One of my favorite examples to give, when people ask what
being a Father means, or of how my Dad was is the time I moved to New Jersey. I
was 18 years old and dating a woman who was 22 and I was totally and completely
infatuated with her. She had already graduated college and I was halfway
through my first year and not doing a very good job of it. I was too involved
with going to goth clubs with my friends and exploring the NYC goth scene to do
things like go to class and write papers.
I dropped out of school because it was interfering with
spending time with her and with my working shit menial jobs to make money to
move in with her. She eventually got kicked out of her place up in Port Chester
and moved back in with her mother in South Jersey. I would work all week at
Costco, then take the LIRR into Penn, walk to Port Authority and take the two
hour bus trip down to Cherry Hill every Friday, spend the rest of Friday and
all of Saturday with her and be back in NY in time to work the closing shift on
Sunday. It totally fucking sucked.
We started looking for places together and everywhere in
North Jersey or NY was too expensive. All the way my Father kept trying to talk
me out of moving in with her and into going back to college. I wouldn’t listen
and we argued often. We eventually found a place in South Jersey and were committed
to moving in together. Despite their misgivings, my parents helped me pack, rented
a minivan, and drove me down there. Once down there they took us to Bed, Bath,
& Beyond and bought some things for us. We said our goodbyes and they were
off.
While I was there, my Dad would send me care packages; video
tapes of Giants games (when they won), and news clippings pertaining to the Giants,
and any news clippings pertaining to the Islanders. He would call me often, not
to hound me, but to keep in touch. When things started going bad he tried to
council me.
Finally, it was at a point when things were not going to get
better and he said “Christopher, just come home, I’ll take the for sale sign of
your car, all you have to do is go to school. Just come home.” When I finally
agreed, he again rented a minivan, drove down to South Jersey, helped me pack,
and took me home.
Being a parent is trying to prevent your children from
making mistakes, realizing when you can’t stop them, and being there to help
them stand up, and dust themselves off when they do. He never rubbed it in my
face, he never hit me with an “I told you so,” he just told me how proud he was
of me for realizing my mistake and coming home. And how happy he was I was home and how much
he loved me. He even repainted my room and had my Mom get me new curtains and
bedding.
I would make a lot more mistakes and he would do
a lot more helping me up and dusting me off. He was the BEST, end of story and I'll
never measure up, and I'm cool with that. But he loved me so much; he never
gave up on me. He was the only one, other than Erin, who never gave up. And it
took him dying, for me to really fully become the man he saw in me. What I’m
not cool with is him being gone and I’m not OK with him not getting to see the
man I’ve become. I love you Dad, with all my heart, always and forever.
