Dear Dad,
Today would be your 93rd birthday. Happy Birthday to you! I've never been comfortable with those notices people put in the newspaper memorializing loved ones. Remember, Mom used to call them "sadly missed" notices? I know that you and she wouldn't like for my sister and me to do that sort of thing, and so, we don't. I often wonder about the mentality that makes people take out space in the newspaper to publicly pat themselves on the back for missing deceased loved ones. That was unkind and that is not what this is about anyway.
I'm writing to you because I want you to know how much I still miss you. It's hard to believe you've been gone almost nine years. Next month will be ten years for Mother. It's a comfort for me to think about you two together somewhere, healthy and happy and spending time with old friends and family members. Sometimes, in my car, the tears will come unexpectedly when I recall how proud you were when I first bought my little Neon. As soon as I picked it up from the dealership, I came straight to your house. You were quite unwell by that time, but you came outside and admired the color and the roomy interior. You were actually beaming in spite of your pain. That look of pride meant more to me than anything I've ever achieved. Your look told me that you were as proud of me for being able to buy a compact car as you would be if it were a luxury sedan. I used to drive you to the hospital for your cancer treatments on the weekends and you always said that my car was more comfortable than Penny's. I'm sure that wasn't true, but it made me feel good. We always used to stop at Dunkin Donuts after those treatments to pick up treats for when we got back home to your house. The family had started a weekly tradition of coming over for a little "coffee" visit. Those visits became precious to us. Although we didn't admit it just then, I think we knew that our time together was coming to an end.
When I look at my cat, Natasha, I often think of when I first got her as a tiny kitten. I brought her to your house to show you the newest family member. We've always been a cat family and I wanted you to meet Natasha before it was too late. She was not exactly an affectionate kitten. I remember I had to hold onto her during the visit that day for fear she would get herself secreted away in some hidey hole that we would be unable to extract her from. She howled so much I had to cut the visit short. I knew the caterwauling must be hard to tolerate in your state of health.
I'm sorry to be concentrating on the last part of your life. I guess those are the clearest memories, but I do have lots of others. Remember the picnics in the summer. Almost always Aunt Eleanor, Uncle Bill, Russell and Grace would be there. Sometimes Grandma and the aunts, uncles and cousins from Massachusetts would also be visiting. Picnics and cookouts were such a treat back then. Your fried chicken was the best I've ever had. Uncle Bill had made that great metal tray for the barbecue so the chicken could cook outside. Sometimes you also made your famous clam fritters, stuffed clams or chowder. You were an excellent cook. Too bad Mom hated the smell of raw clams and the mess they made. We might've gotten more of your chowders, etc.
You used to take us to The Legion Beach near Esker Point when we were kids. You liked to swim and I remember being deliciously "scared" when you would put me on your shoulders and walk out into deeper water. Then you would duck down giving me a brief dunking. It's fun being scared when you know Daddy is there to keep you safe. The worst part of growing up and losing your parents is there's no one to keep you safe anymore. Remember the time I lost my little amethyst ring that Mrs. Bagnell had given me. Who could forget, right? I don't think I ever thanked you for all those mornings you went to the beach before work to look for my ring, so heartbroken was I. I think it was your determination that placed that ring right where I would find it while wading, days later, in the shallow water.
Across the road from the beach was Nick's Ice-Cream Stand. It was exactly where The Fisherman Restaurant now stands. Often, after dinner, you would take me and Penny in the car to get ice-cream. I don't think there were more than five or six selections, but there was a new "special" flavor every month or so. We could choose whichever we wanted. Being younger, I was a bit more conservative in my choices, sticking to the usual vanilla, chocolate, strawberry. Penny, on the other hand, was four years older and very brave. She would dare to try things like orange/pineapple or fudge swirl. I remember lots of occasions when I wished I had chosen what Penny got. Fortunately, there's no such thing as bad ice-cream.
Remember going for rides? I don't think people do that anymore. We would all pile into the car and just drive around. Sometimes Mother would have a destination in mind. She liked to drive around Groton Long Point. There was a beautiful stone house that she always admired. We used to call it Mom's house. I remember once we had to ride to North Stonington because gypsies were camped there. There really wasn't a lot to see which was a disappointment. As kids we always heard thrilling stories and threats concerning gypsies. Speaking of rides in the car brings to mind the old "car wash" on Bindloss Road. Going there with you was one of my favorite things in the world. We would wear our bathing suits and drive our car right into the shallow pool. You would get to work with your buckets and soap and sponges while I did very little to assist. For me it was all about frolicking in the water and looking for turtles and tadpoles. After the washing, you drove up on the side of the road and we would take chamois cloth to dry the chrome and metal.
Almost as good as the car wash was the spring on Cold Spring Road. Our well ran dry nearly every summer and you were the one elected to get drinking water for our entire household and some of the neighbors. It was an adventure to park the car and walk down the narrow trail carrying various bottles and jugs. Most of the time we would meet other people on the trail or have to wait for a few minutes while others filled their containers. It makes me smile now when I picture that corroded metal pipe (probably lead) coming out of that hillside and spilling cold, clear water into the little stream. The spring is now off limits thanks to the health department, but in those days, that was the very best tasting water.
You've given me some wonderful memories and I've enjoyed looking back at them today to celebrate your birthday. You often said you felt guilty that you missed a good deal of your kids growing up years because you were drinking then. I know what you mean about guilt. Now that I'm old, I'm haunted about the things I did or didn't do, the bad choices I made when my kids were growing up. You know what...stop worrying. I don't remember the drinking. I remember the beach, the car wash, the picnics, the ice-cream and a million other things that made my life special and my memories precious. I hope my kids will feel the same way about me someday.
Happy Birthday, Dad!!!
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