Yesterday, I went to the doctor for a follow-up appointment and he said we needed to schedule a test to rule out the possibility of cancer. Cancer is never a word you want your doctor to say in relationship to yourself, but it is especially not a word you want to hear when it is nearing the one year anniversary of your father's death from the same cancer. I nodded to the doctor, scheduled the appointment, walked numbly from the building, climbed into the car where my best friend was waiting, and brushed away a tear as I told her. Then, I was angry. "No! This is not what I inherit from my father."
My parents divorced when I was two years old. They both remarried and had happy, stable marriages that have lasted over 40 years. They were too young, too different, too whatever. Their divorce was ugly and my mom is bitter about it to this day. I don't have memories from when they were married. I was a little kid, a toddler really. I have scattered childhood stories. He preferred my brothers. I can clearly remember him telling me girls did not matter as much since we didn't carry on the family name. When he said that my little spine grew a little straighter, I squared my shoulders, and set my mind to prove I was just as good as any male. Ah.. You see in that moment, I became a little feminist although I didn't know the name or the negative connotations that people associate with the term. I always thought that is what I inherited from my father.
I worked with my father at the textile plant when I first started college. If you wanted to go to college back in the day, your family either needed to have the money to pay for it, you earned the money, or you won a scholarship. I worked 46 hours a week to earn the money, plus I won a scholarship for employees of the plant. I watched my father work harder than everyone else. He arrived early. He stayed late. He joked with all the employees and he helped those in need when he thought no one could see. He stood up for gay rights way before that was popular by simply saying I don't care who the man kisses as long as he does his job. Other people followed his lead. I know he saw color but he never let it stand in his way of befriending people, treating them fairly, or working hard along side them. His actions said everyone is equal and special and unique. I want to think I inherited that from my father.
My father loved history. He could recall the events of years ago and explain it in detail. He would spin tales and give details and connect today with yesterday. He was my first history teacher and to be honest, my best history teacher because he made it a relevant, interesting story. His biography is available in bookstores. It tells the story of his childhood as a sharecropper in the Keowee River Valley. The stories are heartbreaking at times and at other times, I can hear his laughter as he relates a story. When he died, my brother gave me a copy of the recordings Daddy made for the book. It's him at his storytelling best, explaining his personal place in history. I hope I have inherited the storytelling gene.
My father was a fantastic grandfather to my son. He took him hunting and fishing. He taught him how to set a trot line and how to keep bees. He taught him about treating people right and always being true to your word. I raised a fine man. I have always said I inherited that from my daddy.
Our relationship was difficult. There were long stretches when we did not speak. I was hurt about things. He was hurt about things. We are both incredibly stubborn people but whenever he called, it was like we had just spoken the day before. When I called, he always joked and greeted me warmly. If I could change anything, it would be to take back the times when we did not speak. Stubborn pride is not something I want to inherit.
At the end, my father began to suffer strokes. He went to the hospital time and time again until his cancer was discovered. At one point, Daddy was in the hospital and my mom was in another hospital across town with a broken hip. I emailed my principal and asked if I could leave during my planning period to go visit one so that I would have time to also go visit the other. Rather than send the response of yes that I was expecting, he showed up at my door during one of my classes with a sub. He told me to Go Home. "No", I responded. "I need to teach this class first and then, I will leave". He repeated that he wanted me to go ahead and leave. I shook my head and began to cry. I can still see myself bend over and try to gain control of my emotions. Then, I straightened my spine and squared my shoulders. I told my boss that my father was going to die soon and I have not proven I am enough yet. He looked at me like I was crazy and said "Dear Lord, if YOU have not done enough, then no one can." This was probably one of the rawest exchanges I have ever had with my principal or anyone else. You aren't supposed to say the things you fear the most out loud. I would say it again on the beach to my best friends and to a therapist right before my father died. What do you need him to say? they all asked. Honestly, I don't know the answer. I felt small and inconsequential and needy. I wanted to feel like I was Daddy's little princess or his pride and joy or that he thought I was amazing. I still don't know what I needed him to say. On some level, I was all of those things. He told me he loved me multiple times in the days before he died. He told me he was so proud of me. He lauded my accomplishments. I know he meant what he was saying but at the same time, he knew death was near. The little girl inside me squared her shoulders and straightened her back and vowed to be a little more. This fear of never being enough is what I am afraid I inherited from my father.
So, if you see me panicked about messing up or loading way too many things onto my plate or crying when I cannot do everything always, just know I am trying to live up to man who did it all with ease. Colon cancer cannot be what I inherited from my father. There are way too many other things that are amazing about his life for me to inherit that one.
Hug your family tight. Eat the turkey. Tell the stories. Show the kids you love them. Make them want to be just like you. I inherited that from my Daddy.
No comments:
Post a Comment