A letter to my dad on Father’s Day:
You know, your carbonized, barbecued chicken could have put someone’s eyes out this year. If it weren’t for the hideous Tabasco tie that I gave you when I was 13, your weaponized poultry missile would have been the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. Now it’s just a close second.
I don’t mind your constant whistling while you cook either, but could you at least whistle a song from the last 20 years? I think you’re whistling a Bee Gees tune, but it could be Black Sabbath for all I know. And if it is Black Sabbath, that’s totally not cool, Dad. No one thinks you’re hip for that.
The point here isn’t to make you feel bad. I just wanted to talk.
Since last Father’s Day a lot has happened that I have to thank you for. Remember when you told me that when it comes to women, “the best you can hope for is crazy?” Well, you were right. And it also said a lot about your relationships, too. Remember when you told me “things aren’t half as bad as they seem, and the sun always comes up tomorrow.” You were right about that, too. Even your sage, “on vacations: take twice the money and half the clothes” advice paid off for me this year.
You were right so many times, but not as often as you gave yourself credit for. I’m in my 30’s now and I’m beginning to realize that the world is equally hilarious and tragic and completely full of itself. You were all of the above, Dad.
I don’t envy the role of single parent that you played most of my life. I don’t have any children yet, but I’m deathly afraid that if I do have kids, I’ll end up a single dad like you shopping for Batman underwear at Kmart on a Friday night.
You always said your role in life was to raise my brother and me. You were wrong. Your role in life was to grow up yourself, and then to teach us how to be adults.
But you won’t believe how much I love you now for that.
You wouldn’t believe what I’ve accomplished over the last year. You wouldn’t believe how I’ve picked myself back up after falling down, and you wouldn’t believe how much your hometown has changed. (Marijuana is legal now!)
You know what I can’t believe? I can’t believe you’re still gone. It’s been more than four years now since you died. Memories of you are fading faster than snow in the mountains in a hot summer.
There are some things I can’t forget. For instance, prostate cancer started so early for you that when I turned 30 last year, my annual physical should come with parting gifts of a cigarette and a handshake.
I can’t forget your Bee Gees whistle. Or was it Black Sabbath? Probably Fleetwood Mac. I think you had a thing for Stevie Nicks.
I also can’t forget your departure. If you could have seen it, you would agree with me: Patient-assisted suicide is another word for death with dignity.
But I loved your carbonized chicken drumsticks. Wet leather never tasted so good to me than it did with you. Fake smiles when you received terrible gifts were still the best. Your bald head made for an easy target when it came to jokes and bird poo. I’m sure you remember when that happened — both times.
You taught me so much, both by your actions and inactions. Great books have been written with less insight to the human condition than you gave to me before you left.
There are things that I can’t say to you now that I wish I would have when you were alive. Thank you for your sacrifices. Thank you for your patience dad. Thank you for the most you ever spent on me — your time. Thank you for loving me enough to let me fall flat on my face, then the pats to know that you still love me and everything will be alright tomorrow morning.
You’re still my dad. And that calls for more than one day to celebrate.
Happy Father’s Day.
Aaron Cole is managing editor of the Aurora Sentinel. Reach him at acole@aurorasentinel.com or 303-750-7555.
Very touching. My dad’s been gone for over 20 years now and you know what? I still miss him……..