So it’s Father’s Day, and I wanted to say Happy Father’s Day to my dad – even though he is long dead.
I had a odd relationship with my father – who was a confused young man. When he wasn’t married (between wives), he was a kick. He was always more of a friend than a dad – but that was fine. He was a pretty damn good friend. He always worked to convince me not to make his mistakes, but as an older friend – he had no problem owning up to them. Selling pot, driving cars of questionable legal ownership, driving in an impaired state, relationships with women with boyfriends (although married women were acceptable - less prone to get you beat up) – these were all things he warned me against as a pal.
And he played when he wasn’t married. Not like “toss the ball with your son” play, but like let’s pick up girls, let’s go cause trouble, let’s crash a party, let’s climb on the roofs of buildings downtown. Granted this was in the short period from 7 – 11 years old (when he married my nemisis), but it was great fun.
On the other hand, when he was married, he was a bit of a spineless chameleon. He tried to be the husband and father – but having no sense of how to do it, he would follow the lead of his wife. And for a long time he was as Deanna, a woman as uptight in public as she was a pot-smoking sex vixen in private.
He could never please her publically, as you can see from the body language in this picture of her and her family. But then Deanna could never please her mother (who I think was born with a cranky disposition and the name LaVon). The youngest son hit the drugs and didn’t try, which just made Deana try harder and LaVon judge her worse.
But reliving life with the ice-queen isn’t the point of this post. The point is that my dad was a lot of fun sometimes – even though he stole money from me and would forget me for days on end. (Hey it taught me to be self-sufficient!) I am not complaining.
We spent two weeks one year flying kites in Palos Verdes because he got into kites (and he pulled me out of school to do it – because he wasn’t working and was bored – and because I was ahead of the class anyway). We surveyed downtown from the Bonaventure Hotel roof before it was open. He’ld pick me up the middle of the day for a road trip to San Diego where he would drop me off at the Sand Diego Zoo for 3 hours. Now granted, he used the 3 hours to go across the border to score a shopping bag of pot for reselling in Inglewood – but hey, he didn’t take me with him over the border - that's count for good parenting in my book :-). And I had Grandma Early’s number in San Diego if he got picked up.
He was a lousy father, but a great friend. I tried to tell him that, but he only heard the bad. I even started with the good – but if I didn’t start “you were a great dad”, he tuned me out. I so he never heard my thanks or my “I appreciated what I had”. Too bad. I don’t think he ever really learned why I did love him.
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FYI, My mother, not wanting to appear mean, wrote me personally to question the nickname "Big Dick". I have to explain. Zela (my grandmother) once told me that while he was in High School a friend called the house and asked for "Big Dick". My Grandmother explained they had the wrong number. My father raced to the phone to say that was his new nickname (self-given). When Zela and my grandfather couldn't stop laughing at him and telling his friends it was inappropriate "Mitch" dropped that name :-).