Sittin on the dock of the bay

There are many things that make me think of my Father. Cuban cigars, hostess cupcakes, sugar cane & Otis Redding. I can’t hear (Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay without immediately thinking of him humming along to the oldies station growing up. We spent a lot of time in the car together, road trips, errands, going to the movies and the mall nearly every weekend. There little things that remind me of my father interweave like a woven tapestry that makes up what I have left of my father...memories. Memories of those mall visits ending with a trip to Sweet Factory and why certain candy will always remind me of him, like Circus Peanuts and Tart & Tiny's. Sailboats on the horizon remind me of him, and sometimes I like to think he's not really gone but chasing the sunset in his boat, smoking a cigar as he steers.

My father was a war baby, born in the tail end of World War 2. He was the only son of five kids, the big brother to four younger sisters. He was always curious, always learning, and sometimes getting himself into trouble. There are stories about my Dad I've heard a million times but never get tired of. Like the time my grandmother sent him & one of his sisters to get a pound of bacon from the market. The two rascals didn't bring all of the bacon home, as they decided to snack on some raw bacon in the alley behind the shop before heading home, and my father was the instigator. My grandma didn't punish them too much, as she knew their stomachs would do it for her. There's also the story that sounds like something out of a soap opera, when my father ran away from the midwest and out to California as a teenager in hopes of connecting with his Father. My Grandfather had notoriously told my grandmother that when she turned forty, he would leave her for a woman half her age and he did just that. He took off with his secretary to start a new life and family. In my Dad's adventures to find his Dad, he joined the military using his father's social security number, as they had the same first name. My grandmother hired a private investigator, and she and my aunts even lived in Southern California for a while. My father eventually returned to the midwest with them, but not before working at Disneyland for a while and being inspired by his very brief stint in the military. My Dad had MANY fascinations, and even started going to school to be a mortician, but the military kept calling. He could get great schooling and have a stable career right out of college, so that's what he did.

My Dad spent thirty three years in the US Navy, and it was in his Navy years that he met my mom when she was working with the Navy on a project as a civilian. My Dad, already in his 40's and having wandered the world, became a Dad for the first time with me, but also in co-parenting my step siblings with my Mom and their Dad. My brother joined us a few years later and we joined in the adventures. As a kid, I even spent three years living in Japan, and still understand, write and speak some Japanese but also have vivid, wonderful memories of our time there. We were stationed all over the united states, but my father was also a man who loved history so we were constantly going on road trips to battle sites and historical locations. We wandered the Smithsonian and he showed me where Lincoln was assassinated. He took me to Monticello and bought me a fools gold ring in a shop below Mount Rushmore. He held me by the shoulders and told me whose land it really was, that the Black Hills belonged to our Native people, not us. He taught me much more than a history book could ever, and never tried to stifle my curiosity. Even after he retired from the Navy and his health was declining, he went to work as a substitute teacher and specialized in working with disabled kids. He was a stubborn man, but he had the patience of a saint for people who needed it.

While it seems like a fairytale, it wasn’t always. My father was dealing with a lot of heavy things that weighed down on him. His body and mind were being ravaged by Parkinson’s Disease. He was a tall, strong man who fought in wars and he was at his absolute weakest. I still thought he was the strongest man in the world, but society’s toxic masculinity weighed even heavier. He hated being perceived, he was ashamed of himself, and he really started to let go. He struggled with his sexuality and loving both women and men. He died before he ever got to find any freedom. He never got to love as he was meant to and I carry that with me to live freely with everything I’ve got. My dad passed away in 2005, and while it isn’t really that long ago, it seems like an eternity. Even 17 years ago, people weren’t as open or accepting as they are now, and we still have a long way to go. Every day I live, I live not just for myself but for my father. I carry him with me to keep his memory alive, to share the stories of the man who literally made me. My dad was my Indiana Jones, a curious man who traveled the world and found himself in the wildest adventures. He may be gone physically, but with me, he lives on forever in spirit.