Trinidads

Trinidads

Yesterday was Father’s day.  Even though I am Max’s “daddy’,  that is really a story about a boy and his dog.  I thought back to my earliest memories I have in life…those of it being just my Mom and I.  She acted young and looked even younger.  Some even mistook her for my older sister.  I came from what would be considered a broken home….but in name only.  Even though it was just my Mom and I for a while, a male presence was always predominantly there.  This however, marked my first Father’s Day without any one of those figures.

My Grandfather was an immigrant from Hungary.  He carried the old world work ethic.  I did not know much about his work life before I was born.  I found it ironic that recently I discovered his old LIRR pass, back when they put your picture on it.  As I knew him, he was a headwaiter at a fine restaurant on Long Island.  My Mom and I would pick him up after work and he would usually sneak me out a tortoni.  Even though my Mom and I lived in a separate apartment in Rosedale, we spent most of our time at my Grandparent’s house.  When I turned 4, so I could go to Kindergarten in Valley Stream, we moved in.  It was shortly thereafter I remember the only time he ever disciplined me.  To this day I am still lazy about untying my shoes.  My wife yells at me, my Mom yelled at me and my Grandfather yelled at me…mostly because he could not tolerate the laziness.  As a kid, I had a tendency to literally ‘kick off my shoes”.  One day in my room, I kicked off the first shoe no problem.  The second however held on for the ride a bit too long.  I launched it through the top pain of the bedroom window.  The sound of breaking glass brought my Grandfather in.  He looked at me sitting on the bed in socks, and a shoe residing between the screen and shattered glass.  It was obvious what had happened…I got a belt to go with my shoe.  It would be the last time I kicked off my shoes.  At age 8, my Mom remarried.  We moved only 4 houses away so my Grandfather would still be a big part of my life.  Much like myself, he was a dog lover too.  And being he brought home true doggie bags from the restaurant, our dogs really loved him back.  I swore they could tell when he left his house to come over after work.  They would be waiting at the door for his arrival.  My Grandmother passed away when I was 10.  It was the only time I would see my Grandfather cry.  It was his first wife, but my Grandmother had been married before.  It would seem our family tree was fruit bearing…and that fruit was Divorce.  He carried on because my Mom was the other girl in his life, and she was his only child.  He eventually retired, begrudgingly, in his mid 70’s.  He would come by more often, and that certainly made the dogs happy.  Fritzy, the dachshund, was his favorite.  My Great Uncle (and Godfather), my Grandfather’s brother, had gotten Fritzy’s brother from the same litter, Barron…so there was even more of a connection.  When Fritzy passed, his love turned to our other dog Cricket.  Cricket and my Grandfather both seemed to miss Fritzy and they spent a lot of time together.  It was on one of their walks in the winter of 1984 that my grandfather would hit his head, slipping on the ice.  He lay unconscious until he was found…and Cricket never left his side.  My grandfather would survive the surgery but never regained consciousness.  He passed in February of 1984.

My Mom remarried when I was 8.  She had dated a few men beforehand.  She would always introduce me to make sure they knew it was a package deal.  My Step-Dad and Mom started dating when I was around 6, so it gave me time to get to know him.  He had several kids from his previous marriages, but he treated me as if I was his own.  There were about 4-5 years when it seemed I was the only child in his life.  I was certainly spoiled during those days…and I have albums of pictures as proof.  My Step-Dad was into sports, so he helped me get involved.  It was he who led me to become a Steelers fan.  One of the first games we watched together was Super Bowl X.  Lets just say there was money involved…and he told me we needed the Steelers to win.  The Steelers went on to victory that day and I have been rooting for them ever since.  Things were good, but it was not the “white picket” fence life that it appeared to be.  Eventually it would all change anyway.  Not “bad” things per say, just a blog for a different day.  I had always called him by his first name, even after he married my Mom.  It wasn’t until my brother was born when I was 9 that I started to call him Dad.  He deserved it for many reasons, but mostly I thought it would be less confusing for the newborn.  A few years later, he approached about adopting me.  I was told it was my choice.  I had never felt the need to make it official, so I did not give it much thought before.  I was in Junior High at the time…and I realized something.  In class we sat alphabetically.  As a W, I sat in the row by the window, usually one of the last seats…something I really preffered.  If I were adopted, I would be an M.  That would place me right smack dab in the middle of the room, with the fearful potential of being placed directly in front of the teacher.  I would have to pass.  I explained my sole reason to him for not wanting to be adopted.  He chuckled and my Mom just shook her head.  Remember, this is the same kid who a few short years later would choose where to go to college based on being able to watch the Steelers.  In my 30’s both my Step-Dad and my Mom’s health would decline.  My Mom, even though she was 14 years his junior, would pass first.  My Step-Dad had been in and out of the hospital for a few years already at this point.  2 months later he went in for the last time.  Not having my Mom sitting by his side, I don’t think he had the strength to carry on.  He passed February of 2003.

Lastly, but firstly, was my biological Dad.  He and my Mom split before I was 2, so I never remember him being around.  He would however occasionally visit, and that usually led to a commotion.  Substance addiction will do that.  I remember when I was around 6, he came by and whisked me off on his motorcycle.  We traveled to a neighborhood I did not know and of course where did we wind up…a bar.  It was some 25 years later, while trailing a group of girls I had just met, that I would wind up unknowingly in that same bar.  That night I got to use a line not many people can, “Hey, I haven’t been in this bar since I was 6 years old”.  Eventually my Mom would have to divorce my Dad so she could remarry.  He would still come around every now and then…and my Step-Dad would always welcome him in.  After my Mom and Step-Dad passed, it seemed he wanted to get closer.  He did not want to lose his last link to the past.  My Dad had been sober for over 15 years at this point, so it was easier to interact over the next several years.  In late 2010 he was diagnosed with stomach cancer.  Shortly after his diagnosis, my Dad and my Aunt, his sister, came to the house for New Years Day.  It was the first time I had seen my Aunt in almost 30 years.  She took one look around the house and just marveled.  She shared with me my Dad was also into the World War II planes when he was younger, just as I was.  How did I get this from him even though he didn’t raise me?  I never knew this fact since my Dad was never one to share.  He always steered the conversation towards me.  He felt I was the only thing that he had done right in his life.  I would find out at his funeral how much he bragged about me.  His friend’s that I never met approached me like they had known me my whole life.  One of them handed me an envelope, he said he was to give this to me after my Dad died.  Seems Dad had junked his old car to buy me a Terry Bradshaw rookie card…I guess he really was listening.  Dad fought the cancer for over a year.  He passed in February of 2012.

Each one of these men would have a long lasting effect on me in their own way…without even knowing.  I became a dog lover, a Steeler fan and a World War II buff.

One of Christina’s friends recently suggested that I started writing this blog because of the passing of my Dad.  This will only add to that fodder.  This may be the reason, it may be A reason, it may have nothing to do with it at all.  I have no idea.  I am an enigma to myself.  There are lots of thoughts in this head of mine.  And those thoughts could have led me to do or be many things…but one thing I will never be is a Father.  It was never a conscious decision on my part and I don’t believe it was 

subconsciously based on my past.

It just seems the passage of time has made the choice for me.