear of retribution.

I enjoyed my father best as an adult. He was funny. He was beyond a doubt one of the brightest men I have ever known. Not educated by school, but from books, which he read avidily, and by trying and failing, by life.

My mother got Alzheimer's and had retired. He had since retired too. They decided to move about three hours north of my brothers and me. He wanted to move back to Oklahoma, but my mother was not too far gone to allow that. He was there to take care of my mother. We always thought he would be.

On the day after Thanksgiving, my brothers families and mine would load up our cars and spend the night with our parents in their new home. It was always difficult to get everybody together before that, but the day after worked well for all of us. We would hang out and really had a nice time. We started looking forward to our once a year sleepover at their house. Our kids could all play and really get to know each other. We lived near each other, but never took the time to really see each other. So, those Thanksgiving's were very special.

I got a call from my father one day. He had been to the doctor and had cancer. It was in his lungs and had spread to his brain. We were up there for him when he got radiated. I had taken over the bills by this time. At that point with three months to live, my father turned all of our lives upside down. One brother and I got my folks to sign powers of attorney for both medical and financial decisions. That was not easy. He didn't want us to have the power to tell him no to anything.

My father put the house on the market. It sold in days and he was packing everything up and moving to Oklahoma. He used some of the cash from the sell of the house to buy a brand new caddy. Cash. My mother could no longer drive and he was dying. I suppose this could have been known as denial. He and my mother left for Oklahoma. First thing he did was trade in the caddy for a big ole pick up truck. About three weeks later, my brother got a call from a dear cousin, who suggested he come get my father and bring him back to California.

My brother flew out there. He called my older brother, whom we had not seen since I was six years old. Danny came down to Oklahoma from Kansas and really met my younger brother Dale, for the very first time. He was madly in love and wondered why he had missed so much time with his brother he never knew. And with our father, who was dying.

My brother brought my father home. Not really home, because he didn't have one. We got him off the plane and took him straight to the hospital, kicking all the way. I think he knew he would never be on his own again. We brought my mother home with us. We took her to the hospital every day. We were finally told to put him in a nursing home. Which we did. We took my mother and visited him daily. It became a routine for about two months.

We knew the end was near and called some family to come say their good-byes, the saddest being my Aunt Dorothy. I had gotten his burial instructions when my mother was out of the room one day. That was excruciatingly difficult, but necessary. He was finally going to be put into a morphine induced coma, but was able to tell my brother Clark that he loved him. I never thought he would wake up again so I never dreamed I would hear those words said to me. I did hear them though. He woke up and pulled me down toward his face and told me he loved me. He never awoke again.

We got a call at four the next morning that he was gone. Forever gone, the man I loved and feared my whole life. The only good thing that came out of my father dying, was that my oldest brother Danny came back into our lives for the long haul!

He came out for the funeral and got to know my brother Clark and me and our families. He wrote us letters when he went home and said that a hole in his heart had been filled and it was one he never knew was there.

It has been almost seven years since my father died. Seems like yesterday. I miss my father often, but especially today, Father's Day. For there is still a hole in my heart, that will never be filled again. Happy Father's Day Pops.....