It is the anniversary of my Father’s birth,
his death day anniversary is in a couple of weeks.
He was a good guy, though he had his issues,
he was human,
and he loved and worked and went through life as best he could.
In my mind’s eye he is a montage,
Navy Uniform, Heart with flying arrow tattoo, smell of beer,
Sitting on his lap so I could “drive” the huge oldsmobile we called “Rosie”,
Tres Fleurs hair cream and Aqua Velva aftershave,
His thick filipino accent as he argued with my Mother,
Bringing home pets that the people he helped pack and move – left behind,
His love of Jacques Cousteau specials,
full time working and always part time, too.
He walked in a blizzard two towns over to pick me up from ballet class once,
and carried me home through the driving snow that was so bad
that school was called off the next day.
I see him in my mind’s eye as he shrugged off blatant and nasty racism and
told me just to be the best I could be,
and as he gently noticed my shirt was inside-out after returning from a date
(allowing me to fix it before my Mother saw me).
And when he told me he had cancer, I knew in my heart it would be the last
time I spoke with him, so I made sure to tell him,
that I loved him.
He was flawed and he was my Dad and I love him and remember him
because in my heart – he lives still.