Conversations with Joe

Joe is my father. He is, hands down, one of my favorite people walking this planet. My earliest memories are with him. When I was a very little girl, I would sit with him on the couch watching Flip Wilson or The Carol Burnett Show and I would ask, “Dad, can you make me a ‘liddle house?’” He would lay on his side on the sofa, bend his legs and I would sit in the nook. When all three of us girls were little, Dad stayed up nearly all night one Christmas Eve putting together our Barbie Dream House. We thought Santa was THE BEST. And in the mornings, we would giggle when I would open his sleeping eye with my tiny fingers and blow in it to wake him up.

Dad and I have the same warped sense of humor. In church, one of us would say something and that was it. Shoulders shaking, hysterical laughter, tears streaming down our cheeks. Mom would glare at us like we were two delinquents. We couldn’t help it. We found such glee in making one another laugh. The day he took me to take my driver’s test, we were settling into the car, his big Chrysler Newport. I reached to adjust the rearview mirror and it came off in my hand. Mirror in hand, I looked at my dad and said, “Well now, this can’t be good!” After a quick stop for some crazy glue, he held that mirror in place as we laughed all the way to the test (I passed – Dad’s a very good teacher). Many of my childhood memories are filled with playfulness and laughter. They are filled with moments with dad.

My father is 88 years young. When you see him and ask, “Hey Joe, how are you?” he ALWAYS responds by saying, “I’m doing quite well (or I’m great!) other than the fact that I can’t walk worth a shit!” Over the past few years, dad’s balance and strength have not been what they used to be. He did his best with physical therapy (and Nia and Ageless Grace) but he did not see much of a change. As I watch him struggle to get up out of his chair, I wonder if the day will come when he will not be able to. That day is not today.

In a recent visit to see him, he and I spent some time talking. He doesn’t typically initiate diving into the deep end, but if I dive in and invite him, he always swims over and joins me there. Dad in his recliner and me in what used to be mom’s, we sit and eat pretzels and chat.

Me: Dad, without a lot of thought, what is a great memory of Joy (my oldest sister)?

Dad: Hmmmmm, I remember she was having a hard time at a school dance and called me to pick her up early. She was really upset, crying when she got in the car. I remember saying, ‘hey, one day, all these kids will know who you are!’ And that brings me to another memory….listening to her give the Salutatorian Address at her high school graduation. They all knew her then!

Me: Awwwwww, that’s beautiful. And how about a memory of Tina (my next-in-line sister)?

Dad: Well, I go right back to her heart surgery when she was four years old. She came through her surgery and I made books for her to read.

Me: You MADE books? I didn’t know that, dad.

Dad: Yeah, I made them. And she breezed through them all. I guess I taught her to read while she was spending time in the hospital. Geez, and then she started reading the newspaper!

I have another memory – how happy mom and I were when she moved back in with us after leaving her first husband. She seemed like the person we remembered, the person we knew, and we were so happy about that. AND, we LOVED having Shadow (her first dog) with us and didn’t want either one of them to move out.

Me: And how about a memory of me?

Dad: (laughing) You always made me laugh. Or I guess we did a lot of laughing together. All of those funny memories of you pretending to be a mannequin at department stores. You were so goofy! And how we laughed at that boy who was so afraid when he had to get his allergy shot and you were always so brave when you got yours. I guess that wasn’t nice that we laughed at that kid, but man, that was hilarious…’Don’t roll up my sleeeeeeeeeeeve!’ Then there was the time you were on crutches because you hurt your knee cheerleading and we had to make it up a staircase to see the doctor. You fell UP the steps……really slowly…..and did your best impersonation of Tim Conway/Carol Burnett falling face-down, saying, ‘oooowwwwwwwwww.’ That lady walked by us and saw me laughing at you as you were laying on the steps. She must have thought I was a jerk – or at least the worst dad ever, to be laughing at his kid who had fallen with crutches!

And all the shows mom and I traveled around to see you in. That was so much fun. To this day, I don’t know how you can stand up in front of all those people and sing. I’d be so scared; I’d never be able to do it.

Me: So many memories. And how about of mom?

Dad: Oh, so many. I met her and I found out she had just turned 16. I was almost 20. She was a baby! So I didn’t date her. I dated lots of her friends! We saw each other at dances a lot. I was dating a girl named Leah and whenever they played a jitterbug, we would hit the floor. One day I asked mom to dance the jitterbug with me and that was that. I remember seeing Leah’s sad face as she watched us. I guess I should have felt worse. But I was having so much fun with mom. And I never danced with Leah again.

And that reminds me…on our honeymoon there was this couple who seemed to be showing off on the dance floor after dinner one night. I turned to mom and said, ‘Let’s show them how it’s done.’ We danced the way we always did, and we won first prize! The show-offs were not too pleased.

~ I asked a question I ALWAYS wanted to know about mom and dad. They were both raised Catholic and I have wondered if they had sex before getting married. I know I can ask my dad anything and he is always game for answering. I will respect his privacy here but let me tell you, it was a pretty cool conversation.

Dad shared soooooooooo many memories with me of his life with mom. Most of his stories were from when they were younger. He has often said that he misses mom, that he talks to her every day, but of course he does not miss the later years when she was remembering less and less and needing more and more help.

The next morning, I cut his hair as I typically do when I’m in town. I always pretend it takes longer than it actually does, imagining that human (daughter) contact feels so good to him. Scalp massage, back scratch. I always smile, hearing him make funny noises, filled with pleasure as he receives my love.

Over cereal, our conversation went something like this….

Dad: Hey Lor, you cried really hard when mom died, at the wake. You cried a lot. I don't want you crying like that when I die.

Me: Yep, I did cry. A lot. And really hard, messy, loud tears. Dad, you don’t get to call the shots on this one. Sorry! I mean, come on. You’re one of my very favorite people and you are my dad.

Dad: Yeah, but I want you to just remember the good times. None of that crying and carrying on!

Me: Dad, I’m a crier. It’s ok. And if I asked you not to cry if I died, would you be able to agree to that?

Dad: Nope.

Me: Well then, I’m glad I will cry. You matter so much to me, and I’ll feel heartbroken and that’s the way it goes. You saw me cry like that when mom died, and you see me now. The ache softens a little, you know? And you won’t care anyway because you’ll be good and dead!

Both of us started laughing, with milk nearly coming out of our noses.

I noticed tears right behind my eyes.

And scene.