Thoughts

This Saturday marks the fortieth anniversary of the passing of my father. It astounds me every year when this time comes around, and I realize how much time has slipped away.

I have very little memory of him, though he is kept alive in pictures that I have of him. I have an uncle who keeps his memory alive when we get together. He can tell many tales of my father.

But it astounds me that I've lived nearly all my life without him. Its bizarre to think that 40 years has gone without him here. And I wonder, a lot now, what life we all would’ve lead had he not died on that July day in 1968. I know its silly, and ultimately pointless, but I still would like to see a "what if" version of my world.

I cannot say that not having him here would've been better, but deep down in my brain, I believe it would've. And despite the many rows I heard they used to have (from my mother), I still think that would've stayed married.

Anyways, I miss him.

Living Memory

Yesterday, I went and saw my cousin and his family in Murrietta, about an hour south of me. His parents where in from Texas, and I had not seen my aunt and uncle for over two years.

My aunt is a cut up and one of the nicest, caring people you can know. My uncle, who had a harsh upbringing, but never seems to let that stop him from telling a great, and often funny story about the time. He is, to me also, the museum of my father's life. I've mentioned before how he's told me stories of my late father, and he usually does it with so much love and respect.

Last night he told at story about how my mom and dad (not yet married) and them had traveled to Niagra Falls for the weekend on the train. And because sleeping cars cost extra, they sat across from each other -legs touching legs - on the overnight trip. They were, of course, exhausted by sitting up all night and by the time they actually got to the Falls, they were tired, but he said they still had a great time.

My aunt then told a story about how my dad gave their daugther Nancy a St. Christopher's medal. Auntie said that Nancy was maybe, at most nine months old. My dad loved kids - something I inherited from him - and seemed to adore Nancy. He asked Auntie -knowing that she was not Catholic - if he could pin that medal to her crib. Of course, my aunt said yes.

But these people -who are not biologically my realtives, but I've known them all my life - represent the living history of a my father I never knew. Mom has told stories, but it was never in such detail. Both seemed to love my father very deply, and I think they miss him as much as I do.

I aslo heard the tales of how my mother really has become the person she resented all her life: her father. When she was visting auntie back in September, she apparently did not want to do anything that came clsoe to dribing more than 10 miles.

Mom hates flying, so they travel by car. Everywhere. So when she got to Texas, and auntie suggested that they go here, and mom would ask how far away it was and auntie would say an hour, mom would say she didn't travel all this way in her car just to do more traveling in a car.

I'm unsure what she expected to happen.

My brother has become that way too, as he does not like to travel more than 10 miles from his home. It appears to be too much effort.

Reminds me of the line in A League of Thier Own. Jon Lovitz's character, the lovable, but sarcastic scout, is trying to lure a pitcher away from her small town life. They're at the train station and the poor girl is sad to leave and is hesitating. Lovitz's line, fustrated at the dwindling time, says: "See, the train moves, not the station."

I think my mom has become that. She rather have it come to her, than she go to. Which is why she'll never sell that house in Illinois and move some place where it's warmer, cheaper and be around people her age.

What We Leave Behind

Today would’ve been my father’s 73rd birthday. Strange, really, to think about that number. Seventy-three seems so old, even as my mom turns 72 next month. But my mom does not look like she’s in her 70's. You see, while 73 is old, the more mind-numbing thing is he’ll be dead 39 years this July 19. How do you wrap your mind around this? How do you understand the concept of losing your own father to cancer at the age of 34?

To this day, I miss him. Which, I guess, I should. I also am very angry that the fates, God, or whatever you believe in, took him away from me, my siblings and my mother. Why, I would cry like Sally Field in Steel Magnolia, what did my mother or us kids do that forced the universe to take such bold move and remove my father from this earth?

But, then, there is no reason. It just is.

I have very little memory of him, which pains me more than even him not being here for that 73rd birthday. He died two months short of my sixth birthday. And from what I heard from my mother, I seemed to have fallen to pieces.

I have no memory of much of that time. I do see flashes of life after my dad’s death. I remember the funeral -I think it was a cloudy day. I remember some Christmases and bits of special occasions, like my communion, but most of that time, say from the time he died to the time my mom remarried in 1972 are gone.

I know from what my mother has told me, that I sort of came unglued. Hiding in closets when teachers left the classroom. I apparently did many other things that eventually forced my mom to put me in some special school for -what, if I remember correctly - developmentally handicapped people. I even took the yellow short bus to school.

Funny, while I don’t recall what I did there, I do know I hated it with a passion. And it put me behind a year in school, which lead to many self-esteem issues I still have today.

Anyways, in Back to the Future II after a brief trip from 1985 to 2015, Doc and Marty return to 1985, only to discover that the timeline has somehow changed. They eventually figure out that 2015 version of Biff had somehow returned to 1955 and given his younger self a sports book that had all the winning scores in them. Young Biff would eventually use that almanac to become very wealthy and that would alter the future.

As the Doc tries to explain to Marty what happens, he draws a line on a chalkboard, representing time as a straight line. Somewhere in 1955, Old Biff hands Young Biff the sports almanac. This event eventually skewers the timeline, creating an alternate version of 1985. Later, Marty discovers that the Old Biff visited Young Biff during the events of the first film. As Doc and Marty head back to 1955 (again), the Doc ponders that it was “Unbelievable, that old Biff could have chosen that particular date. It could mean that, that point in time inherently contains some sort of cosmic significance. Almost as if it were the junction point for the entire space-time continuum.”

1968 appeared to be another one of those “junction points”, if you ask me. So many things happened that year, so many historical things: Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy assassinated, the war in Vietnam further eroding and dividing a nation.

And while my dads death -in the grand historical notion - is nothing, there are plenty of what if’s that came out of that year. Could we be living in an altered timeline? Is there another version of 1968 that never lost its King or its Kennedy or, even, my father?

Quantum Mechanics teaches you the idea that there are infinite worlds, and in that theory, my Dad is alive.

There are not that many images of my dad that exist today. He had a fondness for taking photos and super 8 films, but somehow never ended up in the pictures of the film. A few years ago, I discovered a five minute or so role of film in my mom’s hall closet. I took that film to a place where I used to live in Forest Park. There they converted the 8 millimeter strip to a video tape.

When I got it back, I watched what was on it. What played across the screen, was a brief history of us kids. Summer time in the backyard, with my brother and sister playing in the plastic pool. My little sister, just learning to walk, the pond beyond our property. The scenes shift to me playing cars with my siblings, shifts back to a snow covered yard and then back to a gathering in my moms house. And it is here, in a flash of maybe a second or two, is my father. He looks at the camera, and smiles a bit (though, I wonder if its just the bright light that forces the smile). It’s the only “moving” picture that I think exists of him.

My mom has pictures of him before they got married and a few of him in uniform during the Korean War -though I’m not sure he ever served there. But that is all that remains of him.

I’ve tried to remember him, what his voice sounded like, but I have no physical memory of him. And to this day, I wonder what is real or what has been placed in my mind by my mother and my Uncle Harold, who seemed to have great admiration of him.

Its bizarre to think that 39 years has gone without him here. And I wonder, a lot now, what life we all would’ve lead had he not died on the July day in 1968. I know its silly, and ultimately pointless, but I still would like to see that version of my world.

Would my parents still been married (it would be 49 years this year)? Would we all been more successful in life, would I be living in California as I do now?

Would I still have been gay?

So many things, so much potential lost in the fog of history. And while I’m happy for my life now, and while I’m happy my mom has finally found a man who worships the ground she walks on and I love him dearly, I wish 1968 never happened.

I wish that I could travel back to July of that year (or even earlier, at the time he took up smoking) and prevented his death. Though, I now realize that the cancer that eventually killed him was not caused fully by the smoking.

I realize the foolishness of that first sentence, but it does not change my feelings. I know that had he not died, my life and life of my siblings would’ve been better. I cannot explain why I know this, but I do.

God has a lot to answer for, believe you me. He needs to explain to me why this happened, what great purpose it served for four kids to grow up without a father.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

I miss you!