My Dad.....

Let me say ON RECORD for this Tales From The Orange Room blog, that I respected my father and loved him very much. I'm sure he loved me too but he just had a hard time saying it. It wasn't really his fault. He grew up in a household where his father would carry a garden hose on his way to his afternoon nap before work. If he was woken, his kids would see the hose AGAIN! I barely knew my grandfather. But, I heard all I needed to know.

According to my Mom's book, Dad's childhood was fairly bleak. He was raised like a weed and never had anything as a child unless he bought it himself. HIs father would provide a roof over their heads and food on the table but only food that he liked. He would go to the grocery store every Friday night and would pay for the food himself. Money never touched my Grandmothers hands. When it was the beginning of a school year, my Grandfather would buy my Dad one pair of jeans and a couple shirts...then he'd ask what happened to the other clothes he "just" bought. Dad said his shoes were always worn and his pants ragged. He never had a real haircut from a barber until he was working and could pay for it himself. Dad's father, resented buying school books and Christmas was almost non existent. My Mom continued in her book that Jim's father never took him to a ball game, or went fishing, or reached in his pocket and said, " here’s a dime, buy yourself some candy". All he heard was "shut up" or "no'.

My Dad once said, that he really didn't know why he even finished 8th grade. He could have ended up A BAD KID very easily yet he attributed his Mother for setting some values in his early life. When it came time for High School, my Dad's father all but refused to buy the books. So at 15, his Social Security card was manipulated and Dad went to work full time. There were never any apologies, regrets or soul searching...it was not Dad’s nature. What he had done wrong, he accepted. What had been done wrong to him...he also accepted.

Dad later joined the Air National Guard and credited them with the disciple and the opportunities which led to his success. After he started his career with the ANG, he was able to get his High School Diploma (GED) and achieved so much for a person with little formal education. In fact, I have alway said that my Father had the mind to become an ENGINEER. He just thought that way. If he would have had the support and education, it's hard to tell what he may have accomplished, but with that said, He did alright.

Throughout the 1960's and 1970's, My Dad worked very hard and for several yearsand often worked two jobs. We'd see Dad at breakfast before he left for work, then briefly at dinner before he'd drive to Pekin to a second job working on lawnmowers til the shop closed. Some nights, Dad would stay with the "boys' at the shop and drink a few beers. Sometimes more than a few, and when he'd get home, my brothers and I would hear the arguments....and they would be some doozies. Weekend's could end up the same way...MAJOR ARGUMENTS... sometime so loud and cruel that I feared for their safety . My Mom could dish it out as well as Dad. These arguments became more frequent and ugly. I would be in my room, with my stomach in a knot, a nervous wreck, I hated these episodes so much. Then one night I heard my Dad say something so foul that I can’t even repeat it. He kept saying it over and over until I realized he was talking about ME!!! Obviously, there was something that he was upset about!!! Perhaps it was her putting the kids first in her life? Maybe he felt the she loved me more that him? Drunk talk for sure! But It really freaked me out and I was confused.

When I was a boy I never knew why Dad called me PRINCE but as I got older it became apparent that Dad saw me as perhaps a bit spoiled by my Mother. I was overprotected to say the least. It's a reoccurring joke, that I couldn't use a fork until I was 13.

When Mom said I could grow my hair long, Dad hated it and said I looked like a Wood Pecker. He was in the military and I was 16 with long hair, playing ROCK MUSIC and dabbling in the culture of the times. That meant Sex, drugs and Rock n' roll. The generation gap was WIDE in those days and I was afraid of my Dad when he'd come home and had been drinking. Sometimes Mom would give my friends and I a heads up.... that we needed to leave my ORANGE ROOM and get out NOW. "Your fathers been at the club and he's not in a good mood".

Some nights, there would be no warning.

I'll never forget the time my friend and I were in my parents basement and my friend had an American flag on the back of his jacket. We heard Dad coming down the stairs but we were trapped. There was nowhere for us to go. For the next half hour, Dad got in each of our faces...nose to nose and told us how spoiled our generation was and how we didn't appreciate those who died in battle for that flag. I totally disagreed but you couldn't win the argument. The problem was the alcohol. Dad could be a different person and he made me nervous in that condition.

However, throughout all these years, I loved my Dad and always hoped I could win his respect. He would always help me when I needed something fixed. I think that was his way of saying, "I Love you'. However , I always felt like a dumb ass that could never fix anything on my own. When I was going though my divorce in 1994, I asked my Mom if I could stay in their basement for a few months while my first wife, made plans to move out of our house. I promised that the kids would be quiet when they were visiting and after about three months, I asked them if they wouldn't mind watching my kids for an evening. My Dad told me, "I've raised my kids and I'm not raising yours." "No." I couldn't believe what had come out of his mouth. I didn't ask them to raise my kids...just to watch them one night. I never asked them to baby sit again!!!! It would be their loss. Mom, eventually would offer but Dad never seemed to have his heart in it. I never understood why since they’d later watch my brothers kids often.

During the last years of my Dad's life, They'd visit me at the bank where I worked. Dad would say something like, "why are you wearing glasses, to make you look smart?" Or,

'How many people have you ripped off today?” Were these jokes? I couldn’t really tell.

The last conversation I had with my Dad was in the hospital. He had been staying there while my Mom recovered. I met him in the hallway and he had his coat on. I asked him where he was going and he said, back home.

to their trailer. He was bored. I told him to stay put for a few more days and then they BOTH could go home. I told him he was going to fall and hurt himself and he just looked at me like I was still 14 and said, "Bullshit". That was the last time I saw him conscious. He did fall a few days later and died from swelling complications of the brain.

As I said earlier, I respected and loved my Dad very much and was so proud of what he had accomplished in his life. I worked my ass off to make sure the insurance ( which he reluctantly purchased from me ) was going to cover everything and that he would be eligible for a MILITARY FUNERAL. It took weeks to get it all arranged but he got that funeral. Perhaps it was more for me than him. I wanted him to be proud.