Fathers Day

I don't even know my own husbands cell phone number.... but I do know this number. (215) 581-4523.
I called this number almost every night as a child. "Aaron Speaking" "Hi Dad! When are you coming home?" "Hey Munckles, I'm leaving right now!" Sometimes on cue he would know it would be me calling and would answer "Hey Sweetie!" and then would come home embarrassed that he had answered the phone to a potential client . It wasn't his "munckles" on the phone that would call promptly at 8pm.

That was a very long time ago....and this is a very hard blog to write. It's not fathers day, it's June 11th and it's 12:03 in the morning. I can't sleep this week. I have been consumed with other thoughts. To get my mind to sleep I try to think of my dad, and all my early childhood memories of him. I usually end up crying myself to sleep, which is often the case when I think of my past childhood and how it went to hell. Whenever I plan on writing a blog about a person or a memory I spend about a week before hand thinking about what I want to say and then visualize the story line. This story line keeps plunging off a cliff, and it is taking a lot of self control to focus on "dad... well spent time"

Like I said, this is going to be one of the hardest things I have ever written.... perhaps because it is a bitter sweet story... of a man that may have made me into what I am today.... a strong minded, un-trusting woman, that is waiting for people that she loves to leave her for someone else. That's what men do... they lie and cheat. Animals though... they need me, they love me, and they don't ever hurt me. Which is why I will never be alone again.

When I do my memory game I go back as far as I can remember. I try to conjure things that are not in photographs but... are raw. That phone number for instance, just came to me. The last time I dialed it was around 1989... I still remember my dads work phone number.

The next thing that comes to mind is dinner. Every night my mother had dinner on the table. My dad sat at the head of the table and then what followed was food that I disliked, my brothers sitting on the other side of the table looking disinterested, depressed or preoccupied,  my mother laughing and my dad at the head of the table... telling a story in a terrible cockney accent while sucking the marrow out of a pork chop bone. Disgusting.

Next memory. Me, scratching dandruff off his head while he told the story, and telling him that it wasn't dandruff,  they were knits. Don't ask.... I was a weird child that had/has a terrible picking problem even to this day.

Next Memory, weekends..... Saturday 11am. Riding Lesson. My mom slept on the left side of the bed, my dad on the right, and I would join them in the mornings plopped in the middle. Around 10 am he would get up, take a shower and then come out, sit on the side of the bed and tie his shoes... I can still feel the bed moving as he tied his shoes. I can even still smell the soap that he used....yellow bar of soap.. Dial maybe? And the smell of his aftershave... white bottle with a ship on it.... ummm... cant remember the name I want to say Old Bay, or Bay Rum?.  I can still feel the frustration from both myself and my mother as we walked out the door. Late. My dad was always late... it is a terrible trait. He made up for it though. Every Sunday morning he made breakfast in bed for my mom and I while we watched Good Morning America with that fat bald headed man. Dry eggs on toast, with bacon and ketchup with coffee and orange juice and toast with marmelade. He was good to us, which made it hard when he left, we had no idea that he was so unhappy.

So very hard this is.... seeing as it will be fathers day... and I want to concentrate. CONCENTRATE.... liz.... on the nice things... He tried. To be.... a great dad. He sucked as a husband to my mom. They are two very different things. He was kind to me, and I missed him, which is why... this sucks so bad. I needed my dad, but after all these years I have convinced myself that maybe the best thing he could have done was to leave because I might have been too spoiled... too rotten to deserve the love that he could have given me.

Next memory. Spoiled Rotten. He would pull up in the driveway after work and almost always had a present for me. I remember one time my mom yelled at me because he came empty handed and I ran to him, threw my arms around him and said "wheres my present?!" like a brat. Still to this day every time he comes over to my house he brings me something... Mother Earth Magazine, a Chicken Magazine, Something that may interest me. One time he even came with fresh ground coffee, a french press, half and half, whip cream, and a few magazines, and then made me coffee.... that was amazing. "Presents don't buy you love" is a one liner my mother always says... which is true, because now I'm just so happy to him, and I almost feel guilty when he brings me something as if... I have to give him something back, but I know it's just his way. He's very thoughtful.

He helped the hubster build a roof to the chicken coop. He showed up on time and brought a few things with him to help out the project. On his way to our house he pulled over and cut down a 15' large beam of bamboo... and stuck it in his mini sports car sedan, with the bamboo coming out the sunroof. I don't think my dad knows how to feel embarrassed, he wears his heart on his sleeve, and he is a great a little helper.

Next memory, fishing.... in the Adirondacks. One time he tried to teach me fly fishing, I think I snagged him a few times with my whip it motion, and that was the end of that lesson. He does a grunt noise when he gets frustrated. I heard that sound when I flung the line into the bush behind me. Classic. After that I got a regular rod with a regular real which caught regular fish, that my dog Travis would try to eat out of the "caught fish bucket" My dad loves fishing. He even had a book called "the Joys of Trout" to which I make fun-of, but if you mention this book, he will say "That is a great book!, have you read it? I would love to have that back and read it again"

My brothers have a strange relationship with my dad. They are much older then me, ten and twelve years older, so my memories of them are blurry. I was trying to remember a time where all three of us kids were interacting with dad. The last time we were together as a whole family unit was around 1990 and a strange man we knew was going off to the Gulf War. My oldest brother, my mom, dad, Travis our westie, and I piled into the ugliest looking mini van ever made and drove to Camp Lajoon to say our goodbyes. It was Christmas. My dad had the camcorder because it was the 90's and was taking footage of my brothers and I running up and down the beach with Travis. My dad was itching to get a part of the raw spirit of things and handed the camera to my mother who filmed my dad as he sashayed and skipped down the beach with a huge smile on his face. It was strange to see the youth in my dads face, the spirit in him was strong even though he was conflicted at the time. He really loved his kids, and it showed.

On the way back to the hotel the strange man was driving, and my dad was itching to use the bathroom. He insisted that we pull over on the side of the road so he could relieve himself. The whole family is in the ugly van mind you.... and he jumps out and starts to urinate on the wheel of the van. My mom rolls her eyes, and sighs..."Oh what is he doing it there for?!" And with that the strange man starts to pull away ever so slowly. Hysterical bouts of laughter pour out of my brothers,my mother and myself. My dad gives a look of "Are you mental?" and moves over to continue his urination on the tire, to which the strange man once again pulls forward ever so slowly. Again, large fits of laughter from the peanut gallery inside the van. With that, my dad finally gets the point and trudges off into the woods to finish what he started. My dad drinks a gallon of coffee a day, and will often need to use the potty. He does this hand twitch thing when he needs to do it, his fingers spread and flick, and I always know it's time for him to "go".

Last memory is of the strange man, dad and I up in the Adirondacks at Chapel Pond. My dad drove us to the pond, put on his snorkel and took off looking for fish and sludge. The strange man was left looking after me. He often was left with me.... and decided that we were going to go find dad after about a half hour of playing in the sand. After about 30 minutes of swimming (I was wearing a life preserver) the strange man found our dad snorkeling.... The strange man looked at me, and told me to be very quiet... we were going to say "hello" to dear old pappy. The strange man swam ever so slowly up to our dad and tapped him ever so gently on the shoulder. Dad shot out of the water, snorkel and all screaming through the pipe. And with that we went home. Dad was not amused. He was really pissed off, but the strange man had a glint in his eye... of satisfaction. He looked back at me and gave me a huge smile and a high five. We had found DADDY!


My dad is a strange fellow.... I don't know any person like him.
He grew up in Princeton, New Jersey. He has one liners that will sometimes perk my interest like, "I used to watch Albert Einstein walk down my street" and then he will change the subject and start talking about Quantum Physics to which my ears die off and I start to feel really dumb again.

I'm the dumb one in the family you see.... I can't hold a candle to my intellectual family. Put them in a room together and you will be overwhelmed with old classics, new age technology, and deep conversation about old movies. I recently just got yelled at by my mother for playing a game on my cell phone while there was some "deep discussion going on" about neurons at our last family pow wow.

Big whoop. I want to know good stories. It's hard to get the good stuff out of my dad. He is so wrapped up in his "fantasy world" as I like to call it. He calls me almost everyday from his car to tell me about the mulch pit that his dog loves, or the bones of a deer carcass that he is photographing every week. It doesn't take much to tickle his curiosity.

He has an eye for art, color, and photography. He is naturally gifted to see things; you wont. He walks around aimless to the normal person. Forget it, he won't notice if you shaved your head, and tattooed your face that day, but he will notice a painting on your wall, or a funny way your cat is walking. He has an eye for small detail. He has an eye for beauty of ugly things. He can find the grace in a person in a wheel chair. He can find laughter in a mute. He can find symmetry in two people walking. He can find joy in the dead. He captures things with his camera that are magic. Yet he won't remember your name or your birthday.

He fancies himself a writer too.... but I'm not one to judge on that topic.

His eye always impressed me the most, and his way of editing things. He is my biggest fan for this blog. He gives out great suggestions, and is a great mentor when it comes to focusing me on what needs to be written about or what to draw. I really wish I had his guidance earlier on in my life.... sometimes I feel like if I had him around I might have succeeded doing something real in life, instead of just my hobbies.

My dad is retired now. He was a producer at Channel 6. I feel like this is a small part of his life even though it consumed most of it. You can not.... have a conversation with him.... without him saying, "I did a story on that guy, or I knew a person, or you should call this person...." He has done a story on everything, everyone, and anywhere you can talk about. It's really annoying. And then you get the "I interviewed Bam Margera, or the Rolling Stones, and it was the worst interview ever" and then he won't really say anything about them.... and I'm all ears.... typical dad. Yet, that woman that studied the art of grass growing was a really interesting lady, and I should give her a call!

My dad also loves to do things. He once said to me about his mother that he didn't understand her as a child because she didn't work. He likes his women to work... and so his wishes came true.

Until he retired.... and got a puppy great dane,  I think his views of house keeping have changed since then. He has finally come to realize that taking care of a house during the day is no easy task. He drives his teenage daughters to school for the last time as of today. They just graduated. Congrats Alex and Zoe! He cooks dinner for them and his companion Esther, my step mom. He supports his girls with love and constant cheers of their success. You would think they were perfect the way he brags about them. He is so proud of everyone, and yet rarely does he ever get a pat on the back.  He is busy writing a documentary educational series of the Holocaust which has been interesting to watch... he is a total procrastinator! He is the backbone to his family and they are really lucky to have him around.

My dad is amazing.... while raising teenage twin girls and a  great dane he will dabble in one or two of his many hobbies.


The HOBBIES

1. Scuba Diving (not so much anymore)
2. Parachuting (Broke his knee doing it)
3. Fly Fishing (Talks more about it, then actually does it)
4. Ham Radio (We once had a 50' ham radio tower in our backyard, his call sign is KD3DJ, how many kids can say that about their dad?)
5. Microscopy (He has a lab and can take digital pictures of his findings)
6. Computers (He has to have three going at the same time with large monitors and all that other crap)
7. Air Rifles, Shooting (He likes to play with fake guns)
8. Swimming (He can swim for hours, yet can't run a mile)
9. Biking (He crashed into some kids and fractured his clavicle which has left him looking all hunched)
10. Kayaking (he likes the blow up sea kayaks. They look stupid, but he loves them!)
11. Baking (He went through a bread making phase, where he spent a month straight making bread)
12. Gourmet Cooking (He needs a recipe or else he can't do it, but it always tastes great and is takes hours and hours to make)
13. Photography (this is the only constant he has going, he always has a camera and prints large digital prints and frames them himself)
14. Wood Crafts (He has a wood shop in his basement... including a lathe... he made a jigsaw puzzle once in that room)
15. Balsam Wood Air crafting (He keeps talking about this.... it's weird)
16. Guitar Playing (He owns about 10 Martin Guitars, that he hangs on his walls like art)
17. Reading (He is a book hoarder)
18. Reading, Writing, Editing (He is always dabbling in this)
19. Walking Great Danes (his dog is his world. She looks like a Thoroughbred, she is in amazing health)


The list goes on. You better hope that whatever store you own..... that has his hobby in it.... is close to his house... because he will keep you in business.

I have tried desperately to get him into building Stables, and loving horses. But he keeps changing the subject on that one and talking about race horses, which suck.

All of these years I have been trying to figure out why my dad is so strange. His mom and dad past away from tragic deaths when he was twenty two. He was raised around lots of aristocrats and was sent off to boarding school and was raised by people other then his parents. He has a brother and four sisters that he struggled most of his life to be close with. He is pretty much a big kid that never grew up... his life is like monopoly. Trust fund baby that has really good intentions and tries his best.He is such a nice guy with strange ideals and morals.

My dad and I were really close, then we weren't, then we were, and then we weren't, and now we are. He doesn't like negative stuff... he likes to turn himself off to it. Apparently he has a very dark side and depression, and alcoholism. I never really saw any of it in him.

He's really good at hanging out with my kids. He taught Watts how to throw stones into a bucket and then taught him how to use pliers to pick up pennies. He is really patient with him, and will do things over and over and over again for him.
Watts still talks about all the things that granddad has done with him.  Its the simple things in life I need to focus on. I'm really thankful to have my dad today. It doesn't matter about yesterday. He's trying really hard to be here today and I'm really happy to have him around.

To sum this all up.... I was about six or seven in the Adirondacks. My dad had the camcorder and was trying to capture a rainbow that had just appeared over the mountains. It had just rained and you could see the steam coming up from the rocks.... It's dead silent, the crickets are echoing over the mountains. The birds had just started to sing after the storm. Then the sound of the hammock in the background plays into the camera. "What are you doing?" "I'm trying to film that rainbow over the mountains there" "Rainbow? like the song?" "Yes! like the song... can you sing it?" and with that the camera swings around and I am draped on my hammock... I started to swing back and forth singing ever so softly "Somewhere over the rainbow" and my dad captured that moment.
That's what he does....He can see the beautiful in the ignored.

I really love my dad.
My day feels wrong if I haven't heard from him.

Watts with his grand-dad throwing rocks into a bucket. Happy Fathers Day...