That thing your dad did

Feels different with time

A favor…

Would you raise that mug of whatever you got there and help me wish my dad a happy 78th birthday today?

Cheers!

Happy birthday, Pop!

Oop, he fell back to sleep. That was perfect timing then. Thanks for that.

He’s having a pretty good week, overall.

Yes, right. Only Monday. But still, he hasn’t missed a pill or anything. He’s used his walker to get to the bathroom every time so far. So that’s good. We get anxious when he springs up and starts walking across the room like that. What the hell is he thinking?

It’s the Parkinson’s.

Not the shakes as much for him. He kind of lucked out on that part. But it’s killed his cognition, and his eyesight.

Or the drugs did. Hard to tell at this point what’s causing what.

Tinkering. That’s what he misses most. He always had a project going. Any given day he’d pull the carburetor off the car and clean the injectors, just because.

Then there was the woodworking phase. Started with a new tool for sanding down the cabinet doors before staining them. Next thing you know he’s building new cabinets. They sure loved him at Home Depot.

Sometimes he gets to telling stories about all the different jobs he had. It’s pretty amazing how he remembers every person’s name from decades ago. Couldn’t name a single actor in a show he’s watching, but you get every detail about some dude named Ray Defalio who hired him as a mechanic in 1967. It’s like the guy’s there in the room with you.

Dad’s the reason I’m a writer, you know.

No, no. He never wrote. Or even read, really.

I just always wanted his approval, but he was… busy.

So once there was a writing contest at school for Father’s Day. Probably 5th grade? You had to pick an adjective from the list and write about why your dad was so ______.

I remember Dad had gotten promoted at work like twice that year. He was very proud about it. So I chose “successful.” The line that took the prize was something like, “If my dad gets promoted one more time he’ll have his boss’s job.”

The teachers thought that was the funniest thing.

They held a little ceremony in the classroom where the dads came to get a certificate with the letter you wrote.

A teacher read my piece to the room and everyone laughed out loud at that line. Dad acted bashful, but I could see how much the recognition meant to him. I don’t think he’d ever been celebrated by strangers like that before.

I’ve never stopped trying to use words to get reactions from people.

Oh yeah. We’ve talked about it. He knows.

Dad and I have no unfinished business. There were some tough stretches back when I thought the only way to be cool was to be pissed off about something.

We’re good now. He made sure of it. Asked me directly on a car ride once a few years back.

“You know this for yourself now,” he said. “Being a parent is, uh. You do the best you can with what ya got at the time.”

“Yeah, no doubt,” I said.

“So. If there’s anything you want to say to… I don’t know. Anything that’s still bothering you from the past… or…”

He was giving me space to clear the air.

I didn’t jump in right away. I truly thought for a moment. Scanning my mind for any festering wounds.

The divorce. How he left the state when I was thirteen and told me it was my job to protect my mom and sister. When I would call him from a road gig—a real working stand-up comedian, and he’d ask, “Are you gonna look for a job when you get back?” Random political differences.

“Nope,” I said. “I’m good. You did a great job. I’m proud to be your son.”

And I meant it.