Me, or my Dad?
One evening, my wife and I were looking through some old video tapes. If you’re anything like me, you find reasons to save almost anything recorded. “Hey, that’s the Diana Ross concert from Central Park, we have to keep that. That’s an historic event, and I was there. “
As we reviewed several tapes that included martial arts instructional videos to episodes of Oprah, we came across what might be one of the first recordings I made with a video camera. The star of this tape was my nephew. He was a 10 month old learning to walk. As we sat watching the tape, trying to remember the exact occasion, I heard a laugh. “Is that me? Wait I think that’s my Dad. Is that me or my Dad?” I continued on until finally my Dad was in the picture and my wife confirmed it was my father.
For some, hearing the voices of loved ones who passed on can be disturbing. Hearing my father’s voice and laugh was like the sun pushing through a rainy summer afternoon as a bored child stuck in doors. As I listened to him talking and laughing I was amazed at how much we sound alike.
It will be ten years today since my father went home. Before he passed, he went through seven years of Parkinson’s disease. The last year and a half, he was unable to speak.
My sister and mother frequently comment that I am so much like my father. Sometimes it brings over a feeling of deep pride, while others seem meant to let me know I should correct that “bad” habit. Maybe constantly hearing these comments have dulled my senses and made it difficult to think about the ways he and I are alike.
Some things we share I have known since I was a youngster. I have exactly the same hands as my Dad. My knees seemed to be jacked up like his too. My father had this way of getting on my mother’s nerve by calling her “Sweetie” when he was annoyed with her. I do exactly the same thing. It just so happens, it works, my wife gets annoyed at this every time. Try it fellas!
More importantly there are many qualities that I can only hope to one day achieve. His amazing command of the English language. He read the dictionary from cover to cover. His ability to keep his cool under any circumstance. We only knew he was upset because he would get this big bump in his fore head, other than that you would never know. I don’t think anyone outside of the home could get him to that point. I first learned that my father was so cool during high school. Some friends came to my house before we headed to a party. My Dad was sitting in the living room in his usual chair. He greeted each of my friends real calm and easy – never judging them. He told us to have a good time and be safe. Apparently this was not the norm because the conversation for the first fifteen minutes after leaving the house was about how my father had to be one of the coolest Dad’s they ever met. I never knew!
Dad was old school. I am talking real old school. Count Basie, Duke Ellington, part your hair on the left, call women broads, but not pejoratively, and carry an attaché case to work old school.
In his days, sacrifice was not a big deal, it came with the job. Commitment to his family was the most important part of his life. Unselfishly going through months with a whole in his shoe in order to be sure that he has enough money to cover tuition and other expenses for his children to attend private school. Taking the time after work to spend with his children in the park, despite the day to day problems that make staying home and watching the boob tube sound appealing.
Dad would often brush his hand against the back of my neck. It wasn’t something he did for any specific reason, rather just enjoying the tender feeling of his child. This continued through my teenage and young adult years. It sometimes annoyed me when he caught me at the wrong moment. Ironically, now that I have lost my sight I find myself doing that even more to my children. Often I stop to think of my Dad when I am touching my daughters. I hope somehow he too can feel their warmth through me.
SBDL4E…
As we reviewed several tapes that included martial arts instructional videos to episodes of Oprah, we came across what might be one of the first recordings I made with a video camera. The star of this tape was my nephew. He was a 10 month old learning to walk. As we sat watching the tape, trying to remember the exact occasion, I heard a laugh. “Is that me? Wait I think that’s my Dad. Is that me or my Dad?” I continued on until finally my Dad was in the picture and my wife confirmed it was my father.
For some, hearing the voices of loved ones who passed on can be disturbing. Hearing my father’s voice and laugh was like the sun pushing through a rainy summer afternoon as a bored child stuck in doors. As I listened to him talking and laughing I was amazed at how much we sound alike.
It will be ten years today since my father went home. Before he passed, he went through seven years of Parkinson’s disease. The last year and a half, he was unable to speak.
My sister and mother frequently comment that I am so much like my father. Sometimes it brings over a feeling of deep pride, while others seem meant to let me know I should correct that “bad” habit. Maybe constantly hearing these comments have dulled my senses and made it difficult to think about the ways he and I are alike.
Some things we share I have known since I was a youngster. I have exactly the same hands as my Dad. My knees seemed to be jacked up like his too. My father had this way of getting on my mother’s nerve by calling her “Sweetie” when he was annoyed with her. I do exactly the same thing. It just so happens, it works, my wife gets annoyed at this every time. Try it fellas!
More importantly there are many qualities that I can only hope to one day achieve. His amazing command of the English language. He read the dictionary from cover to cover. His ability to keep his cool under any circumstance. We only knew he was upset because he would get this big bump in his fore head, other than that you would never know. I don’t think anyone outside of the home could get him to that point. I first learned that my father was so cool during high school. Some friends came to my house before we headed to a party. My Dad was sitting in the living room in his usual chair. He greeted each of my friends real calm and easy – never judging them. He told us to have a good time and be safe. Apparently this was not the norm because the conversation for the first fifteen minutes after leaving the house was about how my father had to be one of the coolest Dad’s they ever met. I never knew!
Dad was old school. I am talking real old school. Count Basie, Duke Ellington, part your hair on the left, call women broads, but not pejoratively, and carry an attaché case to work old school.
In his days, sacrifice was not a big deal, it came with the job. Commitment to his family was the most important part of his life. Unselfishly going through months with a whole in his shoe in order to be sure that he has enough money to cover tuition and other expenses for his children to attend private school. Taking the time after work to spend with his children in the park, despite the day to day problems that make staying home and watching the boob tube sound appealing.
Dad would often brush his hand against the back of my neck. It wasn’t something he did for any specific reason, rather just enjoying the tender feeling of his child. This continued through my teenage and young adult years. It sometimes annoyed me when he caught me at the wrong moment. Ironically, now that I have lost my sight I find myself doing that even more to my children. Often I stop to think of my Dad when I am touching my daughters. I hope somehow he too can feel their warmth through me.
SBDL4E…
posted by T.Reid at 5:28 PM
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