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What I Finally Told My Father

My Dad

By Tomas AlejandroPublished 7 years ago 8 min read
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I was 12 when his anger flared again. Despite the consistent paid-for piano lessons, I was not as consistent practicing. Amanda, my very plump piano teacher, outed me as any good teacher should. I simply was not doing my homework. I sat on the piano bench when Dad started. He told me that I was disappointing him because I was not trying hard enough. I was not living up to my potential. He did not want to waste his money. I then did what I never wanted to do: I cried. As hard as I tried not to, the tears simply poured down my face as an unspoken anger filled my heart, ashamed of the tears. It showed weakness. I promised myself never ever to cry again. I held true to my self-induced vow for 8 years. Whenever I was teased or hurt in any way, however much I wanted, I simply would not cry. That stubborn desire was my stronghold and my answer for survival. To myself, I dared anyone to make me cry, feel remorseful, or feel anything. I simply rose above it.

Then he died.

For five seemingly long years he took in the chemo, lost his hair, retired from his 6-9 overtime-filled job. As for me, instead of staying home and endure his suffering, I left for college, against my father’s wishes, and remained somewhat safe and torture free from the constant expectations and his personal fight, i.e., the vomiting and crying he endured almost every day.

My father was a good man who never hung out with the guys, never drank alcohol and was not a womanizer. He was a true artist with a mind for detail and spatial organization and building. He once told me that he wanted to be a fashion designer. He showed me his old designs and drawings of women's clothes flowing and alive on the canvas. I remember an old high school art assignment where I drew a sailboat entrapped in a bottle. The mast and flag were very distinct. My Dad looked at the drawing and said, “That looks dead!”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Let me show you.” He took some charcoal and created this ship that seemingly sailed on the sea. He added seagulls hovering above the mast. The waves were splashing on the ship. He did all this by simply looking at my ship and picking up the charcoal. This ship had the same distinct mast and sail. This was originally my ship, but he made it his. He was right, my boat was dead. His lived with the fervor and strength tested by a tempestuous sea. Forever will that ship sail.

Dad had a temper. He never wanted his kids to develop bad habits, to become lazy, or to be less than what he wanted for them. He loved us like no other person I have known and he showed his emotion, both good and bad, easily and readily. I would walk through our small housing apartment and when we passed each other in the cramped hallway, he would always block my way and hug me. I told him to stop, somewhat annoyed, but he would always smile and give that silly grin of his.

He never missed a track meet. He wanted to see the talent developing in his speed demon kids. My first track meet was an 880 relay where I ran the second leg of a four boy relay team. Joe started and he broke stags off the turn. When he approached me, I started running slowly until I felt the baton in my hand. I then exploded thinking that someone was on my tail, but all I heard was “Go Tommy, Go Tommy Go!” That was my father at the end of the track where I received the baton. I did not know he was waiting there ready to cheer. His urgings made me move faster in the realms of not wanting to disappoint him. I can still hear his cheers in my head.

Christmas was his time. We had an artificial tree that lasted 20 years. He taught us how to make our Charlie Brown tree look full and how to place the presents to make it appear that there were more gifts. His spatial talents came to bear. His silly nature showed when he opened his gifts. Money was always tight so Mom asked us to carefully open the gifts and save the wrapping paper for next year. Dad looked at us incredulously wondering what we were doing. “Mom told us to save the wrapping paper for next year,” we explained. He took his gift and ripped the paper off with the vigor of a 4-year-old kid. We laughed at him noting how silly he was.

He worked as a maintenance man for NYC housing. He gave up his dreams of fashion design in order to feed his family while never asking the government for a handout. He paid for Catholic school from elementary to High School and gave his financial contribution requested for college payments for his two boys. When the cancer hit, the despair came over him as he cried out, “Why me?! Why me?!” My sister witnessed his suffering. She told me how he kept pleading that all he wanted was to see his kids grow up and “make it.” After 3 years, the cancer went into remission. For one seemingly eternal year he was cancer free. That was the time I remember him being the happiest. He wasn't as angry. He was not as impatient. For one year, then without warning, the cancer simply returned.

In February 1984, I decided to return from college to see my Dad. It was winter recess and I just wanted to see him, especially since I heard that his brother was in town. I never knew his brother because Dad never talked about him. When I arrived, Dad was not home but in the hospital. Mom did not tell me of his recent hospitalization to avoid any unnecessary worries. We left to visit Dad. We all went: Mom, my sister, and his brother. Dad was surprised that I was in town. We all talked about the treatment, school, track, and piano. Dad’s legs were swollen from the new treatment he was receiving. He was more quiet than usual. When we decided to leave, his brother, my Mom and my sister all hugged him. I went to Dad to hug and kiss him on the cheek. He continued talking to his brother and Mom but I could not take my eyes off of him. I went to him again and hugged him. He looked at me but continued talking to Mom. I went to him a third time, kissed him again, and hugged him tightly and said, “You know I love you very much,” something I had not told him since I was 7 years old. He looked at me as his eyes turned red welling up with tears. He then said, “I’ll be fine, now get out of here." I nodded in agreement and walked out with Mom and the others. When we were in the hallway, I covered my eyes in my arms feeling ashamed and scared. Mom said that he was going to be o.k. and asked whether I wanted to go back into the room. I said, “No, let’s go home.”

One month later, Dad died.

I openly tell my children that I love them and they freely reciprocate that feeling. I see much of my father’s desire for art in my eldest son, and he tells me that he wants to change his name to his middle name Tomas, which happens to be my father’s name. The little one fights for everything without discretion. He reminds me of my anger issues. I was like that until my Dad died. You see, I wept uncontrollable at the wake, much to the surprise of my brother, sister, and mother. The reality of his passing was too much to bear and what transpired for the next five years exemplified this emotion. I not only did not speak of him, I could not. I eventually entered law school and became a lawyer.

I now understand his anger, his desire for us to live up to our potential. I understand now why he rose to anger so quickly when we displayed weakness or bad habits. He wanted us to be the best and to portray the best. When people try to take that away from us, we need to remember these things and fight as if someone were chasing us down the track. We must simply FIGHT!!!

I wrote the following poem during my first year of law school at what would have been his 54th birthday. He died at the age of 48.

Happy Birthday

At 54 did you know any more

than what you did at 50?

Oh I forgot you were a bit too late,

you left us when you were just 48.

Our lives have not been the same

It’s been actually insane

going along without direction.

I miss that silly smile

had you remained a while

you would have known the depths of my affection.

Today as my gift,

I give you my thanks

made immortal with these words.

Are you aware,

that I am finally here

initiating my lifelong ambition?

If it were not for you

And this is quite true

I do not know where I would be.

You’d planted a seed

to believe in my dream

to be what I want to be.

I will never forget you

and all that you’ve done

my kids will know of their granddad.

At 54 do you know any more

than what you knew at 48?

Thank you Dad for being in my life. Thank you for staying true to yourself and for your self-sacrificing ways. Forgive me if I have fallen short of your expectations.

I will never forget you.

griefparents
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