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| Our family home growing up in Albuquerque, New Mexico |
When I was a teenager walking up to our small home in Albuquerque, New Mexico, the first thing I always did was look to see if the kitchen light was on. If it was, I immediately felt a sense of dread as it meant my father was still awake and he was likely sitting at the bar next to the kitchen.
Like many of the families with parents from the greatest generation it was a unique and memorable time.
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| Mom and Dad |
All this while our mom raised my older sisters and brothers while working at a San Diego military airplane manufacturing plant. Like most civilians, our mom helped support the American war machine. Sadly, it was the cigarettes and alcohol that ultimately shortened both of their lives resulting in them dying before either of them ever laid their eyes on our three beautiful sons.I recall slowly opening our wide front door with a creek and just hoping my dad would be in a good mood. Sometimes he would have me come over to him as his cigarette burned in the ashtray and the pale white smoke slowly danced upward, hitting the low ceiling before splitting and silently rolling away, while his vodka and quinine water melted the little chips of ice he had cut himself with an ice pick in the small metal bar sink.
My dad would sometimes place his burly right arm over my slim shoulders and point to the ceiling with his left hand and slowly say, "Each of you are my shooting stars". He would then take his arm off of my shoulders and then point towards our low, white ceiling with the circular swirl marks and say, "You are all going in different directions. I am so proud of each of you. It's just marvelous."
I never really said much as I counted the seconds until I could get past him and into my bedroom in the garage. With nine people in our household including seven kids, our three bedrooms and the garage filled up pretty quickly.
I think sharing a room, having home made clothes, and competing for the best food items were more common back then, or maybe it was just an indicator of which rung on the economic ladder our family landed. It's funny, I never really felt we were "poor."
Until very recently, I always believed it was the alcohol, my parent's financial worries, or the memories of countless combat operations that resulted in my dad frequently being immersed in his own silent thoughts and often acting like our very own, "Great Santini."
As I sit here in the darkened silence only a few hours before deadline, I realize I have been wrong all these years. Yes, the wars permanently scarred my parents, but under it all they loved each of us so deeply they would sacrifice anything and everything they had for us.
I think on many of those lonely nights my dad was thinking about his seven "shooting stars" and how he could make sure we stayed safe, clothed and moving in the right trajectories. It's amazing to think how difficult that must have been.
Theresa and I have been parents for about sixteen years and only have three kids to worry about and yet we constantly re-evaluate in hopes we are providing them the proper guidance on their complex journey to adulthood and we make the most of our time together. The most difficult part for me is seeing how each of them change from week to week, year to year.
As you see one stage of their life end, you see another begin. I find myself holding our youngest son on my lap longer and kissing his head more frequently because I know as he turns into a teenager I won't be so cool anymore and the thought of us holding hands will only be a fond memory.
I just might have to try the "shooting stars" example with our boys. More of a salute to my father and an apology for working so hard to avoid him for so many years. I guess as a teenager, I never really understood my dad. He is now gone, just like the cigarette smoke that danced along our ceiling before slowly fading away.
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| Dad |
I never really said much as I counted the seconds until I could get past him and into my bedroom in the garage. With nine people in our household including seven kids, our three bedrooms and the garage filled up pretty quickly.
I think sharing a room, having home made clothes, and competing for the best food items were more common back then, or maybe it was just an indicator of which rung on the economic ladder our family landed. It's funny, I never really felt we were "poor."
Until very recently, I always believed it was the alcohol, my parent's financial worries, or the memories of countless combat operations that resulted in my dad frequently being immersed in his own silent thoughts and often acting like our very own, "Great Santini."
As I sit here in the darkened silence only a few hours before deadline, I realize I have been wrong all these years. Yes, the wars permanently scarred my parents, but under it all they loved each of us so deeply they would sacrifice anything and everything they had for us.
I think on many of those lonely nights my dad was thinking about his seven "shooting stars" and how he could make sure we stayed safe, clothed and moving in the right trajectories. It's amazing to think how difficult that must have been.
Theresa and I have been parents for about sixteen years and only have three kids to worry about and yet we constantly re-evaluate in hopes we are providing them the proper guidance on their complex journey to adulthood and we make the most of our time together. The most difficult part for me is seeing how each of them change from week to week, year to year.
As you see one stage of their life end, you see another begin. I find myself holding our youngest son on my lap longer and kissing his head more frequently because I know as he turns into a teenager I won't be so cool anymore and the thought of us holding hands will only be a fond memory.
I just might have to try the "shooting stars" example with our boys. More of a salute to my father and an apology for working so hard to avoid him for so many years. I guess as a teenager, I never really understood my dad. He is now gone, just like the cigarette smoke that danced along our ceiling before slowly fading away.
Cheers,
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