My dad turned 80 last year. On January 25, 2010. And I had a plan for a story about him because, well, my dad is one of the most important people in my life. But, just as I was writing the story about my dad, talking about the celebration of his 80th year, I was struck with a tragedy that involved one of the other most important men in my life: my son... and dad's story slipped away....
Regardless of the time and effort it took to bring my son back to some sort of normalcy, my dad was, and has, always remained at the forefront of my life.
There was a wedding album of my parents...but, sadly, that album somehow got lost when my mom was moving from one place to another. But images from those photos remain embedded in my mind - dad and mom, leaving the Church, heads bent as rice was thrown, and I, as I youngster, seeing my dad in those pictures; I actually thought someone was choking Dad by throwing rice down his throat. As a child, I sat, cross-legged on the floor, crying because of what I perceived to be my dad being attacked by a heavy woman flinging rice at him. I hated and loved that picture at the same time...because my handsome dad looked so young and so happy with a beautiful bride on his arm and, yet, some woman with a weird cap on her head was causing him to choke.
Anyway, back to my Dad...I missed posting about dad's 80th, and now, he is 81.
My dad and his wife, Jean, have had a rough year. The kind of year when, the daughter of a man whose child adores him, will wake during the night and lay quietly, saying prayers for her dad and his wife. Where memories will wash over me and it's only in the comfort of those childhood memories that sleep is allowed to take over again.
Last year, I thought about the story I'd started about my dad...the story of our dancing days together. What I didn't realize, until I came back to this post to continue it, is that life is an incredible dance. One in which we start out by learning easy steps, just as a small girl stands on her father's feet while he slowly waltzes her around the room, and then the harder steps are learned, sometimes painfully, sometimes with grace.
Dad and I began life's dance together over 50 years ago and while, like any kind of dance, there were times we danced alone or out of rhythm, there were also times we danced in each other's arms, spinning, twirling, laughing and hooting.
During my childhood, my dad was the light of my life. I remember, at around age 3, descending the stairs, holding my mom's hand and hearing my dad singing, "Here she comes....Miss America," making me feel like I was the most important little girl in the world (I am on the left with the Barbie doll; my sister is on the right with no hair).
As I grew older, dad made my birthdays and Christmases important. I remember the Christmas that dad gave me my first clock. I was about 6 or 7, and I blinked at it when my mom told me that this was a special gift from my father - no one else, just from Dad. The clock's face had a rose on it, and it glowed in the dark, and, for me, that gift said, you are growing up, and I fell in love with my father once again. I kept that clock for years and years and even when it was ill and time to retire, I took it to a clockmaker and got it going again. Finally, the old clock gave out and I kept it, as one would keep a loved one in an urn, for years afterward.
I was a shy girl. Always shy. Teachers called on me in class and I sat there, seeing stars, trying to form my lips to say the words and, before I could get to it, the teacher would pick someone else. I did, truly, want to respond. I knew the answer! Years later, after high school, I slowly came out of my shell. Now my dad says I talk too much. I know he's kidding...well...hm...Dad?
In 1978, my dad and I signed up for disco dance lessons. The lessons, I must admit, were more for me than my dad. My dad had an innate dancing ability - it just came naturally to him. Every step, every twist, every move, dad could do. I never really got it. I always tried to lead, despite dad's encouragement to follow him. I had no idea what I was doing. To this day, I struggle, unless, like one who stutters, I am alone and at ease with myself and then, only then, can I swing my hips and move my body with the grace of a swan as it paddles and sways naturally to the current of the water. Still, Dad has always guided me in my love for dance. One day, I'll show you my dance moves via video. When I am all alone. Yes, I can move. But I must be all alone with me and the camera. Because the camera can't speak. The camera can't judge. It is nothing and something all at the same time.
Not long before I turned 19, I worked at the clothing store, The Limited, and, let me tell you, back then, they had clothes TO DIE FOR. Why do things have to change so? The clothes were fabulous - indescribable. Anyway, there was a long white winter cashmere coat that, despite my 30% discount at the time, the coat was, for me, unaffordable. I knew I couldn't buy the coat. There was only one - in my size 3. I told my parents about it and the WOE it brought to me that I could not get it. I simply could not afford that coat. It was, well, EXTREME. FABULOUS. CASHMERE. WHITE. LONG. BEAUTIFUL.
One night, on the eve of my 19th birthday, as I sat at the kitchen table, legs drawn up to my chin, talking to my parents, my dad walked to our coat closet. He opened the door and pulled THE COAT from the closet, twirled around, smiled and said, "TA DA!!!"
I leapt from the chair and grabbed my dad by the neck in a huge embrace and said, "For me???" And he responded, amongst his and mom's giggles, "For you!" Mom insisted it was from Dad.
In October 1980, my parents divorced. I was torn between two people. One who needed me as his sounding board, someone to talk to, someone to reassure him that he would be OK, and another who needed me to love her, to tell her she'd also be OK. It was a rough time because I was torn between two people who I loved more than my own life. But Mom, Dad, Pat, John and I made it through that difficult time, all of us, despite the newly splintered family.
STAY TUNED FOR PART II OF DANCING WITH DAD: A MEMOIR OF SORTS THAT I AM WRITING FOR MY DAD.
Copyright 2011 Liams Grandma
