Pop became Dad

I’m not quite sure when it happened.
When did Pop become Dad?

For years he wasn’t there.
And for years I didn’t like him. For years we battled.
For years he inspired colleagues and quashed his children.

Mom got sick. Pop took care of her.
I graduated high school and finished college. Mom faded.
My childhood home was sold as Mom and Pop downsized.
Pop made sure I had a room in their small apartment.
Pop provided some early career advice – and talked about his own career… in detail.
And time passed.

Dad was still there. Dad called. Mom passed. Dad sent cards and visited.
Dad continued.

It didn’t occur to me until now that he really did become a parent figure to me.
The only parent I had in my adult life. The only parent for 20 years.

The only one who had parent expectations.
The only one who never qualified his beliefs.
The only one who I talked to for sure every holiday.
The only one who called me after football games to celebrate or commiserate.

The one I came out to – who already knew.
He sent me a corsage to congratulate me for an award. His way of showing acceptance.
He came to my anniversary party because he thought being committed was a good thing.
Even when we disagreed, he tried to find a way to agree.

I don’t know when it happened, but now I miss him.
I miss his humor. I miss his childlike giggle and mischievous smile.
I miss his 12-year-old sense of humor.
I miss how he knew it embarrassed me when he’d flirt with the women-staff.
I miss how he knew it embarrassed my sisters more and made us both laugh.

I miss shared stories about quitting drinking, about AA meetings,
About AA wisdom and catch-phrases,
About how it changed our lives, our relationships, our view of ourselves,
Our view of God.
I remember when I quit drinking, and he was proud.
And after a couple years of sobriety - I had a moment of clarity and understanding about him, his flaws, his humanity.

I miss finding out things about him that I never knew.
Finding out he knew things that I thought he didn’t…
Sibling secrets that he knew all along.

I miss the rare times he’d let me in on his stories from World War II.

He really sucked at some things. Presents? No, he sent checks at Christmas.
The memo line said “Love, Dad”.
In an effort to make it NOT about money,
because Dad and money were an emotionally troublesome combo,
I bought a village building with each Christmas check.
And then I sent him pictures of the “town that Joe built.”
It’s lit up now… all decorated in the Christmas spirit,
with miniature skaters, vendors selling holly and hats, and Ebenezer scrooging.

Dad shaped my future in a million ways, only some that I understand.
He expected kindness, strength, success, intelligence, fairness, and, of course, social justice.
He learned about fatherly love late in life, and we figured out forgiveness together.

It’s Christmas Eve. And I miss my Dad. I didn’t realize until now how much I counted on him, listened to him, put up with him, laughed with him, and loved him.

It’s Christmas Eve. And I miss my Dad.

Lisa Hansknecht, December 24, 2009