Father's Day
4
Never a holiday that was ever treated as a major yearly event in our family, all things considered...my Dad has always been content with a bottle of whiskey, maybe a book, a nice meal, a handshake. On this particular Father's Day, though, we've been reminded of mortality, and the advancing years, as my Dad's older brother just died of natural causes. My Dad has never been the type of guy you say "I love you" to, but he knows I do love him, despite our trials and tribulations over the years. I'm sure I've never been quite the son he would have wanted, and I've had my issues with Dad over the years...he was sometimes remote, sometimes hypercritical...but then what human being is without flaws or blemishes? I consider myself lucky that I've had him as long as I have in my life, and hope that he'll be with us for a long time to come. I also find myself considering on this day my biological father, who I never was fortunate enough to know. My parents were unmarried teenagers, in a time when illegitimate birth still carried a great stigma. From what I've learned, my birth father wanted to marry my birth mother (they had been going out with each other for several years), wanted to raise me, and pro-actively tried to make that happen (at one point, he called the doctor who had handled my birth and got into a shouting match with him because the doctor wouldn't let him see me). At one point, they traveled to Baltimore in an attempt to marry, but the priest the consulted wouldn't perform the marriage without my maternal grandfather's consent, which he, assuredly with the best of intentions, refrained from giving. At one point, he told my birth-mother that he would put her (and me) out on the street if she tried to raise me. Being only teenagers, and finally succumbing to the inevitable, my biological parents ultimately consented to my adoption, and went on with their lives. It's impossible, of course, to psychoanalyze the dead, but it's sometimes impossible to avoid trying. My birth father was, by all accounts I've heard, a bright man, went on to become a promising lawyer, and even got married twice (to women other than my birth mother; the last time she saw him was not long after I was born). However, he never had any other children, and I can't help but wonder if what he went through in trying to keep me was one of the reasons why. He essentially smoked himself (helped along by drink) to death, and died way too early. But, to all fathers-- those still with us in body, or those with us only in spirit-- I raise up my glass in a toast, and salute you for all you've done, and all you tried to do. Happy Father's Day.
