My Dad (Blow Me Down)

Chris and I were watching Gone, Baby, Gone and for some reason the last scene reminded of all those tender times I sat next to my dad on the couch in the comfort of my childhood living room. The story line to the movie has nothing to do with my dad or family in anyway, but lately I have been trying to accentuate the positive and remember all those warm, fuzzy moments. Especially, since my parents divorced not so well, and the bile seems to come up every so often and I have seen each of my grandparents buried (not to mention seeing them in some form of death, when I’ve never seen any dead person before) in the past three months or so. Those moments that bring joy and thankful thoughts and fill me up with happiness carry me through some dark times. Not that I don’t lose it and cry at random times and scrawl “You are okay” in my day-minder because things get very clinical, but I try to maintain with these aforementioned happy little thoughts.
Dad was a big bear of a man, in a small child’s perspective and he still is, but has turned into Santa instead. If you are a fan of the live-action Popeye movie in the 80s, featuring Robin Williams, then you will know what my dad looks like because he looks a lot like Popeye. No, just kidding. He looks just like Bluto, the villain. You know, “I’m mean, he’s mean, he’s mean, he’s mean. You know what I mean,” as the song went in the movie and he stomped forward with a menacing look, bent on smashing Popeye’s or whoever’s face in. That’s my dad! He was your polo and Dockers wearing dad that could silence you with a stern look. But what I have been remembering lately are the memories I have from early childhood. They happy years of Laddie our incredibly short-legged Scottish-terrier, Father-Daughter square dances and before the stressful house add-on.

I know he doesn’t have the affinity with younger children like I do, or maybe he pretends he doesn’t, but I know he tried or at least did a great job with Mike, my bother, and I.
Sitting on the couch does not sound like a great memory, but sitting smushed up beside my dad was special to me. I remember I was not very old and I fit right in next to his big belly under his heavy arm. And as we both spaced out, watching the television, I would listen to his breathing and his heartbeat. Soon enough my breaths would match his and we would breath in and out together. My dad’s side was one of the safest places to me as a little girl.
Going swimming with Dad at the Cabana Club was a rare treat. Looking back at it (don’t hate me Dad!) it was like bringing Bigfoot to the pool. I’m sure the joy of having a parent actually going swimming with you, versus just enjoying Adult Swim while you kick your feet on the wall, can resonate with some of you. It was pure joy when Dad got in. Dad would slowly walk into the pool and center himself in the middle of the 5-foot deep end. It was like having our own personal, hair-covered island! We used him like a jungle gym and it gets better, he was very strong. So with not too much begging and badgering, he would “launch” us into the air and we would fly for a few seconds before slashing down into the pool water. I’m sure the lifeguards loved us.
While life can get particularly complicated with growing up, new family members, death, and masters degrees, but those old memories only get sweeter in hindsight. Thanks Dad!