What was your Dad like when you were a child?

Luckily my family loved taking photographs. They documented every birthday, milestone, family trips and many gatherings.  Without these photos my dad would remain in a faraway place, where I struggle to see his face, remember his smile and who he was. So I glean from these photos and combine the images with what I do remember. He is of a quiet nature, tall and lanky, but not at all imposing. Always wearing a button down shirt, often with a tie, rarely in a t-shirt. In most of the photos he is holding our hands or letting us climb on him. When I was little he would let me use his legs as a slide. Over and over he would lift me up and slide me down. A favorite photo of mine is one where I have climbed on his lap and fell asleep. He was often reserved, but these photos show how he engaged and playful he could be. To find me in a group photo, just find my dad and you will see me leaning against his legs with his hands on my shoulders.  The words often used to describe him were quiet, patient and kind.

Once a year as a family we would drive to White Plains to go shopping for school clothes. There were large department stores where my mom, sisters and I would spend all day trying on clothes. My Dad dropped us off, parked the car and then waited. At the end of the day we would find him out front. As a child, it appeared like he just stood there all day long. He was happy to see us with no complaints that we took too long or how he had waited. On the drive back home he would join in our songs and silliness. Then we would stop at our favorite pizza place. I think my father loved this part, not just for the pizza. We lived with my grandparents, so our intimate family dinner times were rare. My grandfather was the head of the household and my father lived in his shadow. Looking back, I imagine it was challenge to find his place.

Every summer we we spent a week in a cabin on Cape Cod. On the way, a stop was often made in New Bedford, the city where my dad grew up. His best friend (known to us as Uncle Arnold) still lived in the same neighborhood. Uncle Arnold brought out a side of my dad we did not often see. He was a little more gregarious. Maybe it was the telling of old stories and the reminiscing of his family. It set the tone of our vacation. Our vacations on Cape Cod were special. The photos are of us swimming, sight seeing, eating out and being together. It was just our nuclear family. My Dad was out from the shadow of home and work.

When I was young he worked in a grocery store, as an assistant manager. At least I think that is what he did at work. I know that everyday he left for work and came home at the same time. At 5:30 every evening, I would sit at the kitchen window looking out at the driveway waiting to see his headlights. I would jump up to greet him with great excitement. I do not remember ever seeing him moody or angry or unsettled. Perhaps, of course he was, but my experience was his happiness to see me and to be home. My Aunts would say he was thrilled to have three daughters and that I was the apple of his eye. I was five years younger then my sisters, so that may be why. Or sometimes, I like to think it was because we were simpatico. We shared similar traits, shy, quiet and patient. My mom on the other hand was opinionated, more gregarious and outwardly fun, but also temperamental. She was unpredictable and there was some uncertainty in her presence. I leaned on my dad. There was a consistency and steadiness about him. 

When I was twelve my Dad had a heart attack. He was at work when we got the call he was being taken to the hospital. My mom hurried my sisters and I into the car. We arrived to find my Uncle Phil (my dad’s brother) in the waiting room. He and my mom went into the emergency room, the minutes passed slowly. From here on my memory is a blur, but I remember their deliberate steps and how time stood still as they approached us. It was hard to know how to react, it did not seem real. 

My sisters and I walked arm and arm to the car for the long ride home. Without him,  nothing made sense. At twelve, trying to understand what happened and why seemed impossible. I do not know all the ways that his death has shaped my life. But I like to think that I carry on some of his kindness, patience and love.