Up until he turned 60 years old, my father’s eyes still sparkled like a child’s. He could be both imposing in his respectability and mischievously amused by the lighter side of things. One minute you’d be awed by the application of his amazing wealth of knowledge- the next, mildly chagrined that you were taken in by a completely outlandish story. (Once he had me *convinced* that he managed to escape a bear in the woods using only a can of tuna fish) Children and animals flocked to him; *villains* were terrified of him.
When he was 60 years old he was diagnosed with renal cancer. After a heartbreakingly rapid and painful struggle, he died. Cancer fights dirty. It’s been 5 years. It’s been 5 years.
You never stop saying goodbye- it’s a continual process. I don’t know if this is better or worse. A few months after he died, my niece broke the dollhouse he had built for me when I was little. I had to struggle to recall the exact shape of his nose. A year after, mom gave away the things he had painstakingly collected and treasured to people who would love them as he did. Two years later she redecorated the house- it was about then I realized I couldn’t remember the timbre of his voice anymore.
We were exactly the same height. Though sometimes pa would wake up and declare- ‘I feel TALL today!’ and I would fight with him until my mother intervened, measured, and assured me that we were still even. Explaining it wasn’t about that- rather just his continual silliness, was pointless. I used to become so frustrated with him.
And never was I more frustrated than when I would bring someone new to our house. See- my father had a test for the potential boyfriends. Well it wasn’t really a test- more of a way for them to demonstrate their mettle. I guess it didn’t matter to my father where you were in your life or what you were currently doing for a living- what concerned him was if you could... hold your own?
Most of the time, he would somehow manage to send me off on some errand- effectively leaving the suitor without a lifeline. Settling them in with his guileless brown eyes and infectious smile, their comfort was his only concern. They would relax. In all seriousness, my father would ask them if they wanted to hear his favorite joke. Why sure Mr. Rainwater (all politeness and solicitude). My father’s favorite joke is a tacky, racist, horrible one that makes me cringe every time I hear it. I will give you the punch line- you will probably be (oops) offended:
‘Oh no,’ the old chief said- ‘that’s not *Sasquatch*! That’s squaw snatch.’
( :O *silence*)
My father would then sit back with a smile and wait. The one time I saw the test administered, I saw a serious curiosity in my dad’s eyes though. He was waiting to see how they’d react. I don’t know if he had a desired reaction or if he was open to surprise- but I do know he was always sadly disappointed with their responses. He never said anything negative to me and it was never malicious... but none of them ever lasted much longer after that.
I feel bad that my dad has me to remember him. Who wants to be remembered through superficial snapshots and tasteless jokes? I’ve always said many people knew my father much better than I did. But you know what? Maybe they *didn’t*. It’s always been a secret hope of mine that perhaps I’m more like my father than I think. When he was alive, I was always skeptical cynic to his goofy stories...
A while after he had passed, I found myself in the company of two of my nephews. Their wide-eyed innocent and rapt expressions alerted me to the fact that somehow, without knowing how I got there- I was halfway through one of my father’s tales about the dreaded Snow Snakes.
“Wow! Grandpa was awful brave, wasn’t he?”
“He was indeed”
*here I swallow hard and make a decision*
“...did Grandpa ever tell you about the time he got stuck up in a tree for 2 days because a bear was chasing him?”
“Whoa! No! He did!?”
“Yeah- he did.
It was 40below zero and the stinging sideways snowstorm made Grandpa lose his way in the forest. Luckily for him, though at the time he had no way of knowing- he was armed with not only his amazing sense of adventure but also his planned lunch of tuna fish and saltines...”
I can’t believe it’s been 5 years. And I still cry when I write and think of these things. And I still laugh when I write and think of these things.
<3
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