Number 111

Dad

Dad was the youngest of four brothers, and the only one born in a hospital. His birthday was December 14, 1936. He grew up on a farm in central Illinois. He attended a one room school through the sixth grade. It was one or two miles down the road from the farm (and I'm sure it was uphill both ways). He reported to me that when he started grade seven at the consolidated junior high, his education was much further along than the kids from town. That tracks my own experience with him, as he always seemed so smart and competent as I was growing up.

Two of my favorite stories that he told about his years in high school involve the time a classmate in his FFA class decided to hide inside a hog feeder when their teacher was called out of the room. Dad and his other friends quickly locked the top of the feeder - effectively trapping their classmate inside. The teacher returned to the room about the same time the trapped student realized the extent of his situation. That's when he began knocking and calling for help. To his dismay, and the delight of everyone else, he was the only one who got in trouble.

The other story involves his love of singing. It was the mid 50's, and vocal quartets were all the rage. He, and three friends formed The Zionnaires, and were good enough to get hired to sing at a variety of different events in the Decatur, Illinois area. The two that always tickled me the most - the grand openings of a Chevrolet dealership and a local grocery store.

His three older brothers had all joined the military (two during WWII), and become flyers. After the two necessary years at Millikin College, he followed suit and, in 1956, joined the US Navy as an aviator. Perhaps my favorite picture of him is a profile shot, a huge look of enjoyment on his face, as he pantomimes with his arms some sort of flying maneuver. The age of the photo suggests that it was a visit home not long after he qualified as a pilot, and "earned his wings."

In 1964 he was hired as an airline pilot for United Airlines. He and another friend from the navy, who had also submitted an application, grew tired of waiting to hear, and flew an 'unsanctioned' mission from their base in Texas to Denver, where United's operations were headquartered. When they asked about the status of their applications at the front desk, the clerk looked through a number of files before telling the two of them he didn't see their names. Before things could turn ugly, the clerk said "wait one minute," and reached into another drawer which held only a few files. "Oh, here you are. You're both in the 'good' pile." He stayed with United until he reached the FAA mandated retirement age of 60 in 1996.

He and my mom were married in 1960. I was the youngest of three children and came along in 1966. I wasn't exactly 'planned,' but nor was I 'unplanned.' Two important details of my great-grandmother's funeral were that my parents had only one night alone in my grandparent's guest room before being kicked to the living room couches, and my mom hadn't packed any birth control. When my mom, a month or so later, told my dad she thought she might be pregnant, he replied, "That's okay, you're married."

My parents were divorced in 1978. Never a good situation, my parents did their very best to keep the unavoidable antagonism they felt between themselves. There was one time, however, that Dad lost his cool, and told my sister and me, in a fit of temper, that "You're mother is being a bitch!" I don't know which came first - his regret or our tears, but he instantly apologized and started crying, too. Ultimately my mother was given full custody of my brother and me (my older sister left for college that fall). My dad told me later that he thought "children should be with their mother." 

Because of the particularities of a pilot's schedule - being gone for days at a time - it wasn't that hard to get used to him not being in the house with us. We continued to see him frequently, as he stayed in the same town. But then he got remarried and moved to Indiana; we moved as well, from Ohio to Connecticut. I saw him less and less.

Then my parent's did a really insidious thing. They began to act as if they realized they'd made a mistake in getting divorced, and that, perhaps, they should get remarried. During his visits, we were able to pretended that our family was intact. I thought it was great, and felt it was only a matter of time. This went on for a number of years, but in the long run, it didn't last. At my college graduation, a new family dynamic was present. Dad brought his new wife, to whom he remained married for the rest of his life.

After I graduated from college, Dad and I saw less and less of each other, and we would talk to one another by phone infrequently, at best. A trend that, unfortunately, we never changed. It's not that we were estranged - we weren't! - it's just that neither one of us was very good at communication. In later years, we would visit in person every few years, and, in between, would be the infrequent phone calls - maybe one time every three or four months. (This feels like the moment when Harry Chapin's song, "Cat's in the Cradle" should start playing)(ha-ha)

Now, here's the rub. My dad had many faults, and made many mistakes in his life. While everything I detailed above is true, it's also heavily sanitized. There are many details I left out. I suppose if you read it very closely, you'll notice a few places where a few educated assumptions can be made. For a long time I harbored great anger toward him and, fair or not, blamed him for the dissolution of our family; not once, but twice! He could be emotionally distant, and seemed genuinely frightened by moments of interpersonal intimacy. There were a few times when, as an adult, I tried to talk about, you know, 'family shit,' and he wasn't able to engage me in conversation. When I reached a point where I could forgive him, he wouldn't let me speak my forgiveness out loud. I eventually stopped trying. But for all his flaws and imperfections, I loved him deeply, as I know he did me. Do I wish things had been different? Of course. But I always had food on the table, a roof over my head, and clothes in my closet. I had lots of toys and games as a child, and expensive stereo equipment as a teenager. He overpaid alimony payments for many years without comment. I went to an expensive private college, and he never once complained about the tuition. So what  if it was used, he gave me my first car as a graduation present. The truth? Dad did his best, and most of the time, that was pretty good.

In November, 2016, he stepped out of the shower one morning, had a massive heart attack and died. I felt strangely indifferent at the time. I wrote something that seemed appropriately heartfelt, and spoke at his internment, but I didn't feel much in the way of grief or sadness. My wife had passed unexpectedly only nine months previously, and I think my "emotional gas tank" was still on empty. But as time has passed, I find myself missing him more and more. I think of things I'd like to tell him, and then have to remind myself he's gone. It also bothers me that we ran out of time to improve our relationship - again, it wasn't bad, but it could have been so much better!

Then there's the whole transgender thing. He never got the chance to meet me as Nora - my true self. At the time of his passing, I was only just beginning to explore my gender dysphoria. I can't help but nervously wonder what he would have thought. Would he have accepted me or not? It's painful not to know, but I like to think that even though he wouldn't have fully understood it, he would have accepted and loved me just the same. Oh! How I wished he could have met me as Nora!

So, for what it's worth: "Hey Dad! It's me, Nora. I love you! I miss you! See you on the other side someday."