Papa
Father's Day is an uncomplicated affair at our house. We have Hubby, the young dad, to present ties, DVDs and power tools to. There's my father-in-law to honor too, usually with homemade cards, fishing gear and power tools. My own dad, I tell my boys, is in heaven. To them he's a picture in a shadowbox, a distinguished-looking, mustachioed guy with his hand to his chin, or a name on a gravestone.
"Grandpa in the grass," my youngest once called him.
Fathers. Even today I have to cry.
"Grandpa in the grass," my youngest once called him.
Fathers. Even today I have to cry.
My dad was often compared to Steve McQueen (he had that cool factor). He sang like Neil Diamond or Frank Sinatra (depending on his mood). He saved lives. I know because his patients would often approach me in his office and tell me so. Mom made sure we knew what a great dad we had from the start. The gallant Dr. Vicente.
We dropped everything we were doing as soon as he walked through the door and ran to kiss him. Mom didn't eat until he got home. As we got older, she taught us to make his favorites (fried rice and fried eggs for an afternoon snack!) and just how to mix his morning coffee (lots of sugar, just a dollop of evaporated milk).
When I was 19, I learned my father had cheated on Mom several times (four that we know) and that he was actually still seeing his mistress on the Thursdays he said he was working overtime at the hospital. That he had just come from her house every Thursday that he trudged up the stairs from the garage and, wincing, would say, "I'm so tired, Anissa." It IS hard work to lead two lives. He had the gall to ask Mom if they could keep things the way they were. Mom said no and he moved out.
Every daughter's father is a virgin, yes.
It took me a couple of years to find my way back to my dad again. Mom, bless her, never said an ugly word, didn't come between our relationship with Dad. By the time he died in 1995 (remarried, with a 3-year-old daughter), he and I had come to an acceptance of sorts. Having lost us, he sought us out, hugged us more, told us he missed us, was proud of us.
It took another year before I could stop crying every time I drove by Rose Hills on the 605. And the pain of his death, the hurt of his cheating, is always just a Neil Diamond song away, just scratch lightly at the surface and the hurt is fresh and real again.
My son's own Papa is a disciplinarian too, like Dad was. He's handsome, and generous, he's compassionate and he has a horror of breaking our lovely family up. I thank God every day for him.
My mom loves him too, because he's super helpful, and because, I think, he has a sense of humor about life. She doesn't pretend to give me advice about marriage:
When I tell her some acquaintance/friend of a friend/cousin would excuse his infidelity with, "Well, my wife doesn't take care of me, " she would laugh her operatic laugh.
"I made your dad breakfast and coffee every day for 29 years and he still did what he did," she would say.
Families. Nothing happens in a family that goes beyond forgiveness. Pat Conroy wrote that. I agree. I could have held on to my anger and be right or I could have had peace.
I chose peace.
We dropped everything we were doing as soon as he walked through the door and ran to kiss him. Mom didn't eat until he got home. As we got older, she taught us to make his favorites (fried rice and fried eggs for an afternoon snack!) and just how to mix his morning coffee (lots of sugar, just a dollop of evaporated milk).
When I was 19, I learned my father had cheated on Mom several times (four that we know) and that he was actually still seeing his mistress on the Thursdays he said he was working overtime at the hospital. That he had just come from her house every Thursday that he trudged up the stairs from the garage and, wincing, would say, "I'm so tired, Anissa." It IS hard work to lead two lives. He had the gall to ask Mom if they could keep things the way they were. Mom said no and he moved out.
Every daughter's father is a virgin, yes.
It took me a couple of years to find my way back to my dad again. Mom, bless her, never said an ugly word, didn't come between our relationship with Dad. By the time he died in 1995 (remarried, with a 3-year-old daughter), he and I had come to an acceptance of sorts. Having lost us, he sought us out, hugged us more, told us he missed us, was proud of us.
It took another year before I could stop crying every time I drove by Rose Hills on the 605. And the pain of his death, the hurt of his cheating, is always just a Neil Diamond song away, just scratch lightly at the surface and the hurt is fresh and real again.
My son's own Papa is a disciplinarian too, like Dad was. He's handsome, and generous, he's compassionate and he has a horror of breaking our lovely family up. I thank God every day for him.
My mom loves him too, because he's super helpful, and because, I think, he has a sense of humor about life. She doesn't pretend to give me advice about marriage:
When I tell her some acquaintance/friend of a friend/cousin would excuse his infidelity with, "Well, my wife doesn't take care of me, " she would laugh her operatic laugh.
"I made your dad breakfast and coffee every day for 29 years and he still did what he did," she would say.
Families. Nothing happens in a family that goes beyond forgiveness. Pat Conroy wrote that. I agree. I could have held on to my anger and be right or I could have had peace.
I chose peace.
I admire your mother. She was the bigger person in being so cool when she could have bashed your father. Thank you for being so transparent and sharing.
I was just telling my husband I don't think kids ever get over the pain of divorce. His kids are 18 and 19 and they still have hurt even though we have been together for 13 years...like you said you scratch the surface and the pain is there.
Thanks, Ana. And I was 19 when they divorced! Although I DO know couples who are so wonderfully civil. They attend their daughter's recitals and programs and even though they arrive separately, they sit together. And when their daughter graduated from 8th grade last month, they sent her a wonderful note signed, "Mommy and Daddy." Then there's a set of parents in the same class who asked if they could be seated in different sections of the hall where the graduation was going to be! I think I've learned to try and always make the loving choice and leave it at that. Thanks for sharing too! You must have been just a few minutes behind us on the 605!