A Non-Depressing Retrospective

Day 16: Not the happiest of days. This, however, is a happy post.

If there are any among my handful of readers who are keeping up with the dates of postings, I will confess to them that I did, indeed, skip a day of posting on my 365-day marathon. Given the circumstances, I think you will all give me a pass this once.

My dad passed away early this morning, just after midnight. My mother and sister were with him when he died, and assured me that it was peaceful, relaxed, and all the other things one seeks in a "good" death. While we are all very sad, of course, all of the cliches about relief at the end of great suffering can and must be applied. He had been basically immobile for a couple of months, the result of which was tremendous discomfort. He was (due to a combination of ever-lessening oxygen to the brain and massive painkillers) either somewhat disoriented or asleep for the last couple of weeks of his life. We will miss him, but he was ready to go.

I sincerely hope that it does not seem disrespectful or cold to compose a blog post on a day like this, but it just seems like the thing to do. A wonderful, loving, funny, delightful soul is gone, and if I can communicate just a bit of his essence to even one person...well, I will have done a good thing.

For those who never met my dad (called "Bud" by his children, his wife, and everyone who knew him...a slightly truncated version of his childhood nickname, "Buddy Boy,") he was an extremely warm person. While almost a bit shy, he genuinely enjoyed getting to know people, particularly my and my sister's friends. He wasn't just polite and detatched...he asked them questions, honestly listened to the answers, and remembered a little point of reference for everyone he met. Even if he was only able to toss in something along the lines of "your mother is a nurse, right?" or "I remember you...you like baseball," he was always able to personalize any subsequent meeting with a new acquaintance. I am happy to say that my friends always liked him.

Guests brought home to my parents' house always left slightly fatter, a fact that always delighted my dad. For some bizarre reason he took great interest in what people ate. If you were around him more than once or twice, chances are you were asked what you had for breakfast or lunch that day, dinner the night before, etc. Again,this was no mere courtesy question. He was, for whatever reason, honestly fascinated with the subject. He might just nod and say a word or two of admiration/approval, or he may ask detailed questions about how whatever it was tasted/was prepared/etc. I was simultaneously delighted and perplexed by this.

Kids were important to my dad, and he had a very soft and tender heart when it came to them. Although he was definitely thrifty by nature, the one cause that would always have him reaching for his wallet was needy children. He gave to Toys For Tots, The Salvation Army's Christmas efforts, and that sort of thing, but more telling still were the numerous times I would see him slip a few bills to one of his employees who may have been having a tough go of it, telling them to "get a little surprise for Jimmy" (or Suzie, or Billy, or Vladimir, or whatever the child's name happened to be.) After the recipient walked away, he would usually say something very vague along the lines of "they don't have much, and that little kid needs some toys" or "bless his heart, that poor fellow works like a horse, and they don't have much, but they have a little girl at home and she needs something nice." That's the kind of person he was. (Incidentally, if he said "bless his heart," it wasn't southern shorthand for "as soon as I say this, I can say something hateful." He really wished blessings upon the subject in reference.)

While certainly intelligent and educated, Bud never stopped being himself. I have always thought of my dad as a cross between Buddy Ebsen and Andy Griffith. He was smart, but slightly folksy, with a quick wit that dwelled comfortably within a soft-spoken, gently drawling ease. He was always the perfect gentleman, never once losing his manners (he would sooner have died than to have taken a bite of food before my mother started eating) but never made those around him feel anything but completely relaxed. If I can ever be half as genteel as he was, I will be just fine.

My dad also had a splendid sense of humor. We usually found the same things funny...we were both great fans of Are You Being Served, the 1970's British sitcom set in a department store (clearly meant to depict Harrod's.) It seems so ridiculous to remember this right now, but there was one particular moment where one character told another to "hold himself in readiness" which made us both laugh uncontrollably. (Yes, I came by my eccentricity honestly...) The Three Stooges, Larry McMurtry novels, Soap, and any movie starring Richard Pryor would always crack us up. He also shared my love of comedy arising from the completely random or misplaced. One of his (and my) favorite musicals, Oliver!, tells the story of the cruelly mistreated Oliver Twist. Whenever Oliver asked for more gruel, one or both (usually both) of us would say "greedy little bastard." Laughter would always follow, each of us as amused as we were the 50 times preceeding.

My dad was an outdoorsman, and he loved to fish (a passion which I share) and to hunt (which I do not.) He also enjoyed sports, which I don't. In so many cases, this would be a perfect setup for a bad relationship. In my case, not so...Bud never pushed his interests onto me, nor did he express anything less than a sincere interest in mine. (While I never got him onstage, I did get him into the audience about a bajillion times. :-) He frequently said that you don't "raise" your children as much as you "let them unfold." This was a civilized man.

We both appreciated and enjoyed election years, and my dad had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of 20th century American politics. This shared enthusiasm gave birth to some of the best conversations we ever had. I remember driving home after seeing A Christmas Carol at ASF. Bud had driven from Birmingham to Tuscaloosa (where I lived,) where we had dinner and then rode down to Montgomery together. Driving back in a thick fog, we had to drive very slowly for safety. Somehow we started talking about the Nixon White House, Nixon's pre-Watergate accomplishments, and his (Nixon's) grasp on foreign policy. It was a discussion straight out of Firing Line or McNeil-Lehrer...completely cerebral/intellectual, and with a hint of look-how-smart-we-are.

Five minutes later, we were both laughing at my imitation of a drunken, foul-mouthed Bob Dole cursing out a crowd of reporters. God, his sense of humor...

Bud was a very cautious, calm, "let's think this out clearly" sort of fellow. This quality made his few massive blunders perfectly marvelous. The one which comes immediately to mind is the never-ending backyard fence. Two summers ago, he decided to erect a fence so that his dog could play in the backyard. Fine. Good. So far, normal. Ever the devoted son, I agreed to dig "a little trench" along one side of the yard to level off the ground so that the top of the fence would be level. This was originally sold to me as a two-days-at-the-most project...

Two years later, and still no fence. There is a huge, gaping gash in my parents' backyard. Seriously, it looks like baby Superman's rocket skidded to a halt behind the house. I have moved the square-foot equivalent of Rhode Island in dirt. Three refineries' worth of fence posts have disappeared into the abyss...and the dog still lives in the basement. Oh well, he seems happy there...

I could go on and on, but I won't. If you've read this far, you've gotten the point. My dad is gone, and I am going to miss him like hell, but I am truly grateful for the 39 years I had with him. They were fun, they were happy, and they were interesting. Most of all, I never doubted for one second that I was completely, totally, and unconditionally loved.

No News From The Motherland today. This is Father's Day. :-)

Cheers!
FLT3