Since I started checking out the various blogs I’ve found two posts that really dealt with me in an area I prefer to avoid. Fathers. Early last week I read a post from A Free Spirit Butterfly in which she talked about America's fascination with BASEBALL! I thought baseball?!?!? What she talkin’ ‘bout baseball for?!?!? Well it wasn’t about baseball; it was about dad’s excitement over being able to share one of his loves with his girl. I was happy for her; happy with a touch of envy. Then my blogging inspiration, Attorneymom, posted a wonderful tribute to her Father. She was even able to describe the soul of her father not just the looks. I felt heaviness for AM and prayed for her. But; still a little envy. Don didn’t write much but he did say of his own father that he missed him. I felt for Don but still with envy. I only miss not knowing what could have been if I had pursued a relationship. On August 6 of 197sumthin I celebrated my 5th birthday and my father was already gone back to Mobile, Alabama. I would see him whenever I visited my maternal grandma, but he wouldn’t return to Paterson, New Jersey until I graduated from Eastside High. It was cool that he was there, but it was my graduation so his presence after so many years couldn’t make it any greater. The first time he had a significant impact on me was in 1993. I was engaged, living in Richmond Virginia, and it was again August 6, my birthday. I went out to dinner with my fiancé and a local DJ and got back to my place after midnight (August 7). I had a few VM messages telling me to call my mother in New Jersey. I was pissed ‘cause I knew something was wrong. So I called mom who told me, “Sam got sick. He had a heart attack or something”. I was more pissed and said, so how is he. She said “He died. He didn’t make it.” I said ok. I’ll put my black suit in the cleaners. Let me know when you’ll be coming through Richmond to pick me up. The impact of what had happened didn't hit me till I went to church. I still had hopes for a relationship with my father. After all the years of distance and neglect, I was still hoping to have my parents together in the same place on my wedding day. I think my sister thought "good riddance". Anyway 15 years later I now put EXTRA effort into celebrating my birthday. And extra effort into trying to be the type of man my grandfather (died 1963) was. They both died on August 6, but one was a preacher that had 6 kids and raised many more, the other was an alcoholic that had 2 kids and raised none. I took after the preacher. Maybe I'm silly, but I still hope I get a chance to see Sam again.
This is toooo loooong but if your still here, Thanks.
Comments
I know now, that it was the act of forgiving that freed me and I too hope to see him again and wrap my arms around him and tell him that I understand now that the genarational curse were never broken. God reveals everything in due season. Forgiveness is a mighty tool!
My father was an alcoholic as well. He was there for me when he could be. He knew I did not like his drinking, so he would not come around when he wasn't right. We were still best friends and I talked to him about everything. He is the reason I love sports and music. Whenever the Yankees were in town, he would take me to games.
On November 23, 1998 my daughter and I were calling him to tell him happy birthday. We called all day and he never answered. Later that night we got a call from his landlord telling us that he was found dead in his apartment. Finding out my father had passed away on his birthday was the worst moment of my life.
Even though he wasn't always there, I know that my father did the best he could. The disease of alcoholism is powerful. His father had it as well.
I have a lot of good memories of my father and those are the ones I choose to think about. He was the one person i've always felt I could talk to about anything.
I really miss my father and hope that he is looking down on me, smiling and saying, "Good job Bugalou."
I appreciate you
I think if I really were to open up about my father it would force me to come to grips with the fact that, although he died when I was only 8 (he was 29), and we lived in two different cities, I am much like him, both good and bad. His mother, my grandmother, she raised me up until the day of her untimely death. He was my father, she was my dad.
You took after the preacher - good choice I do believe. I didn't necessarily break down and cry either, once I learned of his murder.