Trying to Remember Dad

A busy week. Too much happened. So many things shouldn't hit you inside of five days.

One project is agreed on, one that's taken months to sort out. Another one, with nearly three years of work invested, is dead. I got the call about that death on Friday.

For most of my life, I've experienced an extreme level of optimism, bordering on ecstasy, coupled with a feeling of I must be utterly crazy. I don't know about most people, but I have a sneaking suspicion that they don't feel my stark duality. The ones that do, the ones I sense it in, they hide it better than I have been able to. 

In the past, when I was young, Dad tempered my extreme feelings. Dad was solid, someone who'd seen and experienced it all. He was very earthy.

Dad grew up poor, in the Appalachian Mountains, the son of an alcoholic who went to prison.  Shame surrounded his family, shame in the form of a secret that permeated everything. When I was kid I didn't know the details, but felt them in detailed ways. My dad served other people. He was exceedingly kind. It always seemed like he was trying to pay a debt that would never get paid.

Any ounce of want or desire in Dad, he gave it all to me. He couldn't have it, even if he tried. Shame held him back... It's very hard to explain... 

In the mountains, I know Dad was born in a house with a dirt floor. I know he spent nights sleeping in ditches. I know his father frightened him when he got drunk. Dad said, "My daddy had no pride. He wanted to die. Daddy scared me with his gun when he got drunk." 

Later on I learned, as an adult, that Dad feared his father would kill himself, and the rest of the family. Dad was so little when this happened, just a kid. I wonder about the year, day and exact time when it broke and shattered any potential he may have held inside... 

I've written about this so much, but can't seem to write about it enough. I'm missing something. I know I am, but laying it down in detail hasn't been enough. 

Dad died December 20, 1996. I think about him every day, but the memories have gotten fleeting and fuzzy. In the last 18 months, with all the Olympic work, the 24/7 go-go rush, I haven't had much time to reflect. This past week it occurred to me that Dad would've been overwhelmed with joy. He was a tried-and-true swimmer-parent, one who would've known all of our Olympic stars' times, down to the last one-hundredth of a second.  

The one memory that has remained solid in my mind is an image of Dad's smiling mouth. It would stretch so wide across his chubby face, his lips would turn white in splotches and dots. Dad loved seeing swimmers swim fast, no matter who they were or what stroke they did. Dad was a "Church of Swimming" dad. He drove carpool to practice on extra days, and always bought donuts for us when practice was done. When we ran crazy in the halls of Howard Johnson motels, Dad didn't call us out. When we pulled pranks with toilet-paper and shaving cream, he'd just grin and chuckle about it...

This past week was hard, though I'm sure a lot of people are suffering their own version of hardships in this economy.  I'm making it fine, maybe by most standards well, but it seems like, to get anything done, I have to pull teeth. Family life suffers. Time with my wife and daughter gets lost. Guilt has been my company. Finding out that long-term projects have died, that all that time was squandered, makes me want to scream. I'm too tired. I feel defeated.... It's funny how Dad comes back at times like these.

On Facebook, I got an email from an old and very close friend. She had found photos of Dad she wanted to pass on. I got the email days ago, the photos, but I didn't want to dwell on them. As the week got worse, and more bad news trickled in, I finally downloaded the pictures of Dad. 

My wife saw his smiling face, and said, "He'd be very proud of you." 

I knew what she meant:  No matter what you're doing for your career, your time invested in long-term projects, Dad would be proud of your work with the USA Swimming Foundation. 

My wife was right. It made me cry. My dad would've really beamed about that. Funny thing is, working for the Foundation isn't work. It's an honor. It's pure joy... That thought made me think about Dad's way in life: Maybe always serving other people wasn't about paying a debt. Maybe he experienced so much fear when he was young, he only wanted to feel joy.  

Dad, for the last 10 years of his life, worked with kids, coaching basketball and baseball for very little pay. Dad said it was his "calling," that he had to helps kids any way he could. Maybe Dad was smarter and a lot less damaged than I thought. 

 

Thanks, Kelly, for these pictures. Thanks for helping me remember.

Comments

[Brad Bacon]

Mel,
Great thoughts on your Father. I remember him well, whether watching him train you at the indoor pool at Park Rd or arguing a call with him at a softball/basketball/football game out at HUSA. You are right...he was strong and gentle at the same time. He loved sports and the people that played them. Always smiling!
Brad Bacon(youngest son of Pastor Calvin Bacon)

[Robin]

He must have been a good man, and a strong one, to break the cycle and raise you to be a loving husband and father yourself. I'm sorry you and your family are having a rough time this week with the loss of this project, but it's moving that your father's memory is your touchstone in a time of stress and grief.

[goldmedalmel]

Thanks, Jason. I appreciate it...

[Jason]

Thanks for being so incredibly open with this piece. I think it is inspirational in these hard times as people claw tooth-and-nail for every little bit.