Father's Day

I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling - another Father’s Day upon us. I do not know why, but it is a day that always leaves me disoriented. Memories and thoughts flow through my mind as I swing my legs over, sit up and rub my face before getting up.

The concept of Father's Day traces its origin to American Civil War veteran William Jackson Smart's daughter Sonora who lived in Spokane, Washington. Sonora's mother died while giving birth to her sixth child after which Sonora raised her elder brothers along with her father.

Dad moved often, it seemed like a new apartment every six months. He was asleep on the couch as I roamed the sparsely occupied two bedroom apartment - why did he get two bedrooms? I walked into his bedroom looking for my magazine when I noticed the blue suitcase. He used as a nightstand - perfect height since the bed rested on the floor without a frame. I moved the lamp unfastened the gold clips, peered inside - a mess of paperwork, mail and odd items. 

There was something lumpy at the bottom, I raked the papers to one side and there rested many of my creations. The terribly, disfigured clay ashtray from third grade; the greatest dad award made out of old paper towel rolls; and at the bottom is a Father’s Day card from fifth grade - my not-so-pretty handwriting signed with my full name - why did I sign it like that? At the time, I was upset that all of my hard work was buried, but with some distance it is somewhat nice he saved those things when so much more was discarded. Yes, the bar is low.

These days never meant much to him, but for some reason I never stopped trying - it became a habit over the years, go through the motion. Cards were mailed when I knew where he was living. Like everybody else, I knew it was pointless and all of the nostalgia and love expressed in those cards often made me cringe along with jealousy for those who actually could identify. Even after a lot of therapy, it is amazes how much I tried to get him to love me and seek approval.

A national holiday honoring fathers did not become official until 1966, when President Lyndon Johnson issued a presidential proclamation declaring that the third Sunday in June would be Father's Day.

I stare out the kitchen window while the tea steeps. My eyes watch the birds dance on the feeder as I think about the baby that never arrived. I did not have long to think about its possible arrival after being told a third of the way down the road. I was both excited and angry with the news, and then they were gone with the anger remaining and some relief that I am ashamed to admit. There was one other such “scare” over the years, but a life form never materialized even when I was actually trying.

While my flesh and blood never materialized, I did step in and assume the role for another. It makes me think of the announcements on soap operas where another actor takes over a role “playing the part of Father will be …” followed by my name. Like others, I did my best and they have reached adulthood without much drama. He never called me dad which is the one regret as I never knew what it felt like to be called dad. The word has always had negative connotations in my family - my brothers have done nothing to improve it.

Their “real” father did enter the picture almost halfway down the roady with no help but just dangling around the edges always ready to take credit but never doing the hard work. They played the role of friend while I had to be the provider and often bad guy, but parenting can be a thankless job. I stepped in for nieces and nephews when possible and dare I say necessary. These relationships remain strong to this day, so hopefully I have made a difference.

These days, a lot of my time is spent with a grandson who calls me Pop Pop - music to my ears. His autism diagnosis was not a surprise, but it has presented challenges that continue to present themselves. The love and bond are strong. I look forward to playing a big part in his life, another so-called non-traditional role evolves.

I sit on the deck, an unseasonably cool summer day, and drink the tea. I lean back and rest my feet on the railing. I wonder if all of the effort with dad over the years was as foolish as others thought and often told me, but I decide no as I can say I tried, especially relative since he has been gone a few years now. 

Others did step in to push me along my journey - my uncle took me to my first baseball game and always found time to talk to me and take me places. The same with another uncle who gave me my first secondhand computer and provided a solid role model. Then there was the old guy down the street in the trailer park, he showed me how to fix everything - I just thought of him the other day as I worked on the lawn mower. Finally, I cannot forget mom who tried valiantly to fill both mom and dad roles - supporting and doing everything she could for me and siblings.

I send no cards this year.

“Happy Father’s Day dad,” I say while leaning back and staring into the sky.

Waiting

I sit at the bar fidgeting, waiting for my date to arrive. I rarely drink, so I am sipping a ginger ale and constantly glancing at my watch - I actually hate this Apple watch as you have to tilt in just right to get the display to appear and show the time. 

I keep telling myself to wear my old, traditional watch, but keep forgetting. Besides, who uses a watch these days when the phone is right there - the so-called smart phone that has replaced cameras, watches, organizers and so forth. I see the time and she is ten minutes late, my stomach churns, I think back to one of the many times dad kept me waiting.

Friday is a difficult day at school, I am anxious, I cannot wait to get home. I talked to him last night, confirming he would pick me up after work.

“We can grab some pizza and watch movies and then hit the car show Saturday.”

I loved the car show, not really the cars, but I loved watching dad as he lit up talking about each car and explaining the work done to the cars as well as stories of cars he had previously owned. And, most important, there was no alcohol at the car show, so it was a calm day ahead.

I reminded mom when I headed to the bus stop this morning, she shot me a worried look “Okay, but don’t get your hopes up, you know what I mean?”

I certainly knew what she meant. Dad had missed a few scheduled pickups, but his reasons always made sense as he had car problems; had to work late and one time he was in jail. Of course, I never learned these details until much later - the wait had been excruciating, but I was always just glad he was ok.

The school day inched along. I forced myself to eat lunch as my stomach was in knots. There were only two choices for those on free lunch plan - I chose the grilled cheese. Everybody talked about their weekend plans as we ate, I boldly announced the planned car show, the jealousy was awesome.

All of the other kids had chores planned, baseball practice and working on a big science project due soon with the help of their dads. I made a mental note to put finishing touchings on my project - no help needed or requested.

I watched the clock in sixth period with my English teacher, Mrs Jones, reprimanding me for staring out the window and not working on the assignment. It wasn’t really trouble as I was on the honor roll, she was just telling me she was watching. I darted from the room as the bell rang, I was the first on the bus, staring at driver, willing them to take off.

I half ran home from the bus stop - a long walk as they drop us off at the trailer park entrance, why not enter? Was it a problem with the weight/size of the bus or just we didn’t count?

The trailer is sweltering as I swing the door open, I switch on the box fan in the window and stand in front of it. A quick look at the kitchen clocks says I have one and half hours until dad arrives - this gives him 30 minutes from quitting time to arrive. 

I stuff clothes in the gym bag I had earned by selling the most candy bars earlier in the school year. I throw a book in there, even though dad says reading is stupid. I roam the house, pacing back and forth, and finally take a seat on the steps to wait. I sit, staring at the corner by the double wide trailer across the street, waiting for the grey Camaro.

“Hey honey, too hot inside?” Mom greets me as she arrives from work.

“Nah, just thought I’d wait out here.” 

“Oh, okay, well, traffic is bad today. I am going to Rosie’s later, you can join me if your dad is busy.” She pats my back while climbing the stairs and going inside. The frown on her face is noticeable.

I stand as I hear cars approach and stream by. The sky darkens as the sun lowers. I decide to walk to the front of the park to watch for him. I grab my bag and navigate my way behind other homes before emerging near the front and the highway.

I watch as cars turn and enter, slowing for the speed bumps and racing down the street. As darkness overtakes the day, I see headlights approaching behind me. I heart jumps, I must’ve missed him pass by, I scramble to the road and all air leaves my body as I see mom approach.

“Hey, there you are, get in, we can grab pizza and head out.” She motions to the passenger seat and I slowly approach and fall into the seat.

“Can you just take me home, I want to wait, he’ll be here soon. He probably had to work late, you know he keeps that place running.” I will myself to believe it.

“It’s eight o’clock honey, he’s not coming. We can call him tomorrow.”

“No, I want to wait.” The argument continues a few minutes before she relents.

“Okay, but I wish you would go with me. I will bring you some pizza, I won’t be late.” She speeds away as I sit on the porch before going inside.

After a couple hours and no sight of him, I grab the phone and dial his number. It rings, one, two, three, four, five …. my heart races as I prepare to hang up until I hear a click.

“Ugh, haloooooo?”

“Hey dad, glad you are okay, I thought you were picking me up tonight.”

“Wale, who is this? Welllll, it, I, sooo much going, okay.” 

The line is dead as I sit there staring at the wood paneling - are the grooves in the panels supposed to make it look like wood planks? I know he was hammered, drunk again. I never heard from him that weekend, it was devastating, I lied to all the kids at school as I told them how much fun I had at the car show. 

The emptiness of that day, and many more like it, left a scar on my psyche. My heart beat races when people are late for meetings or a date like tonight. I instantly feel like a lost child, abandoned and not wanted. 

Therapists have explained abandonment issues with me repeatedly, and I’ve done the work that makes it all better until moments like this when I am that nine year old sitting on those rickety, wooden steps waiting for that gray car to turn the corner. 

“Hey, I am so sorry I am late.” She smiles while leaning in for a quick hug, resting an elbow on the bar and looking into my eyes while rubbing my shoulder with her other hand.

“Hey there, not a big deal.”

“Oh my god, you won’t believe this, but my phone died, I am so sorry, have you been waiting long?

“I just got here myself.” I motion to the bartender to get her a drink while resisting the urge to examine her phone to validate the story. 

Visit

The truck crept through the entrance as he examined the numbers above the doors. He double checked his car doors  before heading inside. The kids playing near the dumpster eyed him suspiciously. The suit and tie were a warning sign in this neighborhood.

He held his breath while climbing to the third floor - the smell of urine filled the stairwell The crumpled paper instructed him to go to door on the right - number 6 - at the top of the stairs. He stood facing the door. The number nine laughed at him. A quick glance at the door on the opposite side yielded the number five. He reached out and nudged the nine upward until it said 6.

He collected his thoughts before knocking. A vaguely familiar voice erupted, but he could only decipher obscenities. A hardened, weary face greeted him.

"Hey there, I didn't think you would actually show." The older man turned away and took a seat.

"I said I was coming." The younger man stepped through the doorway and closed the door. It rattled as he pushed hard to secure it with a deadbolt and chain. He cringed the clearly visible hallway in the quarter inch gap around the door.

"Leave it, I've tried to fix it countless times." Smoke flowed through the old man's nostrils as he spoke. Ashes fell in a glass bowl on the table as he tapped the cigarette.

"Okay." The young man mumbled while taking a seat perpendicular to the older man. The bright blue sectional couch filled the two walls.

"So, who died?" The old man laughed while motioning at his visitor's suit.

"Oh, this is for work, they make me wear it." The embarrassment of his work attire surprised him.

"Mr. Big Shot."

"You say so." The old man nodded. He felt the sting of the old man's backhanded compliment. His eyes crisscrossed the room as he examined the squalor of the old man's living conditions. He had the urge to wash his hands, but nothing short of a Silkwood-style shower could wash the filth of this place from a body. "So, what did you want to see me about?"

"Well, does a man need a reason to see his son?"

"Well." The answer to the question was not obvious.

"Yeah. Well, I'll be moving soon to a place where I'll get some assistance." He began coughing and reached for a cup and drained its contents before continuing. "Anyway, I won't have as much room, so I thought you might want some of this stuff."

"Oh." He wondered if it was financial or physical assistance, but was afraid to ask since financial could lead to requests for money. He examined the contents of the apartment and knew the appropriate place for everything was aa dumpster.

"Well, don't sound so thrilled. Honestly, I have a couple things I wanted to give you." He rocked back and forth before gaining enough momentum to raise the shrunken body. He crossed the room and disappeared in a back room.

The word "honestly" swam through his mind. He wondered what it meant to the old man as he couldn't remember the last time his father had told him the truth. His eyes drifted to the stained burnt orange carpet as his mind wandered. He realized the anticipation in the car on the way here had been misplaced. He was a stranger in this world and this man was a stranger to him. There was a time, so many years ago, when a meaningful conversation could happen, but those days were long gone. He felt the pull and desire to leave, but guilt kept him in his seat.

"Here it is." The old man emerged with two objects in his hand. He gasped while returning to his seat. Upon catching his breath, he turned to his son with outstretched hands - an offering awaiting acceptance.

"Oh, what do we have here?" Curiosity got the best of the younger man as he leaned forward for the treasures. He grabbed the two objects and examined them without a hint of recognition.

"That card is gold, I got it when I bowled a 300. It was 1973 in Dayton. A blizzard hit the day before and I barely made it to the tournament." Pride covered his face while lighting another cigarette. Its tip glowed as he watched the younger man examine the treasure.

"I remember you telling me about it." A knot formed in his throat as he tried to swallow. The date on the gold treasure told a much different story. It was his birthdate and father had opted to go bowling instead of witnessing it. He wanted to add that it was not gold, only fake gold plated. 

"And that other old wedding ring. It wasn't the best marriage, but it did produce you and your brothers." He pushed the cigarette butt into the ashtray while watching his son slowly turn the ring between index finger and thumb.

"Yeah." He wondered how the old man had forgotten to mention his sister. The small round object was a fraud as there never was a wedding ring. In fact, he couldn't remember a ring in his second or third marriages either, so he wondered about the origins of the ring.

"I wanted you to have these things to remember me. I'll be gone before you know it."

"I appreciate it." The words dropped from his mouth without thinking. He pushed his body forward and sat on the edge of the sofa, preparing to leave.

"Something wrong?" The old man sensed the moment and felt the stab of loneliness returning. He searched for the words to keep the younger man longer. He swallowed hard and watched every movement savoring the moment.

"No, but I do have to go." He was surprised that the words came out feeling a stab of guilt. He couldn't remember feeling this bad. The emotions were overwhelming as he reached out to shake the old man's hand and pat him on the back. He turned once at the top of the stairs and the old man stood watching, he waved and disappeared into the stifling heat of the late afternoon.

The cool wind of the air conditioner beat his face as he sped away. The tears erupted as the unfamiliar surroundings streamed by the windows. He had tried so hard to forgive and forget, but his father had reached into his soul one more time and turned his world upside down.

Tomorrow

The warm night air enters the window as the light rain collects on the windowsill. I sit staring at the activity down below. A lady standing under a streetlight approaches an oncoming car, chatters, and eventually enters and the car is a quickly a distant memory.

The ever present sirens are overwhelmed by dad’s snoring. I stare at the bed as he seems to choke, but he collects himself and rolls over.

The mice stop in their tracks as I approach the kitchen, but resume their activity after realizing it is only me. They navigate the pipes along the wall like a tightrope. I stand motionless rethinking my hunger and quickly return to my window seat.

I pass the bathroom, but the mouse on the bathtub rim convinces me I can hold it. I plant myself on the frazzled, previously discarded, vinyl kitchen chair in front of the window.

I notice the lady has returned to the streetlight, but I can’t find the car. The men collected in front of the adjacent liquor store greet her but she doesn’t seem to respond.

I notice the time on my watch and realize that the Tonight Show is on. I repeat earlier efforts to resuscitate the television. I am greeted with nothing but snow, so I turn it off and sit on the couch.

The smell surrounds me and I choke. It is a combination of rotten eggs, tuna fish, and cheddar cheese. Dad’s theory is a mouse must’ve crawled inside the sofa and died. Any movement releases more smell, so I return to my chair.

My bladder is now aching but I can’t convince myself to enter the bathroom. I grab an old coffee mug from beside the television and slowly lower my shorts. I steal a glance at dad every few minutes to make sure he doesn’t see. I am both surprised and relieved at how quickly the mug is filled.

I lean forward and slowly pour the warm liquid down the side of the building outside the window. I identify several objects on the roof below: coffee can, Jack Daniels bottle, Fall City beer can, and what looks like a belt. I decide to add the coffee mug to the mix. It shatters upon impact, but nobody other than me seems to hear or even notice.

My stomach reaches my throat as sirens approach. I quickly pull up my shorts and try to hide. I am sure someone reported me.

Tires screech and I hear voices and arguing. I peep from the edge of the window and see two police cars and a pale green station wagon. The station wagon driver is behind his car screaming at the police and pointing at his car. As one officer talks to him, another looks in the car. 

The officer lays several objects on the top of the car. One resembles my black water gun. The driver is placed in the back of a police car as another appears. There is more talk and the policemen seem happy as they shake hands. One of the officers seems to look at me. Do they know about the cup?

I just know that my brother would want to hear about the police, but dad would get mad if I woke him up. Besides, he wouldn’t want to walk to the phone booth in the rain.

I notice another car approach the lady near the streetlight and again she speeds off. I wonder where she could be going.

There is a lot of noise as a tow truck hauls the station wagon away. I remember the time dad had his car towed away, but his was different. He hadn’t been stopped by the police and it seemed to be running fine. He told me that the guy was just borrowing it, but mom said he didn’t pay for it. He told me a car was not necessary anyway. For that reason, mom dropped me off yesterday and will pick me up tomorrow. I wish she would pick me up now.

That lady is back again. I wonder why she keeps coming back. It's like she is test driving cars.

Hey, there is dad’s friend Eddie. He gave me a Coke earlier when we were in the bar. He told me that he hoped I turned out better than my old man and everybody had laughed. That was nice of him to encourage me. Dad was smoking and Eddie told me not to start that nasty habit and end up a runt like Dad. Boy, people were really laughing.

I’m getting tired, but there is no way I am sleeping on that couch. Dad said I could sleep with him. It is so hot in the room. I hope I don’t wake him up.

I wish it was tomorrow.

Sign Here

“There’s popcorn over there.” She pointed at a small popcorn machine near the pharmacy desk. 

The familiar red, white, and blue Pepsi logo filled the dark room. Why had they repeatedly called it a Coke machine?  There was a large sign on the door that said 'Vending". Why was the sign needed? The machine rejected the bill a few times. I stretched it taut between my hands while rubbing it against the edge of the machine. I had watched dad use the same technique. The machine finally accepted it after a few attempts. The cold Mountain Dew burned my throat. I quickly finished and bought another since they were only fifty cents. I grabbed some popcorn and settled into a seat near the front of the showroom. 

    

I observed the lot and its heat, but dad was nowhere to be found. I slowly stood up and stepped closer to the window, my stomach dropped as my eyes frantically scanned everything.

“Its okay, your dad went for a ride with Larry. He told me to tell you to wait for him in here.” She gently touched my back while beaming the now familiar smile. I wondered if dad had actually told her that, or was it a standard thing said during test drives. Then again, there is the chance he had left, it's not like it had never happened. The incident at the bowling alley popped in my head, but I quickly pushed it away.

I looked to the left where our car was parked. The lime green Ford LTD stood out. Its driver side front fender was a different shade of green. Dad had replaced it after an accident – that was an exciting trip to the junk yard. 

All of the old, wrecked cars lined up - you can either remove the part yourself or get them to do it - dad had done it himself since cheaper. I had kept track of the bolts and other small parts. The dark green finish on the new fender clashed with the rest of the car. We found some green spray paint at K-Mart, but it was nowhere near the original color of the car. Dad liked to call it his tank, I loved sitting in the front on that long bench seat as he drove.

I was startled when dad touched my shoulder. Old Spice enveloped me as he sampled my popcorn and took a long drink from my can. I never liked drinking after people. Mom forbid it, but dad said she didn’t need to know everything. I wiped the can with my sleeve when he was not looking.

“What do you think of that?” Dad motioned at the gray car in front of the building.

“Nice.” I didn’t know what to say.

"It's a Camaro. Remember the blue one I had?"

"The one with the rusted trunk lid?"

"That's right, it did have some damage on the trunk." He laughed like it was a joke.

"You always said you hated that car."

“Did I say that? Well, would you like to go home in that?” He smiled proudly while staring at the car.

“I thought you were just looking?” Everything had suddenly changed, I wanted to go home - call mom to pick me up.

“Well, I did look.” He smiled while staring at the women that had helped me.

“I thought you wanted something bigger? You had talked about a truck.” I searched for anything to support my case.

“Sir, the credit check went well. Follow me so we can review the paperwork.” Burt rudely interrupted us.

“Dad, don’t you.” I stopped as he turned and walked away.

I watched as Burt repeatedly visited the pharmacy desk. Other salesmen escorted people around the lot. I smiled as Burt and another man slowly circled the tank. The other man elbowed Burt and they shared a laughed. I wondered what was so funny.

“You ready to ride home in style?” Dad beamed while hovering over me.

“Sure.” I observed the now familiar car through the window. I hated myself for wanting to ride in it.

“C’mon, let’s go put our stuff in it.” Dad said.

“Okay.” I plodded behind him. I felt a sense of loss as we approached the tank. I wanted to ride in it one more time. I kept thinking of all of the places we had been in it.

I ignored Burt as we transferred things from the big trunk to its smaller counterpart. Fishing poles, tackle boxes, sleeping bags, tools, our tent, and much more rested on the hot pavement. It resembled a big puzzle as dad arranged the items.

“Well, the green monster is gone. Let’s hop in the gray ghost.” Dad announced.

I plopped into the passenger seat and slammed the door. I adjusted the side mirror, but dad made me move it so he could see. He slowly pulled from the curb as I spun around for a last glance at the tank.

“I bet you’re hot?”

“Yeah.” I smiled with a shrug as moisture covered my body.

He pushed a lever to the right and warm air exploded from the louvered vents.

“Well, that is odd.” Dad mumbled while pulling to the side of the road.

“Does it have a/c?” I mumbled to myself with immediate regret, but there was nothing on the controls that indicated air conditiioning.

“Well, I assumed it did.” He responded with a sheepish smile while playing with the levers on the dash.

My heart sank as I watched embarrassment and subsequent anger erupt in his eyes. I knew mom would laugh about it. So, I vowed she would not find out as we raced down the highway with our arms dangling from the windows.

I held my hand out the window and leaned forward to get air to my wet back as we we raced down the highway.