Monday, June 20, 2016

Those Guys They Call Father

This weekend we celebrated David's mother's life with family and friends. She was the last of any of our parents to die.  It was pretty heavy for any number of reasons. On the top of the list is that no matter how old a person gets, it's never any fun to be an orphan -- especially on a day that celebrates parents. Yes, this going to be one of those sensitive no political bullshit blobs.


Milt with Phil (ca. 1970) -- the Dads

The story goes that when I was born some of my grandparents were unhappy that I wasn't a boy.  Not my dad. He was thrilled that I was a girl. They still named me after his father, who was Izzie.  And when I opened my eyes the doctor penciled in a mustache, which at the time he wore proudly.  So I looked exactly like him, which apparently pleased him.

My father was just a great guy. Sadly, over the course of 30 years, an aggressive form of MS attacked his extremities.  By the time he was 45 he was totally disabled.  Because his mind was always sharp, no one ever thought of him as sick or different.  He just couldn't walk.  My mom, uncle Phil and cousin Dick, made sure he got to work, in the family handbag business. For a while he was the accountant and kept track of the numbers.  Then when he couldn't write, I don't know exactly what work he accomplished,  but he still went to the factory until it went bankrupt and closed.  

My father never had to feel terrible about his inability to participate in our childhood activities because Uncle Phil, my other dad, was always there to take us out to eat. To go on pony rides. To take us to art museums (which he wanted to do, so we tagged along.) And to just be a walking presence.  He made what could have felt like abandonment to children who didn't understand, never an issue. 
Milton (my dad) and Seth (my son, also a Father) ca. 1975
And our two fathers, both of  whom had served in the army, loved one another.  They were best friends til the end of their lives.  They married two of the seven sisters, and found solace in the fact that they had one another.  During WW2 Uncle Phil was shipped to China and saw combat.  My dad, who had third degree flat feet, never saw combat and always said it was the best time he ever had.  He traveled to Africa, Europe, and some of the states, as a master sergeant. He was one of those Guys who found whatever product the officers needed to have -- dope,   scotch, nylons, and chocolate.  When they came back from the war his MS was still in the distance. So the fathers played and worked hard.  The playing being on the top of the list. 

They lived their lives. Dad wanted to be a fur designer but when he was diagnosed he put that on the back shelf and worked in the family business. Uncle Phil was an artist who had an offer from Disney in California, but Aunt Helen didn't want to leave her sisters.  They both had disappointed dreams for their futures, and so there was no need for explanation about what their lives were to become.  They just moved along, surrounded by a family that never understood disappointed expectations.

And we also grew up surrounded by a bunch of interchangeable sisters. If you wanted to have dinner at Aunt Sophie's,  Aunt Fritzie’s or Aunt Helene’s,  you just appeared at their kitchen around dinnertime.  The Sisters called one another ten times a day, even when they had just played cards, or gone to the market.  But this is a blob about the Dads. 

What would they think of the way we live today? My brother lives in a trailer park, my niece is rebuilding a goat shack, my sister in law is a bee keeper, David  travels all the time, and I still can't figure out what I want to do when I grow up.  Nothing is what it appears to be. That being said, I think they both would have loved the fact that we are living the way we want to, and loving the people we are. We're just sayin'.... Iris

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