“Sherman made the terrible discovery that men make about their fathers sooner or later… that the man before him was not an aging father but a boy, a boy much like himself, a boy who grew up and had a child of his own and, as best he could, out of a sense of duty and, perhaps love, adopted a role called Being a Father so that his child would have something mythical and infinitely important: a Protector, who would keep a lid on all the chaotic and catastrophic possibilities of life.”
Thomas Wolfe, The Bonfire of the Vanities
HAPPY FATHER’S DAY TO EVERYONE
“This is an email that was sent out by my friend Gene Singletary a few days ago, to observe the first Father’s Day since the death of his dad, a genuinely great guy. I don’t mean to bring anybody down, and I hope everybody has a wonderful Father’s Day. But I think this will have special meaning for those of us who have lost our dads, and miss them.
THE BEST HUG EVER
This coming Father’s Day is going to be tough. This past February our dad died at the age of 92 and this will be our first Father’s Day without him.
As most of you know, we have a big family of six children, and along with all the wives, husbands, grandchildren, assorted girlfriends and boyfriends, we would use almost any holiday as a reason to get together and cook, fish, play tennis, drink a beer or two, and generally have a great time at Lake Singletary. Father’s Day was no exception.
Dad was never much for drawing attention to himself, preferring to remain in the background and allow our mom with her gregarious personality to be the center of attention. But on Father’s Day he would acquiesce and allow us to honor him.
Last year, as his health began to fail, basically due to old age and the complications that come with it, he was in and out of the hospital quite often. He hated going in, but he was not a quitter. In his youth he was a Golden Gloves boxing champion and his DNA was telling him “when your back is against the ropes, you feint left, feint right, and punch your way out”.
With the exception of the hospital food, he never complained, and he was the darling of all the female nurses and doctors. He would flirt with them shamelessly at every opportunity. “Sure thing doll”, “Anything you want sweetheart”, would be his usual response when told he was due for another probing, sticking or otherwise humiliating injustice they would want to administer.
One evening last January, during one of his hospitals stays, with his family members around him; he was drifting in and out of lucidity and generally becoming agitated. This had happened before and in this state of mind his usually mild-mannered personality would change and he would become aggressive. The doctors blamed it on the potent drugs he was taking and said there was really nothing they could do other than just wait it out.
While in this delusional state, dad’s main focus was to escape from the hospital. The ex-WW ll First Sergeant was in charge now, along with all the colorful language that accompanies that role. He would start trying to pull out all the IV’s and tubes, kicking off the blankets, demanding that his street clothes be brought to him, growing more and more frustrated and cantankerous.
Although he normally didn’t have much strength left, when he was in this mode he found strength that was surprising. The hospital rules, and for that matter the family, would not allow for any type of permanent restraints, so we would all take turns holding him down in the bed. All the while he would be insisting that he was getting up, getting dressed and driving home. No amount of reasoning or cajoling would calm him; we just had to hold him down until it passed.
When I arrived on this particular evening, he was really wound up and causing quite a commotion, yelling obscenities at everyone. I approached the bed and greeted him and he acknowledged me by shouting, “I want to get the hell out of here and if you don’t help me I am going to kick your ass”. Now you can be sure that there was a time when he could have done this with very little effort, and this threat would have sent my survival instincts into overdrive. You can also be sure there were several times in my early teens, usually following a really stupid, smart-ass remark, such as; “WHY CAN’T I TAKE THE FAMILY CAR, DRIVE TO TAMPA WITH MY TEN CLOSEST FRIENDS, FOR THE FINAL EVER ROLLING STONES CONCERT, ON A WEEK NIGHT, USING MY NEW LEARNERS PERMIT”? , the boxing gloves would come out and I would quickly find myself dazed and staring up from the floor trying my best to respond to the question, “Now what was that you said, I didn’t quite hear you”?
But this night I knew the odds were in my favor so I thought I would try another approach as opposed to trying to restrain him. I said, “You think you can still kick my ass”? He answered loud and clear, “I know I can kick your ass”. I taunted, “Go ahead, take your best shot”.
I leaned in close to him and with the quickness of Rocky Marciano; he swung his arm around my neck and put me in a headlock, pulling me down to the bed on top of him. I can’t explain why but at the time this struck me as funny and with the nurses yelling at him to let me go, I started giggling uncontrollably, while asking him “Is that all you’ve got”? Big mistake, this only steeled his resolve to finish me off.
With my free hand I signaled the nurses that I was okay and to back off for the moment. Even though dad’s grip was firm, I wasn’t in any discomfort. Dad on the other hand was convinced that his prey was weakening and ready to surrender. As he continued to squeeze, he was yelling into my ear, “Have you had enough now”? “Are you going to take me home”? In his hallucinatory state, I had become his opponent. I was the reason he couldn’t leave the hospital. I was challenging him in the ring and I had him on the ropes and by God he was going to box his way out.
After a few minutes I felt his hold on me begin to loosen, he stopped cussing and began to breathe more relaxed. The gentle dad was returning once again and with this was the realization that he had just spent the last 5 minutes trying to rip his eldest son’s head off. At this point his death grip slowly turned into a warm and tender hug and in a soft voice he spoke the words that in our early years together would not have been possible for the tough Army Sergeant. He said “I love you”. We both teared up a little and it was over. I knew he was grateful that I had helped him release his passing demons. For me it was the longest and best hug ever.
Dad held on for another month, and then one day, while at home with his family by his side, he went out on his terms,………….feint left, feint right, stay off the ropes.
We miss you dad, Happy Father’s Day.
The story above was brought to my attention by Bob Morley and sent out by the Miami Herald. It was written by the famed columnist, Dave Barry and was something just too good for anyone to miss.
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