My Dad

In the Army - 60's

Since Father's Day is just around the corner, I wanted to blog about my Dad a bit. When I was born, I was the apple of his eye. As I grew up, and watched him, I felt there wasn't anything my Dad couldn't do. He was very artistic, he could build a house from the ground up, was an avid angler, could play the guitar by ear, fix cars, clean swimming pools, make a tree swing, a sandbox, bury dead critters for me, even the tiniest goldfish, he was really an amazing man.

Dad so young here....

Growing up with Dad was a lot of fun. We did all sorts of things. My favorite was always going to see Grandma and Grandpa in Oroville. We would load up and take off for the weekend, or holiday weekends too. I enjoyed the drives, and the stops at Dairy Queen for an icecream cone, watching the cows go by. It was just one of those times as a kid where nothing seemed wrong, where life was just at it's best. Mom told me how when she'd come home from grocery shopping or work or whatever, he'd have a backyard full of neighborhood kids, and be inside fixing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for everyone.

Dad and I - Aug. 1970

Dad each year would have us a great garden, he would teach me the wonders of how things happened. Showing me how to plant our vegetables, and the first sprouts and pulling up carrots! I wanted to be just like him, as we would strut around our garden together, without our shirts on. Granted, I was maybe 7 or 8 at the time :o) The one house I remember with fondness was an A Frame style, with a nice yard. We had a huge walnut tree in back. He tied me up a nice swing where I would spend hours upon hours swinging. I had a friend behind us, and we would climb the privacy fence and set up there and talk and play with Matchbox cars between the fences where there was a 2x4 separating them. One day this girl was talking about how she had to go to her Dads house. I didn't understand as she tried to explain that she had 2 moms and 2 dads. One set being step parents. I think I was about 9yrs old then.

Later I went in and asked mom about this,.... "Do I have 2 dads?" I really caught her off guard. It was maybe a day or so later when she sat me down and explained, that yes, I did have 2 dads. I was shocked. I was equally confused. Who I called Dad, was not my real father. She told me that when she and my real father met, and it was "puppy love" and she became pregnant with me and knew she couldn't be with him anymore. I didn't think much about it really.... I mostly wondered who and where was my real dad??? Something that would bug me for years to come. I would daydream about who this man might be when I was younger... thinking maybe he was rich.... maybe he had horses??? I would riddle my mom with questions as I grew older. To which I found that he wasn't the man I had daydreamed about at all. He was into bad things, had been in prison, and she knew that wasn't the life she wanted for herself or her new baby. I became grateful to her for telling me this, telling me that she chose to have me, and have a better life together.

I was born Jan. 1969, Mom used her maiden name as my last name on the birth certificate. Mom and Dad were married May 1969. When I was around 16, Dad and I had a serious talk. He said if I wanted to, that he would get an attorney and file papers so he could adopt me. I would then have his last name. I can still recall how I felt. We were sitting out back,... it was a beautiful day.... sky so blue with a few bright white clouds.... the air smelled warm and I thought my heart could just burst with how loved I felt. After some decision we decided it would be silly.... eventually I would marry, and my name would change anyhow. The fact that he wanted to do this though, thrilled me. I was so proud.


I think this is late 80's, this is how I remember him the most,... well, throw a beer in one hand and cigarette in the other first :o)

Dad did all sorts of things work wise as I was growing up. He was a carpenter for years. He hung cabinets on rainy days and hung sheetrock and God only knows what else. He really seemed happy so long as he was working with his hands. He eventually was strictly a swimming pool man. Going to various homes and cleaning their pools for Cascade Pools in our hometown. When we would make trips here or there, he would point this way and that... "I clean that pool.... and I clean this pool... and that's Joe Morgan's house, I clean his pool too" It got to be a running joke after awhile,.... but always in great fun. Summer time I would get to go on his routes and help carry the jugs of chlorine,.... he even taught me how to test the water.

For a good while he had his own business, and even barter for services from time to time. One such time was a lady who was a seamstress,.... and it was Jr Ball time.... he chose to have her pay him by making me a dress. I got to pick the fabric and style and all that. I thought I was a princess. I chose a pretty pink taffeta, I still have this dress. Honestly, I don't recall much of the Ball, what I remember most was that I was late getting home, and I was terrified of what wrath would befall me. I tried to sneak into the house, but Dad was asleep on the couch... I tried to tiptoe to my room, but MY GOD this dress was LOUD..... Dad wasn't really asleep. He opened his eyes and said "You're late" *gulp* "yeah... I know......" "did you have a good time??" "yeah" "well, why don't you get to bed then..." "Okay" and scurried off to bed. It's funny how you will hold onto such memories. But that was how Dad was. When he was angry, you knew it..... his eyes would be red, face like stone. I was sensitive as it was, so all he had to do was look at me, and I would cry.

Well, I could seriously go on and on about my Dad. I had chosen to leave out the bad parts... the not so great memories. In short, as I grew up, I learned that my Dad had a serious drinking problem. Some days you didn't know what you'd come home to.... couldn't really bring friends home either. Some days you could take advantage of it, if he was in a great mood and drunk, you could manage to get $10.00 to run to the local arcade or mini mart.... his drinking caused a lot of pain for my mom, and for myself as well, later it would prove to really hurt my younger brother.

Mom and Dad split up.... to be honest, I'm not even sure when they divorced. It was after I had left home. Dad lived with a good friend for awhile, then the friend married, so Dad knew he needed to move on. From there I'm not sure where he went,... he wasn't holding down a job, he was still drinking, and eventually ended up living on the street. My dad was homeless. I lived states away and felt helpless more times than not. I missed him, I worried about him. He was in and out of VA programs trying to help clean up his act, but more than that I think it was just a place to go when the weather was bad so he could be warm and fed. I wished for his phonecalls and loved his letters. I am thankful that he felt he could be open and honest with me that he could call and write. I feel bad that he didn't do this for my brother. I kept all his letters, and the only thing I remember of his calls, the last thing I remember hearing from him, "I'm very proud of you".

Through his drinking, he could make you feel terrible, but you know, above all that, there wasn't a day that went by that he wasn't proud of me, and he told me so. In anything I did, no matter how big or little, he was proud of me. Even today, when I do things, I can hear him say "I'm proud of you honey".

January 2001, I hadn't heard from Dad in awhile. Just a letter around the holidays, with a picture. I got a call from an Uncle who said that Dad was in the hospital, that he was in a coma. Jan. 15th I flew home to say good bye to my Dad. I kept a bit of a journal during this time. I knew I was in such a haze, I'd not remember much of it at all.

Today I am heading home to say goodbye to my father. While he's not my real father, in my heart he's always been. In his heart he's always been too. As I sit in the plane, I think of the family I've left behind. How it hurts to be away from them,... I almost feel like a poor dog being drug to the vet, my feet are down digging in, but this plane's pulling me further away. This is just something I don't want to do, much less even think about.

January 17th my Dad passed away peacefully. He never came out of the coma. But somehow I just feel like he waited for me to get there before he left us.

Dad, I'm proud of you too. I only wish I had told you more often.


VA Holiday Gathering, December 1996