For My Father - a re-post
(This was done moons ago and his b-day just passed again - missing him I suppose)
********
My memories of him are far more clear than of mom.
Perhaps because I was with him through the worst days of my life at that time.
He was born with the Christian-given name Regis William and later changed it to William Regis. He was the younger of 3 brothers (he had three sisters as well). He was one of the ‘Southside’ boys from Pittsburgh. He was born into a large raucous Irish-Catholic family - my favourite memories of that side of the family seem to center around drinking and a lot of laughter. He was handsome and had the bluest eyes I've ever seen. Unfortunately I did not inherit those eyes. What’s even more unsettling (and I did not realise this until my sister-in-law pointed it out) – is that I married a man that looked a lot like my dad (and in hind-sight probably behaved a lot like him too).
My dad was a loving father. I don’t remember a single night when he did not give us a hug and kiss good-night and I don’t remember anytime that that did not include ‘I love you’ – even when I became an adult – every single phone conversation, every single visit ended with ‘I love you’. And love us he did – fiercely – as only an Irish man can love.
As we were growing up he was my 'rock' I think I can remember him holding me as a baby - walking me at night, trying to get me to sleep. I was his first born. I was his most rebellious. I was probably a lot more like him than mom. I also remember that when were little and became too much for my mom, all she had to do was say: 'Wait until your father gets home...'. I don't know about my siblings but I remember being scared to death of that threat. And, I remember very clearly knowing that he was incredibly upset when his chin would shake and somehow that worried me/hurt me/scared me more than any physical threat or yelling (he hardly ever laid hands on us...)
I have him to thank in a lot of ways for the 'bad' traits...
My irreverence, my stubbornness, my sometime passive-aggressive ways, my willingness to actually participate in an affair - and subsequently my understanding of the 'why' of those types of sins, my ability to be able to drink a Merchant Marine (that's right boys I said Merchant Marine) under the table, my love of music (ALL KINDS), my appreciation of literature, my love of the Celts...and all things Irish.
In him I saw unfold the depths of sorrow when my mother died, and the depths of his desperation and guilt as he descended into alcohol to 'numb' his pain. In other words, his frailty and humaness shown through and because of it I learned about forgiveness and compassion.
Eventually we made our 'peace' with each other and I respect how he was able to be a good and loving father despite what surely was disappointment in some of my decisions - he's the one who ultimately taught me you can't live your children's lives for them - nor can you live vicariously through them.
Because of him my 'baby' brother is one of the best husbands and dads I know. Because of him my other younger brother is an honorable man.
So here's a toast to you Da - because there's no point in praising an Irishman without a wee sip - I love you, I honour your memory. I am glad you were my dad.
********
My memories of him are far more clear than of mom.
Perhaps because I was with him through the worst days of my life at that time.
He was born with the Christian-given name Regis William and later changed it to William Regis. He was the younger of 3 brothers (he had three sisters as well). He was one of the ‘Southside’ boys from Pittsburgh. He was born into a large raucous Irish-Catholic family - my favourite memories of that side of the family seem to center around drinking and a lot of laughter. He was handsome and had the bluest eyes I've ever seen. Unfortunately I did not inherit those eyes. What’s even more unsettling (and I did not realise this until my sister-in-law pointed it out) – is that I married a man that looked a lot like my dad (and in hind-sight probably behaved a lot like him too).
My dad was a loving father. I don’t remember a single night when he did not give us a hug and kiss good-night and I don’t remember anytime that that did not include ‘I love you’ – even when I became an adult – every single phone conversation, every single visit ended with ‘I love you’. And love us he did – fiercely – as only an Irish man can love.
As we were growing up he was my 'rock' I think I can remember him holding me as a baby - walking me at night, trying to get me to sleep. I was his first born. I was his most rebellious. I was probably a lot more like him than mom. I also remember that when were little and became too much for my mom, all she had to do was say: 'Wait until your father gets home...'. I don't know about my siblings but I remember being scared to death of that threat. And, I remember very clearly knowing that he was incredibly upset when his chin would shake and somehow that worried me/hurt me/scared me more than any physical threat or yelling (he hardly ever laid hands on us...)
I have him to thank in a lot of ways for the 'bad' traits...
My irreverence, my stubbornness, my sometime passive-aggressive ways, my willingness to actually participate in an affair - and subsequently my understanding of the 'why' of those types of sins, my ability to be able to drink a Merchant Marine (that's right boys I said Merchant Marine) under the table, my love of music (ALL KINDS), my appreciation of literature, my love of the Celts...and all things Irish.
In him I saw unfold the depths of sorrow when my mother died, and the depths of his desperation and guilt as he descended into alcohol to 'numb' his pain. In other words, his frailty and humaness shown through and because of it I learned about forgiveness and compassion.
Eventually we made our 'peace' with each other and I respect how he was able to be a good and loving father despite what surely was disappointment in some of my decisions - he's the one who ultimately taught me you can't live your children's lives for them - nor can you live vicariously through them.
Because of him my 'baby' brother is one of the best husbands and dads I know. Because of him my other younger brother is an honorable man.
So here's a toast to you Da - because there's no point in praising an Irishman without a wee sip - I love you, I honour your memory. I am glad you were my dad.
posted by Colette at 9:42 AM
1 Comments:
I miss grandpa! I rember odd mermories about times in his house. Like his toy box, and the bedroom we stayed in, the closet, that was never opened, at least not in my sight. The playground down the road, the way his kitchen and dinning area was set up. I rember one christmas i bought him a notebook thing that went on his dash for newspaper delivery!
I miss him alot!
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