My story isn’t unlike a lot of other people’s who come from a single parent household. My father wasn’t around when I was growing up. Not because he was a deadbeat dad, but simply because he was no longer alive. My father was the kind who liked to get around back in the day and as a result, I have a number of half brothers and sisters.
March 7th would have been my father’s 80th birthday. That fact barely hit me because I never typically even thought about it. Why should you commemorate the birthday of someone you never knew? As far as I know, he wasn’t even around to celebrate my one and only birthday that we were both alive to share, not that I wouldn’t have remembered much of the experience anyway.
If you do the math, you’ll see that I came along fairly late in my father’s life. I have no illusions that we would have had a great relationship. My brother James is the only person still living whom I know of who
remembers what our father was like. I wasn’t even 2 when he passed,
and most of the people I know of who knew him are no longer with us.
From what I understand though, he wasn’t much of a dad to my brother or
our sisters, both of whom sadly are no longer with us either.
Still, like any of us, I’m curious as to where it is I come from. And I lament the fact that I never got to know him, for good or bad. I know that he was married three times. I know that he served in Korea. I know that he was a ladies man, frequently at the expense of said marriages. I know that he could have a vicious temper but was generally an enjoyable man to be around. He liked to go out and drink and smoke and club. I know he was a police officer. I know that my mother loved him but I don’t know if it was mutual.
In the end, this is just a little note from me to him that he may have always been out of sight, but wasn’t always out of mind. Happy 80th, James.