He believed in me

19 Jun

Today is Father’s Day. I hadn’t really thought much about it this year until I saw everyone’s Facebook statuses. My soon to be ex is on his way to Omaha, NE with the girlfriend and my boy. Boy has a baseball tournament this week.

This is a picture of my Dad with his father. I never knew my grandfather. He passed away long before I was born. My daughter never knew her grandfather either. Funny how life does that.

I’m not sure of the earliest memory I have of my dad. He worked a lot. He wasn’t really “into” little kids. He did, however, always support my love of music. I always had a new guitar when I needed one. Sometimes even when I didn’t. Straps, strings, cases – they just mysteriously appeared.

My dad lived for his job, we never really went on family vacations but we always went to the music shows. My sister and I would hang out at the pool, or roaming the halls. Things kids can’t really do anymore. We had a great time. We were also exposed to musicians, all kinds of instruments, stuff kids would give their eye teeth to be around.

My dad drank his coffee black. He smoked Chesterfield cigarettes. He forgot which of us was born in April, which in May. He put cottage cheese on fruit. He ate pizza with a fork and knife. He put butter on everything.

This is probably the last photo I have of my father and me. It was at my graduation from college. I’m standing outside the performing arts building at Millikin where I spent most of my time. I had already moved on from music to art by that time. I graduated with a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree. He was proud of me.

I was living at home when he got a cold and his voice went away. Laryngitis we figured. Turned out to be a tumor. The doctors gave him 6 months to live. And six months it was – almost to the day. He told everyone he had the “Big C”. He continued to smoke right up until the end. He would send me out to buy cigarettes for him. It was one of the most uncomfortable things I’ve ever done. But I did it. He was dying.

My Dad passed away 22 years ago on Thanksgiving Day. I was 23. He’s been gone almost as long as I had him.

I miss my dad everyday.

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