How is it so easy to write about my mother, and so hard to write about my dad?
The fact that I shrink from writing about him tells me I’m not quite ready to sleep in Thursday mornings and drop Therapy Guy just yet.
With Big Edie, it’s all very clear. She’s my crazymaker. That’ll never change. I love her so much that if I loved her one tiny bit more my heart would explode, there’d be bits & chunks of my heart splattered all over the wall.
With Fred, the feelings are not quite as easily identified.
I discovered Fred natural spring water last summer. I have two empty bottles in my kitchen cabinet I cannot bring myself to throw out. The man has been dead for almost 9 years.
He had a photography studio, the logo was a five foot tall representation of his face. The studio closed when I was 15. I am 52. The giant face, paint peeling, chipped & faded, is in my coat closet, facing the wall, behind the coats. Sometimes I tell myself I keep it because my Aunt Magda designed it. Uh-huh. I say that. I do.
Fred taught me life lessons the best he could. He taught me what he knew.
If you don’t know where your next meal is coming from, get yourself a job in a restaurant. Valuable advice, easily adapted to all sort of situations.
I learned how to turn a dollar into two with bar bets I couldn’t lose. And how to pick the sucker who would pay rather than punch me in the nose for getting over.
One of my earliest memories is of shooting crap with my dad against the fireplace wall in our house. It was how I learned to count, shooting crap & play blackjack. Big Edie yelling from the kitchen, “Don’t take the kid’s money.” Fred yelling back, “If the kid’s gonna learn to gamble, the kid’s gotta learn to lose.” I sat mutely while he scooped up my allowance. My three pennies. I was three years old.
I learned not to risk anything I wasn’t willing to lose.
I was terrified of Fred. And I worshipped him.
He taught me how to survive on nothing, or almost nothing. How to get by if I had no money, no place to live, no where to eat. I’m grateful for those lessons.
What I didn’t learn was how to handle abundance of any kind–love, attention, money, time, talent, dreams, friends. He passed on what he knew, that’s all he could do.
The lessons of love & abundance I’ve had to learn on my own and it’s been harder than it sounds. I didn’t grow receptors for that stuff. And so, me & Therapy Guy, we have a future together. I believe he’s planning on an Ivy League college for his kid. I believe I’m paying for it. Lucky for me, I know how to turn a dollar into two.
I wasn’t sure he even liked me – you told me he thought of me as a son.
M
You can only imagine how confusing it was for me then…he was crazy about you and more than that, he respected you. That didn’t come easily to him. Unfortunately for him, nothing did, really.
I remember your Dad vividly….he was the most creative man I knew growing up…and inspired me to get into photography. He was larger than life to a 7 yr old !
I can see him. Hear him. Feel his impact on your life. And that’s all you, dear friend. Giving flesh to memories so we can learn from more than mere shadows. I absolutely identify with the fear/worship aspect of your relationship. Still have my dad, but it’s bloody tough to get past some of that awestruck terror, even now. Love you for sharing your history.
IT WAS JUST YESTERDAY THAT I TOLD MY MOTHER- SHE TOLD ME AT THE AGE OF 4, NT TO LEND OUT WHAT YOU CAN’T AFFORD TO LOSE. I’VE KEPT IT WITH ME ALL MY LIFE AND EVEN HAVE HAD TO TEACH THOSE TWICE MY AGE THE SAME THING. I LIKED READING THIS. THANK YOU ONCE AGAIN FOR SHARING WITH US. I LOVE READING “ONLY THE JODI”.