I decided that since I wrote about Mother's Day, I should weigh in on Father's Day. The only problem is I really don't know what to say since my father died when I was just seven years old. People often ask me if I remember my father and I do, but more as a series of snapshots than as an actual person. Luckily for me, even fifty years after his death I still have people come to me and reminisce about him and what a wonderful man he was. I have come to appreciate people sharing with me although when I was younger it made me irrationally annoyed.
I realize now that my annoyance was unacknowledged anger at the fact that these people had been lucky enough to have a relationship with my father that I never would have.
I have a few clear memories of my father. Oddly enough they seem to involve only me, not my siblings. One occurred one day when he gave me a ride to school. I clearly remember him taking me by the hand and walking me to my classroom and even as a first grader I recognized the deference with which the nuns greeted him as we made our way down the hall. There were a number of reasons for that deference, but it was clear that these women whom most of the kids feared thought my father was a pretty great guy. The other memory that stands out was Valentine's Day that same school year. I was sick and staying at my grandmother's so I missed the valentine's party at school. On his way home from work, my father stopped at school and picked up my packet of valentines and brought me a little box of candy. I'm not sure why that memory stands out so clearly although I suppose with the eleven of us, there was a fair amount of jockeying for attention and this was time I had just with him.
When my father died, I didn't really understand. I was told he had gone to heaven and my thought was "Well, good for him." After all, in school the nuns taught us that it was our job to live a good life so we could go to heaven. I just thought my father had done exactly what he was supposed to do. It was longer than I would like to admit before I accepted the finality of death and what it really meant.
I have many things to thank my father for, not the least of which is the fact that he chose my mother for his wife. If an early death was his destiny, she was the best parent one could hope for. I also have him to thank for my name. After four boys in a row, he announced that I would be named for my mother, and it is a name I am proud to carry. I miss my father more now than I ever did when I was younger. I could tell you the specific things I missed out on, but the truth is mostly I miss all the lost opportunities for shared experiences. Still, I am proud to be his daughter. I hope that wherever he is, he is proud to be my father.
