You know, I never really bought into that whole "theory" about gay guys being estranged or somehow disconnected from their fathers. Educated "christian" (note lower case) people say I lacked a male role model, or that my father was emotionally distant, unavailable, absent, not present. And due to this and an over bearing Mom, somehow I ended up homosexual...
So much bullshit in my humble opinion. :)
While this may be the truth in their selective case study, or possible in other gay guys lives, it certainly doesn't ring true for me. But I am not here to delve into the depths of foundations and explanations for my sexual orientation, I am here to talk about my Dad.
This last weekend found Dad and I headed back up to Des Moines, IA for the annual Good Guys Car Show held at the State Fair grounds each Fourth of July weekend. What started as a fun trip one summer has now turned into a tradition for us two guys. We pretty much drop whatever we have going on in our lives, meet up in Kansas City and make the pilgrimage to this Mecca of Hot rods each and every year. I have only missed the years that the Navy took me around the world. It is something we look forward to each year. No Mom, no brothers, so sister, no boyfriend...just him and I, palling around and checking out the rolling iron, getting ideas, showing our cars, talking to new and old friends and just being men in the company of men.
This year was an amazing time, as always, but was especially poignant as my Dad begins to grow older and I come into my own as a man now. The experiences that we have both been through, socially, spiritually, emotionally, physically, relationally has brought us even closer together and we share a common bond that my other siblings are missing. As each year passes, I begin to realize that I am truly my Father's son. One of the reasons for all the conflict and angst I endured while growing up, was due to the simple fact that we are SO much alike.
Of course, my Mom always told us this, but we protested to high heaven that there is NO WAY that I am like THAT guy! It is funny now to look back and see how much our lives are truly in parallel and synced up. Life is weird like that I suppose?
I am writing this as I try to upload car shows pics to my FB, eat a chicken pot pie and mashed potatoes while downloading some new music that I will need for my lake drive tomorrow. Sorry, if it seems a bit disjointed at times, I am doing my best!
There is one picture I wish I had on my computer, but it only exists in a picture album of my youth, assembled by my Mom that spans from my birth to age 18. She snapped it when I was around 5 or 6 years old and it shows my Dad reclined in his leather easy chair in his den and sprawled face down on top of him, like a little meat blanket, is me...fast asleep. My Dad had a bemused expression on his face, but his big arms were wrapped tight around my little shoulders. Nothing on but my undies, but completely at peace in my Dads space, knowing that I am safe, loved, wanted and known.
It is this picture that often comes to mind whenever I doubt his love, miss him greatly over the miles or just question what our relationship is really all about.
He loves me.
Period.
He was born in an era of rough times. WWII was still raging when he was a child and he grew up in horrible and harsh circumstances. His father left the family when he was young, and he spent many years bouncing from relative to relative, from inner city to farm, looking for a place to call his own and possibly his next meal. His mother worked her whole life, right up until she died to try to provide for her three sons, a daughter and herself...but it was the '40's and '50's and what little she did make, never went very far. He was born at home, in an upstairs bedroom in the heat of June and walked into a world that cared not if he lived or died. So many stories I have listened to, through his shaking and tears, about his childhood and the hardships of near starvation, the abuse on so many fronts and the struggle he had to simply stay alive. I do not know all of the details, but from the few pictures and many late night talks, I am able to grasp a picture of the boy my Dad used to be.
It is not an easy picture to look at.
He loved music and played guitar and trumpet. He ran track and played football in High School. His first love was cars and in order to have one to drive, him and his friends built them from whatever hulks they could afford and a ready supply of parts from dubious sources. His Dad preferred his brothers and bought them the best of all he could afford, while my father was left to his own devices. He grew up in Hell's Kitchen and ran with a rough crowd of Italians just to survive. He was the lone white kid in a predominantly black neighborhood, was friends with everyone he met, and as a consequence was despised and hated by many. He managed to graduate High School, but without much of an education and seriously considered joining the Navy for a place to sleep and eat.
Fortunately, the day before he was to report to the station, he found a job at a local grocer in the City Market and said goodbye to his friend, who went on to serve 30 years in the military. That small job he found certainly changed the course of his life. His love for music was strong and he started performing in the Kansas City jazz scene that was booming at this time. Swing and Big Band were flourishing and my Dad was looking forward to a future in the new digs and opportunities that were opening up.
Some gang fights and poor choices later and that dream was ruined. He lost all of his teeth to a lead pipe defending his friends and turf. There went the trumpet. A knife took away much of the dexterity in his skilled left hand. There went the guitar.
He was left without a dream, headed no where fast...all at the age of 19.
A picture of him from this time is etched into my mind. Tall and slim, buzzed flat top, dressed in dark denim jeans and a white tee, posing with his 1959 Black MG at the Meyer Fountain on Ward Parkway. Reminds me of someone else I know... :)
Dejected, hurt, broken hearted, depressed and with no skills and education, he was sure that he was headed for the life of a bum, besotted in the gutter...waiting and wanting to die.
And then...
He met a girl...my Mom!
To be continued...
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