I was on the front porch having a cigarette, 20 minutes after waking up at 730 and listening to Jon Secada's "Just Another Day" on my headphones.
Except this time, it wasn't over Gina. It was my dad I cried over.
I miss him. And I'm somewhat ashamed, that when he passed away in May, I didn't go onto the blog to write about it. Or how I was feeling at the time. It wasn't that I thought I didn't need/have to, but..
I don't know, this blog confuses me sometimes. I don't know what compels me to write. Am I exorcising a demon? Trying to make sense of certain things? Emptying myself out? Or is posterity the driving force behind all this?
Maybe it's all of the above, and more. I don't know.
But, my dad.
A few days ago, I watched some of a documentary called "Bears" that Disney produced, and which has been on my PVR for a number of months now.
In Bears, there was an interesting moment in which Scout, a male bear cub, is described as looking for his "role" model, early on in the doc. He takes note of the aggressive alpha-bears, the laid-back bears, the average ho-hum ones, the overly affectionate ones.. And, he doesn't really find any bear to model himself over. At least, not until the end, where he discovers that he had always had a courageous role model to follow, his mom. According to what the narrator claims, anyways.
That.. kind of jerked me a bit when I watched that. Because, I notice that in me, too. I'm kind of still a kid at this ripe old age of mine, and I.. never really found a role model for myself, other than Kurt Cobain in my early teens. But as life went on, I grew out of bad poetry and hoping to make a living playing guitar/being in a band.
Since Kurt, I never.. really had anyone to look up to. To look at and say, "that's the kind of man I'd like to be."
Well, I realized this morning, with the pain of loss cutting deep into my heart, that just like Scout, my role model had been right under my nose all along.
My father.
July 31st, 1944 - May 1st, 2016.
Born in .. (sighs) I wish I knew the exact place, but he was born in Czechslovakia, in a small village outside of Prague somewhere. I would know, if my step-sister Stephanie gave me dad's old passport like I asked her to.
But that text message was ignored. As usual. She doesn't give a shit about dad, or myself.
I don't know what to write in this post. I feel bummed already. Radiohead's "Daydreaming" is playing, and I still remember how perfect of a song that was in the days leading up to dad's memorial service/viewing. It mirrored my sadness perfectly. Every time I hear this song, I'm going to be reminded of that week.
I'll also be reminded of that stranger who paid for my coffee at the Tim Horton's drive-through, on the day I was driving to make funeral arrangements for my old man. He couldn't have picked a better stranger to show a kindness towards, at that particular time.
Well.. Dad.. you are my role model. You are.. were.. smart, handsome, strong.. really strong, not just physically, but mentally, too. I don't think I can remember if dad ever cried once in his life over anything.. Which puts me to shame, since.. yeah.
But that was part of his flaw, too. His inability to express his emotions. He.. was raised as a child by his grandmother, according to what my mom told me. I don't know what happened to his parents. When he was about 21, dad just left the country and didn't look back. He left his parents, and his siblings behind.
Whoever they were.
My Grandfather's name was Adolph. Heh. My Grandmother was Francisca, if memory serves me correctly.
It takes courage for dad doing what he did back then. He didn't know a lick of English, but he.. he had balls of steel to just leave and go to Austria, and from there, I think he went to.. ugh, he rarely talked about this, but I think he was in the UK or someplace and decided to go to Canada from there. No particular reason, either. He didn't have family or friends here.
So, he claimed refugee status, due to the Russians having taken over the country, and ended up in Alberta. With only a handful of possessions; he had to find a job, and was a janitor at the Salvation Army either downtown, or the one on Whyte Ave; both of which are still open to this day.
I remember him telling me the story of his first meal when he arrived. It was at the McDonalds hotel in downtown Edmonton, and it was a buffet. He thought he could only have one plate, and was wondering why other people kept going and getting more food from the table. Hah.
My dad was a true Renaissance man. He had his fingers into everything. Music, gardening, tennis, ping pong, weight lifting, soccer, books, stamp-collecting, coin-collecting, cooking. He worked on cars, worked as an electrician, owned a gas station, owned a laundromat. My dad had a solid business acumen going, and he was a take-no-prisioners, hard-ass when it came to people looking to take advantage of him.
He loved flea markets, and garage sales.
Just like I do, thanks to him taking me to so many of them as a child.
I still remember the day when I was 11 or so, and we were at this garage sale where there was boxes upon boxes of comics all wrapped up in plastic with a cardboard sleeve. I was big into comics back then, and my eyes literally popped out of my head as I scoured everything in the garage, looking for valuable first-issue/edition series. There was everything from Captain Carrot, to Groo, to lesser known titles from weirdo/niche publications.
My dad offered the lady a hundred bucks for the whole lot, which was probably a thousand or more comics. She snorted at him for that, and rightfully so.
But, my dad let me take out all the #1 issues I could find, and whatever ones after that. Like, Captain Carrot #1-#20.
He used to take me to Warp 1 comics all the time, on Whyte Ave.
Wor Wonton Soup. Swimming. Wee Book Inn.
Flea markets. Garage sales.
Theme parks. Amusement rides.
Vacations.
The library.
Camping. Fishing. Quadding.
Dim sum.
My dad gave me a pretty good childhood. He bought me an air rifle once, and we took Q-tips, cut off one of the swabs, and melted a small nail into the end with a lighter. This then was loaded into the rifle, and instantly made into a lethal weapon. Hell with BBs, we now had a high-velocity air gun which blew out a puff of white cotton every time we fired a Q-tip nail from it.
Then that time dad and I went to the military surplus store to buy gunpowder, and made smoke bombs that we detonated in the back yard.
Rockets that we couldn't successfully launch very high.
Throwing knives..
My dad was the coolest. He was a big kid.
Like me.
(sighs)
I have a drug and alcohol test later on this morning.. Hope I passed, since I think its been a month since I last smoked weed. But I'm not quite sure. My weight has dropped considerably since then, and not having much of an appetite, likely burned off whatever stores of THC fat I have left in me.
Going to work, finally, on the Monday after this one.
Dad wanted me to be a power engineer. Just like he was. Well, he was more than just a class two power engineer, he was 30 other things. As I've seen so many of his certificates. Boiler Fireman, electrician, power engineer.. Probably first-aid and whatever else. He was turned down at a few job interviews because he was "over-qualified".
But, I.. didn't like the technical side of things. I didn't like fixing cars, or being an electrician, or power engineering.
I liked art. I liked music. I loved reading. I love good food.
And with how its been the past month, I love making my home into a beautiful place.
Dad just never quite "got" me, when it came to who I actually am. He couldn't figure out what type of work I would be suited for, when I graduated from high school.
My dad couldn't relate to me very well.
I..
I wish he could have. I wish he c.. (sighs) I... told him once I was working on my novel, and he said he hoped he could read it someday.
He.. never did.
But, if I ever manage to finish writing it, its going to be dedicated to him. For sure.
My dad is the greatest man I know.
He had his flaws, his daughters and wife doesn't love him, he left his family behind, he was stubborn to a fault, but dad always tried to do the right thing. He tried to honor himself above all others.
And he did.
Just like I am trying to, as well.
My father is a tragic figure. He didn't leave much of a legacy behind. He wasn't really loved, or have loved anyone.. I think, maybe other than my mom, before her greed caused them to divorce and changing his life forever.
The gleam went out of his eyes, a few years after that divorce.
I remember, dad.
I'll try to honor your memory, pops. I haven't been working on the novel lately, because I've been busy. I've been busy doing things that I know you would never do, or be proud of. Well, some of them you wouldn't. I'm sure you would've been impressed that I changed a light fixture on my own, that I painted and stained my deck.. but, those are small accomplishments.
I'm going to eventually try to achieve something much bigger.
So my father will rightfully have something to be proud of, and that his life did serve a greater purpose.
His life, made my life possible.
It made who I am, possible.
He brought me into this world.
Now, its my duty to honor his memory and to express my appreciation for all he has given me.
I hope I can do it.
I hope I can make him proud.
