Laughing In The Face of Death

Have you ever seen one of those old timey, black and white photos of those circus strongmen? Well, that was my Dad. In his youth he was a bodybuilder, a true mountain of man. If his muscles and mustache weren’t taking up half the room, then his personality was. A real “eat lightning and crap thunder” kind of guy. The only thing that changed when he got to his 50s was that he’d gotten a pot belly, but I swear if you looked close enough at it, you’d see it sprouting abs. Now, at this point you should probably be picturing Tom Selleck’s face on Arnold Schwarzenegger’s body, and if you aren’t intimidated by that mere image alone, then you’re clearly not thinking hard enough. He was a tank in every sense of the word, tough as nails, hard as a rock. In my eyes, he was invincible. He was Superman. I mean, how do you beat someone like that?... we were all asking ourselves the same thing when he got diagnosed with cancer. The answer: from the inside.

I was fourteen at the time, it was the day of my middle school graduation. My dad had come in his formal attire: Aviators, ripped jeans, cowboy boots, and of course his signature look: no sleeves. After the ceremony we headed for the car. The walk felt ten times as long in the Arkansas summer heat. Somewhere on that walk is when the talk started, I don’t remember much of it, but I do remember him saying it was nothing to worry about, nothing he couldn’t handle, and why wouldn’t I believe him? When Superman says don’t worry about it, you don’t worry about it. Instead we got ice-cream and enjoyed our Friday afternoon.

It was around a year later when we’d gotten the latest news. The cancer had spread to his brain. It was sometime at school when I’d gotten the phone call from him, my mom had already broken the news to me a few days prior, but it was still good to hear his voice. Gone was the spirit from before, his voice instead left sad and fearful. “Son, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news…” he began. “The cancer’s spread to my brain and pretty soon I’m going to have to start radiation, but radiation’s a lot different than chemo. They said- well son, they said there’s a 100% chance I’m gonna lose my hair.” There he is, I thought as I smiled through watering eyes. He got me. I thought he laid it on a little heavy for a joke, but If there was one thing that he loved more than his muscles, it was his hair. We talked a few minutes more and he asked my opinion on if he’d look better in an Elvis wig, or a biker bandana. I was already running late to class, but biology could wait, this was a real world decision. So I chose the wig and he spent the next few minutes trying to sell me on the bandana.

Less than a year later we found out his cancer was in remission. His tumors had shrunk by 80%, finally some good news, our prayers had been answered. He lived in Nebraska at the time, so we didn’t get to celebrate it in person. Instead all of us kids received a gift in the mail. It was one of the bozo the clown inflatable punching bags. The letter explained the idea behind the clown, no matter how many times you knock it down it pops right back up. It’s not about how hard you hit, it's about how hard you can get hit… etc. Most of it was plagiarized from Rocky III, but the sentiment was nice so no one thought to tell him that we knew.

If there’s one thing my Dad taught me, it's not about getting back up. It’s that life’s too short to be taken so seriously. If you’re gonna get back up, do it with the same stupid smile that bozo has. When my Dad left this world, he left it laughing, and I think in that way he really was invincible.