Sunday, June 21, 2015

"Remembering My Father..."

I thought of my father today...  I remembered a day in September, just a few weeks after the Labor day holiday, that my father made his first and only attempt to "connect" with me after he and my mother separated on Christmas day the year before.

It was 1980, Ronald Reagan was president and I was a lonely, confused and scared 9th grade drop-out who had known, but not accepted that he was gay since kindergarten.  I was 16 years old and my mother I think saw the confusion in me and knew I needed my dad's guidance.  At the time, I had no idea what I'd do with my life, or even if I wanted to live or die. (I had attempted suicide when I was just ten after enduring years of bullying and torment at the hands of classmates and even one of my own brothers).  But in my father's absence, I assumed the role of "man of the house" and that gave me a sense of purpose... it was I think, my saving grace...

Somehow, despite their acrimonious relationship at the time, my mom had convinced my dad to call me and when he did, I remember how happy I was to hear his voice.  I'd not seen or heard from him in months.  I realize now, that I sound and speak like my father, and so I can quite easily hear his voice in my own speech and in the way I say things.  And I remember the night when he called me from work to tell me he was going to come for me that Sunday afternoon and that we'd spend the day together... I was happy that night, something I rarely felt in those dark days of my youth.  All the rest of that week, I wondered about what we might do on Sunday... where we would go... what we would talk about?

Sunday finally arrived, and all that morning I sat on the stairs waiting for my dad to come.  Finally, a little after 12 noon, I heard his car horn in our driveway.  I kissed my mother and hurried out to his car.  When I got in, neither of us said anything as he backed down the driveway and drove us to the park just a block away.  When he parked the car, finally he spoke.  He said he missed me and that he was sorry things had turned out as they had.  I told him I understood, although I didn't.  And though I was happy in that moment to be with him, just beneath the surface simmered an anger and resentment that would stay with me until the day I came out to him at age 42.  My dad asked me what I wanted to do and I said, "I'd like to go to the movies."



Although I'd been to the movies many times before that, I had only been to one movie with my father up to that time (and only two others after that day).  He said okay and asked if I knew what I wanted to see.  I told him I wasn't sure and so we drove to the deli at the other end of the street and I bought a newspaper.  As I turned to the entertainment section, I saw an ad for "The Final Countdown" and I knew that's what I wanted to see.  My dad had been in the Navy during WWII and I thought he might like it too.  I told him where it was playing and we decided to see it at the United Artist theater at Wonderland Mall.

On the drive to the theater we didn't say much.  It was a beautiful day... clear, sunny and cool.  When we got off the expressway, my dad reached over and rubbed the top of my head like he used to do when I was much younger.  That simple act brought a sense of peace to my mind and I finally felt at ease being with him after many months apart.  When we got to the mall, as we walked from the parking lot, he put his arm on my shoulders and I felt like his "son" again for the first time in years.  My dad bought the tickets and he gave them to me.  He bought us popcorn and drinks too.  When we stopped to give the attendant the tickets and he handed the stubs back to me, I tucked them into my pocket and my dad and I went into the darkened auditorium and took seats near the back.

I remember there weren't many other people in the theater and my dad commented on that.  He said ,"A lot of people don't like war movies, I don't need them, I was there..."  I said, "I know, Dad, you were in the Pacific." And my dad just smiled and seemed to be pleased that I was mindful of his sacrifice and service during the war.  Then finally the previews started and the rest of the lights went down.  And as we shared the popcorn and watched the film, every so often, I stole a glance at my father's face.  During certain moments in the film, tears had welled up in my father eyes and every so often a few escaped and rolled down his cheeks, and those moments reminded me that my dad was just as human and as frail as any other man.

When he thought I wasn't looking, my dad wiped at the tears in his eyes and I pretended not to see.  But it had a profound effect on me, for I had cried on many days of my young and tortured life and on very many of the days since that Christmas last when he left our family.  I thought as I saw my father cry, if he was a hero to me and he can cry, then maybe it's alright that I have cried too.  The film was a little less than 2 hours long, and by the end, the emotions brought out by the film and by being there with my dad had brought tears to my eyes too.  And although I know he saw them, he didn't say a word.  And as the lights came up and we stood up to leave, I felt drained and emotionally spent.  And in looking at my father's face, I thought I saw the same thing in him.

As we stepped out into the bright lights of the mall, my dad asked if I was hungry.  I said I was and we went to the Big Boy Restaurant there in the mall.  I ordered the same thing that I order there today... a Big Boy Combination and my dad ordered the same.  As we waited for our meal, we didn't talk about the film, but for the first time, my dad told me some of his stories from the war.  Among these were the two stories that I would recount as I eulogized him at his funeral thirty-one years later in 2011.  As I listened in awe to my dad tell his stories of being both human and wise, scared and brave, I knew I again wanted to be like my dad.

As we ate, and I listened, the simmering anger and resentment that I had been feeling for my father melted away and in the back of my mind, I modified a promise that I had made to myself a couple of years before then, when as our home and family fell apart, I committed myself in my own heart and mind and promised myself that I would not be like my dad.  I realized then that it was only in one way that I needed to not be like my him, and that was the way that had caused my parents marriage to fail.  But beyond that, as sat there with him, I knew I wanted to be like him for all the good reasons that I knew.

With our meal done, dad asked if I was ready to go. I said I was, and we walked back to the car just as we had come in... father and son, his arm on my shoulders.  I felt happy and proud to be out with my dad.  We'd only been gone for about 4 hours when he dropped me off at the curb in front of our house.  As I got out he said, "We'll do this again soon, I love you."  As I shut the car door, I said, "I love you too, Dad" and I watched as he drove away and turned at the corner.  When I got into the house, my mom asked me if everything was okay.  I said, yes, and she didn't ask me any more about it.  I went to my room and I took the ticket stubs from my pocket and carefully placed them into a small box that contained what were at the time my most precious possessions... they would become a remembrance of that first day out with my dad.  I still have them today.

I didn't know it then, but that day would be the first of only three times I would see my father between the ages of 16 and 40... I next saw him in 1986 at my sister's wedding.  The third time would be at my mother's funeral in 2004, when as I conducted her service, I noticed him come into the chapel and take a seat at a back pew.  And upon seeing him there, at the conclusion of my eulogy and before we closed the casket, I reached into my pocket and placed my mother's wedding band back on her finger where it had always been for more than 50 years despite the fact that they'd divorced some twenty years before.  Then, although the funeral directors were waiting for me to lead the procession from the chapel, I left my mother's casket and stepped through the congregation to embrace my father and tell him I was glad he'd come as I told him, "Mom never stopped loving you."

Although my dad went to the cemetery, I lost sight of him as I concluded the service there and it would be five months before I heard from him again.  And then, nearly another year before I would see him again and finally be able to share just how much like him I am and tell him that I had followed in his footsteps... that I had served in the Navy... and that I had broken down barriers just like he did that kept able men of color from opportunity... and that I had been a leader in the things I'd done, just like he was.  And then when finally I shared with him the way in which I was not like him... that I was a same-gender-loving man... hearing his acceptance and love allowed all those angry, confused and lonely days that had gone by since that autumn day at the movies in 1980 to forever pass away to forgiveness and a renewal of my love for my father.

I am always remembering...


"Fear Eats the Soul"



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