The Hazel Eye Connection
Right now I'm remembering what mornings used to be like when I lived with my dad and my sister after my mom and my brother moved out, before the divorce. I remember that my dad used to let me blast music before going to school on the pretty fabulous stereo system. I ate my toast while singing along to whatever records I was listening to back then- there's one in particular whose name I can't remember. I wonder if anyone remembers this besides me? It was one of those amazing confluences of personality (quite rare in my family) where my dad's love of music met my own and we didn't much care what we were playing as long as it played as loud as possible.
That may be the closest I ever felt to my dad. I loved that feeling- starting the day with something louder than my own head; getting lost in lyrics and thinking of every day as a continuation of a certain set of stanzas and a quality of voice. My dad is hardly a mellow guy and yet this is one of those areas in which I think I have always glimpsed something of the boy he must have started out. He is too fettered by convention and yet I think he is something of an outlaw. He has, perhaps, found the challenges of raising kids and being married something of an impossible strain on his free spirit. He seems so full of cares and worries and yet, underneath it, I think he's always been something of an adventurer. All of us who have been his cares have been like handcuffs on a spirit that needs something more breathless out of life.
Even as I say it I know that that isn't quite it. He has always been the most loyal person I ever knew. He conducts business in a slightly shady fashion but he has never left me in spite of every chance to do so. He has never given up on his familial responsibilities no matter how heartbreaking they have been, no matter how challenging they have been, nor how hurtful.
He was the cause of so much pain to me in ways I cannot share because it is between me and my family. But when you come from a family of so many strong spirits, so many burnt and damaged hearts, there is bound to be some intense fallout. In the end my dad has turned into one of the most positive and steady figures in my life and there is fully as much love now as there used to be anger.
How can you not love a person who has such an unapologetic sense of self and such a love of having a good time? How can you not love a person who has worked so hard to love a mother who seems to have been put on earth to torment every soul? How can you not love a person who never gives up, who always calls in the end, who pays for his bitter step daughter's root canal when the divorce has absolved him of all responsibility? How can you not love a person who never left, who never gave up on you. On ME?
It's so strange to think of it now. I am 39 years old. Our family has been through so much. I have been through so much. I have healed a lot and it has meant looking at a lot of ugly. Examining a lot of anger and abandonment. My dad is not the same man he was when I was five. He has evolved. He has matured. He has been forgiven.
I forgave him because I loved him. I forgave him because I think I always saw his true spirit underneath the surface turbidity. I forgave him because I always wished I was sprung from his blood in earnest. He was always there. Always. Even when not in the most positive ways- he never abandoned me.
My dad has been the steadiest person in my life and as I look at the years ticking out behind me it stands out as a pretty major accomplishment. My father left me when I was two. My mother has left a thousand times and come back again. But my dad was always there. He's had the same phone number for twenty years. And he's always answered my calls like he is glad to have me be his daughter. He has always invited me to join his celebrations.
Except for a couple of Seder dinners which kind of pissed me off, but...whatever.
When he got married this past spring I couldn't afford to go and it made me feel so desolate. It felt like if I missed this big moment in his life that somehow I wouldn't be a part of him anymore. It felt so awful and impossible. This is the person who brought me groceries at all the worst and poorest moments of my life. This man for whom I felt such anger was also the only adult who had always cared about being my parent. So I went on my credit card because it was unbearable to miss such a moment.
It may sound ridiculous but I have always cherished the fact that I have hazel eyes just like my dad. Everyone I'm related to by legitimate blood-lines have blue eyes. My mom, brother, sister, father, maternal grandparents, paternal grandmother, aunt, uncles, etc. But me and my dad have the same color of eyes and always it has made me feel like I belonged to him as much as my sister. He never adopted me legally but I always felt that we were bonded because I shared this completely unimportant physical likeness.
Our family structure isn't what we pretended it was. Things are so much different than we like to say they are- but I wouldn't trade my family for any other. It's take a long time to say it. A long time to learn to love my mother's gypsy spirit and to understand how much she values me and to give her the kind of love she deserves from me. I am not sure my biological father and I have ironed out the kinks much, we are a work in progress, he and I. Both passionate and political and artistic, but at odds all the time. I think we're not finished learning to make room for each other.
But one thing I've been sure of for many years is that no matter how much I piss my dad off he will still answer my calls and he will still invite me to his Christmas brunch. I know he will send me weird shit in the mail and always be doing something to his house. I know he will burp out loud and hurt his knee. I know he will complain about my sister even though he loves her like every daughter needs a dad to love them. I know he will work his ass off and take vacations to Mexico. I know he will always miss Pancho more than we will, even though we loved Pancho too. I know he will always take animals in and in spite of himself will nurture strays.
I know I will never be his blood daughter but I also know he'll never abandon me.
I love you Dad. I really do. The best thing that happened to me this year was seeing you marry your love- your down to earth Scottish Lass. It was the best moment of my entire year to see you happy with a woman and surrounded by family. To be a part of that made me feel like a part of you and I'm proud to be included.
There are all kinds of things we can remember about our youth. There are a million events to focus our attention on. Both good and bad. What I want to remember is how much you love music and how that love permeated my youth. How you liked to play music loud in the car. I love remembering how you cranked up Rod Stewart when we were trapped on the LA freeways in the height of summer and how we all sang "I know you think I'm sexy..." at the top of our lungs. I loved how we rocked out to music in the Ford Van all up and down the coast of Oregon.
I love how much you love birds. I love how excited you got when I told you I was going to get chickens back when we still lived in Santa Rosa. I love how you are like a little kid and always look for the fun and the adventure. I'm only sorry that family life made you lose that sight so much. But we made it through.
I don't think I tell you often enough- I love you and I wouldn't trade having you in my life for a more pastoral gentle youth. I wouldn't trade anything. I've been firm on that for years now. The toughest moments were hell but they taught us all a lot and I think it means everything that we got through it and still hang together.
I hope you will be proud of me in this life. I will never be the business person you are. I haven't got it in me. I won't ever be sporty or let Sunday football be played in my house. I probably won't ever make much money or win a Pulitzer prize for my writing. But I hope you'll be proud of me for sticking with the people I love. For being loyal. I hope you'll be proud of me for being a good person.
Thank you Dad.
I love you even when you're making me crazy, and I always will.
That may be the closest I ever felt to my dad. I loved that feeling- starting the day with something louder than my own head; getting lost in lyrics and thinking of every day as a continuation of a certain set of stanzas and a quality of voice. My dad is hardly a mellow guy and yet this is one of those areas in which I think I have always glimpsed something of the boy he must have started out. He is too fettered by convention and yet I think he is something of an outlaw. He has, perhaps, found the challenges of raising kids and being married something of an impossible strain on his free spirit. He seems so full of cares and worries and yet, underneath it, I think he's always been something of an adventurer. All of us who have been his cares have been like handcuffs on a spirit that needs something more breathless out of life.
Even as I say it I know that that isn't quite it. He has always been the most loyal person I ever knew. He conducts business in a slightly shady fashion but he has never left me in spite of every chance to do so. He has never given up on his familial responsibilities no matter how heartbreaking they have been, no matter how challenging they have been, nor how hurtful.
He was the cause of so much pain to me in ways I cannot share because it is between me and my family. But when you come from a family of so many strong spirits, so many burnt and damaged hearts, there is bound to be some intense fallout. In the end my dad has turned into one of the most positive and steady figures in my life and there is fully as much love now as there used to be anger.
How can you not love a person who has such an unapologetic sense of self and such a love of having a good time? How can you not love a person who has worked so hard to love a mother who seems to have been put on earth to torment every soul? How can you not love a person who never gives up, who always calls in the end, who pays for his bitter step daughter's root canal when the divorce has absolved him of all responsibility? How can you not love a person who never left, who never gave up on you. On ME?
It's so strange to think of it now. I am 39 years old. Our family has been through so much. I have been through so much. I have healed a lot and it has meant looking at a lot of ugly. Examining a lot of anger and abandonment. My dad is not the same man he was when I was five. He has evolved. He has matured. He has been forgiven.
I forgave him because I loved him. I forgave him because I think I always saw his true spirit underneath the surface turbidity. I forgave him because I always wished I was sprung from his blood in earnest. He was always there. Always. Even when not in the most positive ways- he never abandoned me.
My dad has been the steadiest person in my life and as I look at the years ticking out behind me it stands out as a pretty major accomplishment. My father left me when I was two. My mother has left a thousand times and come back again. But my dad was always there. He's had the same phone number for twenty years. And he's always answered my calls like he is glad to have me be his daughter. He has always invited me to join his celebrations.
Except for a couple of Seder dinners which kind of pissed me off, but...whatever.
When he got married this past spring I couldn't afford to go and it made me feel so desolate. It felt like if I missed this big moment in his life that somehow I wouldn't be a part of him anymore. It felt so awful and impossible. This is the person who brought me groceries at all the worst and poorest moments of my life. This man for whom I felt such anger was also the only adult who had always cared about being my parent. So I went on my credit card because it was unbearable to miss such a moment.
It may sound ridiculous but I have always cherished the fact that I have hazel eyes just like my dad. Everyone I'm related to by legitimate blood-lines have blue eyes. My mom, brother, sister, father, maternal grandparents, paternal grandmother, aunt, uncles, etc. But me and my dad have the same color of eyes and always it has made me feel like I belonged to him as much as my sister. He never adopted me legally but I always felt that we were bonded because I shared this completely unimportant physical likeness.
Our family structure isn't what we pretended it was. Things are so much different than we like to say they are- but I wouldn't trade my family for any other. It's take a long time to say it. A long time to learn to love my mother's gypsy spirit and to understand how much she values me and to give her the kind of love she deserves from me. I am not sure my biological father and I have ironed out the kinks much, we are a work in progress, he and I. Both passionate and political and artistic, but at odds all the time. I think we're not finished learning to make room for each other.
But one thing I've been sure of for many years is that no matter how much I piss my dad off he will still answer my calls and he will still invite me to his Christmas brunch. I know he will send me weird shit in the mail and always be doing something to his house. I know he will burp out loud and hurt his knee. I know he will complain about my sister even though he loves her like every daughter needs a dad to love them. I know he will work his ass off and take vacations to Mexico. I know he will always miss Pancho more than we will, even though we loved Pancho too. I know he will always take animals in and in spite of himself will nurture strays.
I know I will never be his blood daughter but I also know he'll never abandon me.
I love you Dad. I really do. The best thing that happened to me this year was seeing you marry your love- your down to earth Scottish Lass. It was the best moment of my entire year to see you happy with a woman and surrounded by family. To be a part of that made me feel like a part of you and I'm proud to be included.
There are all kinds of things we can remember about our youth. There are a million events to focus our attention on. Both good and bad. What I want to remember is how much you love music and how that love permeated my youth. How you liked to play music loud in the car. I love remembering how you cranked up Rod Stewart when we were trapped on the LA freeways in the height of summer and how we all sang "I know you think I'm sexy..." at the top of our lungs. I loved how we rocked out to music in the Ford Van all up and down the coast of Oregon.
I love how much you love birds. I love how excited you got when I told you I was going to get chickens back when we still lived in Santa Rosa. I love how you are like a little kid and always look for the fun and the adventure. I'm only sorry that family life made you lose that sight so much. But we made it through.
I don't think I tell you often enough- I love you and I wouldn't trade having you in my life for a more pastoral gentle youth. I wouldn't trade anything. I've been firm on that for years now. The toughest moments were hell but they taught us all a lot and I think it means everything that we got through it and still hang together.
I hope you will be proud of me in this life. I will never be the business person you are. I haven't got it in me. I won't ever be sporty or let Sunday football be played in my house. I probably won't ever make much money or win a Pulitzer prize for my writing. But I hope you'll be proud of me for sticking with the people I love. For being loyal. I hope you'll be proud of me for being a good person.
Thank you Dad.
I love you even when you're making me crazy, and I always will.