Daddy Learned to Fly

Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there. It's a nice day for those of us with little kids because they do their best to be extra nice on Father's Day. We spent the weekend in NJ as Deb and Tricia did their second triathlon in two months; they both did great. This was Deb's first-ever tri with a lake swim and she did better than she thought she would, finishing the half-mile swim in 26 minutes and the entire event in 2:43. Tricia finished in 2:13. It was a beautiful morning and the kids were all well-behaved as we waited for their moms to come in. Afterwards, we threw a big blow-out party to celebrate. I played much beer pong and was a tad hungover this morning, but nothing a fistful of Advil couldn't handle. We got home by 3 and just relaxed the rest of the day before grilling up some delicious chicken.

Father's Day has traditionally been rather bittersweet for me. My dad was a difficult guy, especially in his later years. My mom always claimed he was very into the whole dad gig when I was a baby, but by the time my brother came along nearly five years later, Dad had mentally checked out. He just wasn't interested in doing much more than bringing home the proverbial bacon. Part of it was the old-school Indian dad in him; his role was king of the household. All others were there to serve him. He got home from work, he expected food on the table and then he went to watch TV. My brother and I were supposed to do well in the school and bring him whatever beverages he desired (coffee, water, booze).

Of course, he wasn't always such a despot. I have fond memories of goofing off with him, listening to the crazy nonsensical songs he would make up, playing badminton in the backyard. He took me to my first Leafs game, but a few years, it was my mom who took us to our first Jays game. And she had no interest whatsoever in baseball, but by that point, he couldn't be bothered. He still liked to watch sports; we watched Hockey Night in Canada every Saturday. But things really went downhill after he took a job in the U.S. and moved the family out of a pretty stable existence to an uncertain future (at the time). My mom suddenly went from working as a nurse to unemployed because she had to take the Washington state nursing exam nearly 20 years into her career. My brother and I were suddenly new kids in school, and then moved to another school a month later. Two years later, we moved again to NH. We all managed to settle in well there, but my dad started hitting the sauce pretty hard. Then he lost his job in '87 or so and it was just an endless cycle of booze, cigarettes, TV and wallowing in self-pity. I was in college then and only heard about it once a month when I would come home, but my mom and brother took the brunt of that shitstorm. Dad already had diabetes, so the alcohol abuse was like lighting a match to a stick of dynamite. He became sickly looking and eventually developed a seizure disorder that would slowly rob him of his memory.

By 1996, his body had taken enough and started shutting down. He was in and out of the hospital several times before his kidneys shut down and he died. In the hospital before he passed, I made my peace with him. The poor guy had been through enough; he didn't need to go into the next world knowing that I thought he was an asshole. Of course, he was, but part of that was his upbringing.

He made many mistakes, but his greatest gift to me was helping me become a better dad than he could ever hope to be. I learned from his mistakes, but I also would like to think that the good parts of him live on through me and my brother. That's a pretty good legacy.

Papa's Got a Brand New Bag: