I saw an old man today as I drove to the local store. He had just gotten out of a car driven by an equally old man. I came upon him far enough back that I was able to watch him start to walk up his driveway, stop, turn around, and go back to examine a shrub like it had called out to him. I was immediately reminded of my father. I don't know if it was the way he bent down to look with his hands on his thighs; something my dad always did; or just that he was an old man.
I was thinking of both the stranger and my dad as I did my light shopping and when I walked out of the store, another of the old man's contemporaries was walking in and seeing me, stopped, stepped out of the way, and held the door for me. I smiled and thanked him "thank you, sir!" and his smiling reply was, "of course." Like "duh, like I'm not gonna hold the door open for a lady??" I smiled all the way to my car.
My father was a gentleman. He was born in 1924, served in the US Army during WWII, was a loving son, husband, and father, and a true man of faith. Though it was a quiet faith, at least from what I could see, I knew of his Irish Catholic upbringing and his time in Seminary High School. I would secretly watch him during Sunday Mass become absorbed in the Word. We used to joke that he was sleeping, but we knew better...I think...! But definitely a gentleman. Not so much that he couldn't hold his own with roughnecks, but enough that he could NOT embarrass my mom when he was on his best behavior!
He could make my friends giggle like mad without much effort. At the dinner table, he would recite poems in Latin and Shakespeare in English; he would tell off-colored jokes and tell you to push his shirt button forcing him, if you were gullible enough to do it, burp. All gentleman-like behavior, yes? The thing is, he was a gentleman but wasn't a snob. Lord knows he was no snob!! He liked almost everyone...and if he didn't, he faked it great!
So needless to say, seeing that man sent me straight down Memory Lane. But after I was walking a bit, I made a right onto What If Blvd. What if he'd lived past 59? Would if I'd gotten to watch him age? What if he were alive today at 89? What if he'd been alive to see that the angry, snappy, directionless daughter he loved despite her shortcomings turned into a relatively respectable middle-aged woman? What if....
But seeing my mom and knowing that they were so in sync with one another, I don't think it's a huge mystery. I don't think a leopard changes his spots with age so the same guy I knew, I think, would have been the same guy at 89. Slower in his gait, most likely and perhaps even slower in his sharp wit, but not by much I'd bet, but still Daddy. Still Jim. Still a gentleman who, like all old men, get away with flirting with younger girls because they're "so cute"!
It's been 30 years since my dad went home. 30 years since his pain ended. 30 years since seven children lost their father and 30 years since my mother lost the love of her life. He must have been a great guy. Why else would not a single day go by without me thinking of him? Being 17 years old when he died, I don't think I really mourned him until I became more mature. I was living in a kind of play when he passed; almost a fugue state. I love that all this time has passed and I can miss him terribly yet love him immensely and not have to shed any tears. Who knows, maybe if I'd lost him as an adult, like most of my siblings, I still would be able to accomplish this. But I'll never know. I only knows what I knows. And this is what I know:
I know my father wasn't perfect.
I know my father was a gentleman who lived for his wife and children.
I know that I loved and sometimes hated my father.
I know he loved me and wanted to kick my arse at the same time.
I know he smelled like Bay Rum.
I know he wasn't perfect.
I know my mother became my mother and father upon his death.
I know he was the best Pop-Pop to his grandchildren...his own children would look on as he played with them and say to one another, "Who the hell is that guy?!"
I know he wasn't perfect.
But most of all, I know, truly and unequivocally, that he tried his best.
What else could a child ask for?
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