You remember Baby Dennis, the former child star? At least vaguely, right? In the sailor suit, in some of those old movies from the 30's and 40's?
That was Dad.
There was no Baby Dennis, actually - my Dad had an active imagination and a gift for being the center of attention. He was a born entertainer. When Dennis walked into a room, everyone would whisper "Who IS that?" At 6'6", slender, and handsome with black hair and green eyes, it was easy for him to attract attention just by standing there. And when he opened his mouth, these hilarious tall tales would come tumbling out. An audience would gather. Everyone wanted to know him, talk to him. He could sing, he could dance, he could chew scenery. He should have been on Broadway. In the movies. Something.
But he grew up poor, in a poor rural area. A farmer's son, child of conservative Southern Baptists. Good, decent, kind people, whose hearts and feelings Dennis always put before his own. There is only one way out of Nowheresville for a boy like that: the military.
Dad joined the Navy at 17, then earned a bachelors' degree and joined the Air Force. He became a registered nurse; not that uncommon in the military, but not that common elsewhere back in the early 60s. He told me he wanted to help people, not kill them, and that it took too long to become a doctor. A few years later, after his masters, he entered one of the most demanding area of nursing: anesthesiology. Then followed two tours of duty in Vietnam at the 12th AF Hospital in Cam Rahn Bay, where he told me he never lost a patient on the table. He was awarded a Bronze Star, which he stuck in the attic and never spoke of again. He came back from the war a full-fledged alcoholic, and it eventually killed him.
My Dad was gay. I knew it even though he did his best to hide it. I wish I'd told him it didn't matter to me, but I waited for him to bring it up first, out of respect, and he never did. Now I wish I'd said something first. I don't think he was hiding it from me, so much as from his parents, whom he worshipped. Dad paid for their hospitalizations and nursing homes. He lent money to his siblings to start new businesses, which they never repaid. He opened his home to people down on their luck. That was one thing I learned from Dad - in a prejudiced state during a racist time, Dennis had the most diverse group of friends imaginable. Everything I know about sticking up for others, especially others being bullied, I learned from him. I still have the check he wrote to the McGovern campaign; he hated war and everything about it. The waste, the suffering, the corruption. He taught me that, too.
He died a horrible, painful death from cirrhosis 17 years ago, but what I really remember most was when he came to help me when I had my baby. You should have seen the proud Grandpa! And when I was growing up, how he bought me the most glamorous clothes. He made me feel like I was the most beautiful, wonderful little girl in the world. He was magical and compassionate and hilarious and unique, and every day I miss him.
Daddy, I know you yearned to be famous, and you deserved to be. You could have made it on Broadway or in Hollywood, but instead you chose the kind of life you thought you should live. You sacrificed your own dreams so that the dreams of those you loved would remain intact. I know how much love and courage that took.
Dad, you are my hero. And it may not be much, but to me you were the biggest star, ever.