“Wake up Leah, it’s midnight” As a
little girl I loved to hear those words. It meant two things: food and Dad was
home. He would make me all sorts of different midnight snacks. Sometimes it
would be is homemade sauce and meatballs, sometimes cinnamon sugar on buttery
English muffins. Whatever it was, I ate it and the time I got to spend with my
dad, up. We would sit in the kitchen and talk and eat. I don’t remember a
single thing we talked about. My dad and
I always had pointless, fun conversations. He was always more of a friend than
a father to me. Growing up my mom was
the disciplinarian. She would yell at me to clean my room and when I didn’t she
would come in armed with a garbage bag and her “I’ll show you” attitude and
take all my toys to throw them away. I would cry and cry of course because how
can any little girl live without her Barbie dream house? Her real life peeing
baby doll? Sometime after I would cry myself to sleep my Dad would go out and
bring in my toys. I can’t say I agreed
with my mom’s parenting style. I kept my room a mess until I lived on my own,
now it’s spotless and I even make my bed every day…… who would have thought??
But I thought the world of my Dad, he was my hero.
 |
| Pops and I a few years back |
Over the years my Dad has always
been there for me when I really needed him. Whenever I was stuck, in over my
head, he was there for me. Not “there” in the right by my side kind of way,
but there as in I could always call him up and he’d listen. You see, in the past 26 years of my life I
have seen my dad maybe for 10 of them, in the last 8 years I’ve seen him all of
maybe 2 at most 3 weeks. Total. It’s shitty. I am not going to lie. I think it
makes him a p.o.s. sometimes. I think he doesn’t have the slightest idea of
what priorities are or what they should be. Over last 26 years of my life my
dad has done some really REALLY shitty things. Things that make others think
he’s a horrible father. Things that make it really hard to respect him. Things
that I don’t know if I’ll ever get over.
Ya see, if it weren’t for the fact that I only have one dad, and I will
never have another, I would probably never talk to him again. I have written
this next part a few times. I wanted to share the shitty things he’s done. But
honestly, I think everyone already knows.
And to tell you the truth, I have thought about it and Enzo won’t know
those things. When Enzo hears stories
about his grandpa it is going to be only the good stories. Because who really
wants to be remembered for all their mistakes? Not I. When you leave this world
all that is really truly left behind is your story. Other people’s memories of
you. I always lived my life as an open book for this reason. However, some
stories aren’t really good portrayals of a person. Plus, I don’t want Enzo to
think that type of behavior and disregard for others is acceptable.
I signed up for my first 5k for
this Saturday. I am not ready, not by a long shot. I have never run that long
all at one time. In fact I haven’t ran in about a month. I went to go the last
two days but I’ve got Enzo and no babysitter so running in the rain just isn’t
an option. I figure I have something
else to drive me though. The race is for
prostate cancer. Two years ago my Dad surprised with a visit on Father’s day to
tell us he had it. He went though radiation and just finished it up a few
months ago. God willing it is all out of his system and hasn’t spread anywhere.
My dad didn’t have time to prepare for cancer. He also didn’t let it stop him.
He went to work. He lived his life. So
what if I didn’t prepare to run a few measly miles? If I can do this to honor
my toy saving, midnight snacking, old as dirt, no hair dad; I’d be honored to.
