Father's Day

Most of those who know me know that today has been one of the hardest days ever.  My normal Father's Day routine would begin several weeks prior trying to decide what I was going to buy dad for Father's Day (except I didn't have to think too hard about it because he always told me exactly what he wanted), who was going to get him, where we were going to take him, and what we were going to feed him.  It sounds like a lot going on for my father, but he deserved it.  Little did I know last year, that he really deserved more than I could give him. 


To me, my father always seemed larger than life.  He was a large man and his hands were so strong.  Being the baby of the family, I was not subjected to the same discipline that my brothers and sisters endured, but there were a few moments where he would become angry.  He could be agitated for the most part, not angry.  My brother can paint a pretty clear picture of the discipline he received after getting a tattoo.  This story would be one that we would laugh over the follow days after my father's death.


On any given holiday, Dad would call several weeks in advance, almost like a reminder on the calendar.  His message would always be similar.  "Tina, this is your dad, Father's Day is coming up, are you going to take me out to eat?"  It doesn't matter which holiday or birthday referrenced, it was always the same.  So that everybody was on the same page, he called all of us.  Not sure of what order, but we all had the same call or message.  This was the beginning of the planning stage.  I would call Barbara, Barbara would call Debbie, and on down the family tree.  This was a big deal, as if we were planning for Royalty.  And it was, it was for my father.


The Father's Day gift always varied.  By varied, I mean, he had a small list of gift requests and I never waviered.  The following is "the list":  socks, boxer shorts, handkerchiefs, cigarettes, shirt or pants.  I was so happy when he decided he needed handkerchiefs, because it was something different than the usual socks or Alabama wear.  So handkerchiefs it would be.  And dollars, of course.


Usually and most often Father's Day would be celebrated at Barbara's house.  It just seemed more convenient and as the years passed, he had a terrible fear of falling.  He never seemed to mind her stairs, but it worked out well.  He would sit on her deck or back porch and enjoy a day full of "smoking".  His oxygen level was at a 0, but he was smiling.  He would say  "Tina, do you know when I'm gonna quit smoking?",  and I would say, "when, Daddy?".  His reply was always the same, "when they put me 6 feet under."  Well, Dad, you actually quit about 4 weeks before then! 

We have never been a family that ventured out on imagination when it comes to family get-togethers.  Christmas Eve is finger foods, Easter is ham and vegetables, Thanksgiving is turkey and dressing, and so on.  Sometimes we vary, but for Father's Day, butter beans.  We always had to have butter beans.  Any holiday really included butter beans.  Barbara always made sure that she had butter beans for Dad.  Once she cooked a big meal, I think for Easter, and all he ate was peanut butter.  He enjoyed his peanut butter and we enjoyed the rest of the meal. 

What have I done today to celebrate Father's Day?  Now that my father is no longer here.  It's been a hard day.  There has been no trip to pick up my father from the nursing home, no shopping for handkerchiefs, no cooking dinner for him.  It's been a day of sadness.  One that I feel that no one understands.  His love should be comfort, his belief in God should be calming, his life on earth should be celebrated.  While looking at his pictures, I have yet to find these emotions.  As I look through the years, I can see a man that loved us with all his heart, a good man that could forgive and forget, a helpful man, a religious man, a strong man.  

As I carry this sadness today, I am reminded, by my niece Sherri, that maybe, just maybe, that Dad, Ronnie and Rudy are all in heaven fishing.  I just hope to remind them, not to let Rudy lead the way home.  The last time he did, as Dad explained numerous times over the years, they got lost in Arkansas. 

I love you, Dad.