Remembering My Dad

Today is the last day of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. Since it happens to be my dad’s birthday today, I want to share a little bit about him. My dad died in 2020. It’s been 26 years. Seems like just yesterday. Some of this may be inaccurate since I am writing from my memory and perspective. But I like that. It’s from my heart.

When he died, he had just turned 71. He had a heart attack on his birthday, July 31st, and then died on August 6th. He died way too soon, less than two weeks before his last grandchild was born, a baby girl who was named after his beloved sister. I have to think a part of his spirit is now a permanent part of her.

Who He Was

He was loud and boisterous, with a laugh that could fill a room. He had a widow’s peak, wore glasses, and was 100% Italian, through and through. He was strong. He had bowed legs. I once saw him chase my teenage sister down the street. He was pretty fast. He was street smart and could smell a BS’er a mile away. He was an avid Mets fan. I learned all my curse words listening to him during a game. He made really good sausage, peppers, and onions (although I learned not to eat that anymore). He loved a good party and get-together.

He was an only child until he was 11. That year, his mother left to give birth to his only sister and never came home; she died in the delivery room. Life was turned upside down overnight. His infant sister was given to his father’s sister to raise as her own, but my dad lived up the street from them, so he saw her and his cousins constantly. His grandmother tried to keep him in line, but he felt a fierce obligation to protect his sister and his cousins, and that meant getting into fights. He was tough. I have to think growing up surrounded by all of that, the loss, the responsibility, the family close by but not quite whole, shaped who he became.

Love, War, and an Unlikely Career

He met my mom on a blind date that wasn’t even supposed to be with her. Her original date didn’t work out, and he ended up with my mom instead. They fell madly in love, got married, and then he was drafted to serve in the Korean conflict. He got lucky: an officer pulled him out of the line and declared he’d be a cook, stationed in Germany, on the assumption that being Italian meant he must know how to cook. So off he went, with absolutely no idea how to cook, and he served two years that way.

When he came home, he enrolled in engineering school, working days at the Brooklyn Naval Yard and going to class at night, all while raising two young kids with one on the way. He graduated and became an electrical engineer, eventually working on the bombing mechanisms for the F-14 Tomcat fighter jet.

The Dad I Knew

To me, growing up, he was a bit of an enigma. When our art teacher once asked us to draw our parents, I drew my dad driving a train. I genuinely thought he was a train engineer.

As the youngest of three girls (I also have two younger brothers), my dad and I had our own bond. He was always trying to coax me into the deep water so he could teach me to swim, and I wanted absolutely none of it. I was too afraid. But as I got older, we found other things to share. I remember one night my mom had friends over, and my dad took me to the movies, just the two of us. I don’t think that ever happened with my siblings. It felt very special to me at the time.

I remember sitting on his lap and drinking the dregs of his coffee. I also remember him giving me a taste of his beer. He took me to the Father-Daughter Dances at my high school, and he always laughed because I insisted on leading. Maybe that was a sign of things to come. When I was home sick once, he bought me a chemistry set, and I was captivated making disappearing ink and every other concoction I could manage.

He also took me to college night, where we both fell in love with a small school in New England. I never forgot it, and I still wonder sometimes what my life would have looked like if I’d gotten to go. With five kids all wanting college educations, that was never really in the cards. I went to a state school instead. But my dad found something else for me: he pointed me toward a field called Environmental Science, thinking I’d be drawn to it. He was right. I went on to earn my PhD in that field, and I know how proud he was of me. That always felt good. He worried about me plenty too and even came to visit a few times when I was in graduate school in Texas. I think he liked to check to make sure I was safe. I was the first child to move so far away. On those visits, we always managed to find some kind of adventure together, like trying Ethiopian food. I don’t think he was a fan.

What He Left Behind

He was a tough dad. Hard on me, and he expected a lot. But he could light up a room with his laugh, and family was everything to him. He lived to see ten of his grandchildren and genuinely delighted in them. I’m just sorry he missed the last one. I believe she would have been the apple of his eye.

I am forever a Mets fan. He didn’t leave me any choice. Family is my lifeblood thanks to him. Life is short. Too short for him. I’m trying to live my life as full as I can each day. Some days I fall way short. Other days it’s spectacular. He is the reason I focused on my health. I didn’t want to leave the party too early. I hope somehow, somewhere, he knows all of this. That he sees how the family tree he planted has blossomed into something more beautiful than he could ever imagine. Happy Birthday, Dad. Love you.