Today is my dad's birthday. Amid all the hustle and bustle today, I didn't even remember until a few hours ago. I should have, because his birthday is only a few days after mine. Had I talked to my mom today, I'm sure she would have reminded me.
Not that it matters a whole lot--I lost my dad to a heart attack over five years ago, when I was only a senior in high school. But, logical or not, I feel a little guilty for not remembering. God knows he never forgot my birthday.
To celebrate my dad's birthday, I thought I'd republish a diary I wrote on Father's Day of last year. I made a few amendments to it to make it more relevant, but it's largely the same. The original diary is entitled My Republican father made me a liberal. Follow me below the fold.
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It’s been almost five years now since I unexpectedly lost my dad to a heart attack. I’ve had a lot of time to think. I have a lot of regrets. I also have a lot of beautiful memories. I didn't always appreciate him. But today, on what would have been his sixty-sixth birthday, I realize I owe a lot to the man I called Dad. He truly made me who I am today.
What I wish more than anything is that, instead of writing this diary through misty eyes, I could tell my dad face-to-face what I’m about to tell you.
I don’t even know what adjective to use when describing my dad. “Great” is the understatement of a lifetime. Looking back, the man was probably one of the kindest, purest, most goodhearted men to ever walk the face of the earth. I was always a momma’s boy, and my dad and I didn’t have a whole lot in common--he liked sports, I liked cooking, he liked working outdoors, I liked writing--but I learned a lot from him. When I was a teenager, I didn’t realize what a great man was raising me. Now I do. If I can be half the person he was, I’ll be happy.
My dad was a “conservative” man. He was a lifelong Republican. He was an outspoken Bush supporter. But he was one of those self-proclaimed Republicans that should have been a Democrat. I realize now that I owe my liberalism to my dad.
My dad taught me to never forget the little guy. My dad was a “little guy.” He started out in a pretty decent union job at a furniture factory. He did well for himself and his family for many years. Then the company closed. He spent the rest of his life moving from shit job to shit job to make ends meet and to keep food on the table. He worked as a janitor. He worked on an assembly line making minimum wage. At the time of his death, he had a job shoveling steel chips at a factory. It wasn’t until I got my first full-time low-level job in manufacturing that I realized the hell my dad lived in for over a decade. I told myself, I’m only there for the summer, but my dad was there for life. But he didn’t complain. He got up early in the morning, got in the car, and went to work. He came home exhausted and in a bad mood. I didn’t understand why. Now I do. He loved his family very much. And he was willing to put up with a lot of abuse at work to keep a roof over our heads. He got screwed on wages, on benefits, on overtime, on everything, but he kept on keeping on. My dad may have been a “little guy,” but he wasn’t a little guy where it mattered.
My dad taught me that to get anywhere in life, you sometimes have to go through hell. Yes, sometimes you have to pull yourself up by your bootstraps--he did many times. I’ll never forget the despair in my dad’s voice one night when he got home from work and said, “I was let go today.” But he was the type of guy to get back on the horse when he got knocked off. Or at least try to. At the same time, my dad taught me that you sometimes have to swallow your pride and ask for help. At times, we were on food stamps. If we hadn’t had food stamps, I don’t know what we would have done. He didn’t like the fact that we had to have government help, because he wasn’t the type to ask for help. But that’s the way it had to be. As a result, he taught me not to look at government help as a marker of inadequacy or shame, but as a necessary fact of life. That’s why this rampant hatred for people on welfare pisses me off--my family was on government assistance, and we were far from freeloaders.
My dad taught me to have respect for everybody. There were many times when, in my childish way, I would poke fun at somebody for the way they looked or dressed or acted, and my dad would firmly stop me and set me straight. In a world full of fake Christians, my dad, in many ways, was a real one. My dad respected everybody he’d ever met. He practiced that famous “Christian love” we hear so much about. I remember that, on many occasions, we’d go to the mall, where an intellectually disabled man liked to hang out every day. Everybody avoided him like the plague. My dad would sit and have a Coke with him, just shooting the shit, not caring about anything but being the man's friend. That’s who I remember when I think of my dad: somebody who truly loved his fellow man.
My dad taught me not to judge or mistreat people--to consider everybody my equal. Some people are real assholes when they go out to a restaurant, treating the server like the servant they never had. Not my dad. This is something he’s passed on to me. It’s a life lesson that goes far beyond restaurant wait staff, though--he taught me to never, ever judge a person as inferior, no matter what their position is in relation to mine. Because someday, I might be there. My dad once had everything going for him, and he ended up shoveling steel chips at age 60. Shit happens. That doesn’t mean somebody is a lesser person. That doesn’t mean you get to walk all over them.
My dad taught me that there’s more to life than having nice things, driving a fancy car, and having lots of money. He taught me the value of family. He taught me the value of friendship. He taught me the value of being a decent person and helping others. People who only think of themselves really don’t have much of a life. My dad may not have had much as far as money goes, but he had a lot of heart and touched a lot of people. His viewing and funeral proved that. I’m chief among them.
I don’t know how my dad would have reacted when I came out as gay. For a long time, I assumed the worst. But the more I think about it, the more I think I’m wrong. Hell, when I think about it, I don’t even know my dad’s position on homosexuality. What I do know is that my dad loved me more than life itself. He was an old-fashioned kind of guy, but I truly think he would have let go of his preconceptions and accepted me for who I am. That’s the Dad I knew. He was full of love, not hate.
For the past five years, I’ve been trying to make my dad proud. Last year, I became the first person in my immediate family to graduate college. I'm now in a history PhD program. I wish I could tell Dad. He always said he wanted me to do better than him. Education-wise, I already have him beat. Human being-wise, I don’t know how I can even compete. But I’ll try.
I hope I’ll leave just half the impression on my future kids that my dad left on me.
I wish I could spend today with my dad. But this diary will have to suffice. I don’t believe in heaven, but remembering Dad really makes me hope I’m wrong.
Happy birthday, Dad.
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March 30, 2012
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Andrew C White sent in this comment by Horace Boothroyd III, which is in response to this comment by gigigirl, from Joan McCarter's diary Republican budget: Ryan Plan cuts fall predominantly on low-income Americans. HA!
From Land of Enchantment:
getreal1246 makes an excellent contribution to Ian Riefowitz's post on gated communities.
From koosah:
I found this comment from Ky DEM in Joan McCarter's diary about the Pentagon's conflict with Paul Ryan to be succinct, accurate and funny. It beautifully summarizes these two Republicans and it would make a great bumper sticker.
From princesspat:
This comment by Dragon5616 eloquently and succinctly speaks to the key differences between Democrats and Republicans.
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March 29, 2012
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