My Dad was a typical dad of the 50’s and 60’s, which meant that he got up at five and left the house by six thirty to make his daily commute into the city to go to work. He didn’t get home until around seven o’clock at night, so he was really the stranger who provided for us. By the time he was done eating and came into the living room to relax I was just about getting ready for bed.One time, on a non-school night, I stayed up with my father while he watched the late show. It was “Earth VS the Flying Saucers”. I was a big fan of any kind of horror or science fiction movie, and also Ray Harryhausen special effects, so this was a big treat. Only Jiffy Pop could have made it better. My father sat in his chair and I sat on the couch. The house was so quite. There were no street noises either. The only sound was the high pitched whirring of the flying saucers. It was as if the rest of the world were asleep. It was really a glimpse into my father’s solitary world.On Saturday’s we would all go to the Bohacks grocery store to do the weeks food shopping. After I threw all the cheese doodles and instant pizza that I wanted into the shopping cart I would meet my father at the front of the store by the big old fashioned Coca Cola machine while my sister helped my mother checkout and bag. My father would buy us two cokes, the kind in tall glass bottles. I would stand next to him while he chug-a-lugged the whole bottle down and try to keep up with him. The Coke was so cold though that it froze my throat. He would be putting his empty in the wooden bottle crate while I was still struggling with mine. Every week my mother would be rolling out the door while I slammed my bottle into the slot and ran out of the automatic door.I remember now, each moment that my father spent with me. Far too few, really. He died in 1998 of prostate cancer and there are so many things that I would ask him now if I had the chance. I know he had a pit bull when he was a child in Brooklyn, and that they used to cook “mickies” over a open fire. He was an excellent swimmer. His father taught him how to swim by throwing him in the Hudson River. He played basketball in High School till he was forced to drop out during the depression. He later finished at night school. He was an English major. He was a welder in the Navy during WWII and met my mother in New Zealand while on leave. But what did he want out of life? What were his dreams? and hopes, loves, and disappointments? I don’t know.
Dreams hopes loves you have all the answers right here he is in your memory simple moments capturing love disappointment for him would not to be still there with you how very beautiful shall visit my dad this weekend as he has cancer shall ask him everything thanks for the hope dear lady
Touching piece… I wonder what made you think of him and the little that you had together and all that was missing in your relationship and communication, so many years after his death…
My father’s commute to the city from Jersey, down the hill to the train station early in the morning, back late after dark usually, nobody ever imagined different, the jobs were in town and you traveled to them. I lived in Brooklyn later when I was on my own. I remember the Rheingold Girls on the subway cars. Nice writing you’ve done about those years, the coke bottles and supermarkets, and family routines.
Comments
Dreams hopes loves you have all the answers right here
he is in your memory
simple moments
capturing love
disappointment for him would not to be still there with you
how very beautiful
shall visit my dad this weekend as he has cancer
shall ask him everything
thanks for the hope
dear lady
Touching piece… I wonder what made you think of him and the little that you had together and all that was missing in your relationship and communication, so many years after his death…
My father’s commute to the city from Jersey, down the hill to the train station early in the morning, back late after dark usually, nobody ever imagined different, the jobs were in town and you traveled to them. I lived in Brooklyn later when I was on my own. I remember the Rheingold Girls on the subway cars. Nice writing you’ve done about those years, the coke bottles and supermarkets, and family routines.