The things I learned from my father

It's a bit hard to remember my father at times. He had a lot of health issues towards the end of his life and became a person who was, shall we say, not nice to be around. He also had bipolar disorder, which was untreated, and he refused to take his medicine the way he should, adding to the problems, as well as the fact that a few of his medicines made him downright mean. My mother, two brothers and I basically took it as long as we could, then moved away, unable to take it anymore, but my brothers and I still stayed in touch on occasion until his death several years ago.

Not all the memories I have of him are bad, but there is a definite bittersweet tinge to most of my thoughts when I think of him most of the time, my emotions and thoughts colored by events that happened later. It is hard to let them go and just focus on the good memories, but sometimes I can just remember the positive things he taught me, the life lessons I took away from him, even when he wasn't trying to teach them (some of them learned from his later behavior even), and the fond memories I have of the man who I remember from my early childhood, so different from the one who he was when he died.

One of my earliest memories is of me and my father, him sitting on our old couch, before it was reupholstered, the old green plaid fabric worn and faded with time and abuse from me as a baby and toddler, and me, probably no older than two, standing on the couch next him, both of us with frozen ice pops in our hands (and mouths - I believe I had a green one and he had a blue one, but it could have been the other way around), him playing an Intellevision gaming system (I think he was playing Beauty and the Beast, but it could have been Burger Time). It was the early part of the mid-eighties, so home video game consoles were still a new thing. After I finished my ice pop, I vividly remember plopping my bottom down on the couch and flipping my feet up on the back of the couch to hang my head down off the front, basically going upside down, and just laying there like that, watching Dad play next to me for a long time. He was always so busy when I was young, working long hours and rarely being home when I was awake, so any time he was home and could spend it with me was special back then, especially before I had younger siblings. I don't remember what Mom was doing at the time, if she stayed home and was working on something around the house or if she went out and ran errands while I had some Dad time, but I was pretty young and such things didn't really matter to my young mind at the time. This early time spent with Dad, bonding over video games, especially Burger Time, Beauty and the Beast (Dad would climb the tower so high and I would grab the controller away and jump off, making the character die, but also making a rather fun on screen scene and frustrating him a bit - even when I know he could have stopped me most of the time, except when I did it when he went to the bathroom - and even Mom got in on this prank after hearing my giggles and his groans of frustration after a bit), and Dungeons & Dragons on that old console all really helped cement a love of gaming in my heart and brain. As I got older, I played games on computers and my love only grew.

My father also taught me how to (and how not to) build many things, spending countless hours with me when I was between nine and twelve, before he became too disabled, working on building our garage, repairing tractors, working on vehicles, and building all kinds of things around the house. My Dad thought he was Mr. Fix-It. He really wasn't, but he did try, and that counts for something. I learned all manner of things, from what tools were called and how to use many of them, to the parts of vehicles, to how to do a lot of eyeballing of spaces - something he was never great at. I also became an excellent sander - sanding down bookshelves we made together and countless boards used for numerous other purposes. I learned enough about cars to know what smells came from where, generally and how to change a tire and most basic things under the hood. By this time, I had two MUCH younger brothers, five and seven years younger than I was, so I greatly appreciated the one on one time, especially since I felt like I was helping and being treated like a grown up during most of it. I also learned how to assemble and repair my first bike when I was thirteen, learning to balance in a doorway in the house because I have some severe balance issues from some smaller handicaps, then eventually learning to ride that same bike on our road, a very hilly road, before too terribly long, with no training wheels.

One of my favorite pastimes in life is sitting in nature, just appreciating the green smells and verdant growth around me, letting the birds sing, and the quiet soak into my bones. I loved growing up in the country, knowing I could just walk back a bit further on our property and be surrounded by nature and peace. My Dad was the same way, and he taught me a lot about caring for trees and plants of all sorts, and even took me along on his landscaping jobs from time to time when I was around ten, teaching me hands on, letting me help and earn a little money, as well as getting out of the house. He may not have had this job long, but it made a lasting impression on me, not only providing my first real work experience but also showing me the value of hard work. (And the danger of sunstroke on one job - oops!)

Yes, my father taught me many things in my life, but the biggest lessons I have taken away from him would have to be how to treat others when you are ill, in pain, or struggling with a disorder over time. My father never suffered in silence, a quiet stoic type. Oh no, he was, like his mother who was also ill, a loud complainer and both of them got mean. I learned early that they would bite the hand that feeds them, so to speak, if they didn't get everything they wanted right when they wanted, especially if they were on certain medications or they were in pain. Now, having chronic pain issues of my own and a rather severe autoimmune disorder (I just lost a toe and had to have foot surgery because of an infection in a wound I couldn't feel because of this autoimmune thing that no one can figure out), I know pain can make it hard to deal with other people and it's all too easy to be cranky or impatient with them. However, after seeing the way my father handled things all his life, I had made a vow NEVER to be a complainer, to take my medicines the way the doctors told me, to be as pleasant as possible, despite the pain, and to NOT bring everyone else down or constantly talk about my medical issues and boss everyone around while they waited on me hand and foot. Even now, as I sit in my hospital bed, post surgery, needing constant care, I try to be pleasant to everyone and only call for help when I actually need it. I can't help my disability, perhaps, but I can help my attitude. Complaining about things that can't be changed doesn't help anyone. Mentioning you are in pain and need your pain medicine is different than complaining, and I'm not advocating anyone should be overly stoic and avoid saying anything, I'm simply saying, complaining just to complain doesn't help. Saying "The sun is too bright, but it's too dark if you close the blinds." is not a useful complaint. I learned that from my father too. He liked to make those sort of statements a lot when he was stuck in beds. "The bed is too hard." Yeah, Hospital beds are never comfortable, sorry. "My roommate snores too loudly." Um, Dad, have you EVER heard your own snoring? You shook the whole house.

Children learn by seeing and doing, and a clever child, like I feel like I was, and like I have been told I was, absorbs more than most. My father never knew a lot of what he taught me, but maybe my very favorite memory, the one that sums up how he realized I was learning from him and his choices, even passively, is one from when I was about twelve, or maybe thirteen. We were sitting in the living room, playing Monopoly (we both loved board games as well as video games, something else he had taught me from a young age and had taken a lot of time to make sure we have one on one time to do) and listening to music. Neither of us were paying super close attention to the music at the time, it was just on in the background. My brothers were playing in the next room, my Mom in the kitchen. In the middle of the game, in which my Dad was banker, I caught him cheating - withdrawing extra money from the bank. I called him a 'son of a b****'. His Jaw dropped and he asked me where I had heard such foul language. I really wanted to tell him I had heard him say it, but instead a few seconds later the line came up in the song The Devil Went Down To Georgia - Charlie Daniels Band - "I told you once you son of a B***** I'm the best there's ever been." I just stared Dad right in the eye and crossed my arms. It was his music we were listening to. Mom walked in and started laughing. I mean, she knew I was old enough I had probably heard it at school as well, countless times, and probably a lot more (I had). It just shocked my Dad so much to hear me say it. Then get caught immediately being the bad influence... Like I said, one of my favorite memories.

Now that he's gone, I really have tried to let the bitterness go. Remembering good memories helps. Reflecting on the lessons he taught me, good and bad, also helps in a strange way. I know I'll never forget my father, for good or ill, but I'm trying to move past the abusive man he was at the end of his life and just remember him more as he was when I was younger, which is why my stories are stopping when I was about thirteen. No one needs to hear about the rest of it. At least not now. Some things are best left unsaid, and if not forgotten, at least forgiven if possible. I'm still working towards that end goal. I may be all my life. But I hope, maybe, someday to get there and find peace with the memories I do have. After all, they are all I have of him now. Rest in peace Dad.