That’s what a former boss of mine would say when he heard from colleagues having older parents, when they mentioned their illnesses, detailed their struggles and even mentioned their passing from this life. That was the first thing I thought, when I heard my father was sick. Of course, he’d been sick for a few years now, and I always held out hope that he would get better. By now, we all know the knowledge that the mathematics of this life always trend down, and everything deteriorates. Things naturally wither, they diminish, they fall, they lose their color, their luster. Mighty designed embellished structures give over to a streamlined, modern, minimal design; all intricate languages devolve into abbreviations and half-words. There’s a book in the Bible called Ecclesiastes, and it mentions everything having a season. It’s true. There are times of plenty, times of hunger, times of anger and times of elation. You all know the rest. Just listen to the song. That’s why I felt a great sense of relief and closure when I heard my father died. The painful season for him was finally over.
I will cut to the chase. There are others who have known my father years more than I, and I will rely on them to give you more details on how he was as a younger man. But for me and what I remember, I recall an intense man. He was passionate. He had a temper. His humor had timing, and a wonderful sense of immediacy. I loved the way he loved me, hugging me with the tightness that I will miss forever. At least, until I see him again. There are times when you grow up, and you begin to see the parent you’ve always known change as a person, as they grow old as well. His sharp intensity became smooth moderation after a few years, and he was always accommodating and kind. With the temper he had, I began to realize I wasn’t afraid of making him mad. I just didn’t want to disappoint him. There’s a big difference, and I appreciate noting this later in life, especially when I became a father myself. I didn’t really see him play music as much as I wanted to, but I just knew from all the colleagues he had--distinguished artists in their field, and accomplished musicians in their own right, they testified to his absolute skill. It spoke to me as an artist, and as a son. He was a father to everyone. His family is huge as a result.
He coached me, my brothers, and he was a great mentor to all the young people in the community. He gave of his time freely, and he personally indulged my awkwardness with grace, my individuality with love and care. I have so many great memories with him by my side, over my shoulder, embracing me in his warmth, and I am confident in being a better man because he’s still with me to this day.
I was a young science-fiction fan, and he recognized that and took me to see Star Wars for the first time. I remember when we giggled leaving the theater, watching a guy in his pick up truck, sitting in the parking lot with his son on his lap, in battle with imaginary starships. They had such a good time, and my dad and I shared that same smile. It changed my life, because I didn’t want to be an astronaut anymore. Too many numbers. But I wanted to be an actor, to tell stories, and to lead with my imagination, chasing those fantastical dreams with my heart. He understood that. He may not have liked it, but the way he handled my oddities gave me a deep appreciation for how varied his passion was for life.
He took me to see John Elway play for the very first time, and it was a joy.
He went with me to fire off awkwardly-built model rockets, and he had no problem believing they would fly.
He stood beside me and hugged me in the dark after my first dog died. He told me there was too much pain for the little guy to live, and he needed to rest. And that’s what we all needed to do ultimately, just have rest.
He was happy for me when I received scholarships from different schools to study acting, but I knew his heart was broken as he gently left the room to be by himself.
We shared some wonderful times watching movies, as he had such an appreciation for not only the leading actors and technicians, but for the forgotten character actors. The ones in the background. They may not appear often in the stories, but they have to hit home runs when they step up.
He loved entertainment and the arts. He read comic books! We talked about the Fantastic Four and Star Trek. We listened to old time radio programs. He played for me the old Abbott and Costello routine, Who’s On First. When I heard that for the first time I kept staring at him, confused. He explained to me, "the one guy thinks the other guy is keeping the players' names secret, while the other guy knows the fake names are actual names". I still couldn’t get it. Later on in life, I giggled to myself thinking that his explanation to me and my resistance to understand became a comedy routine in itself. He had a great appreciation for Mel Brooks movies and the 2000 Year Old Man. Along with some Lenny Bruce and Redd Foxx, there were a lot of uncomfortable things comedy exposed, but he told me that’s really what you want to laugh at, the things that no one wants to say out loud. That was where the gold was. We listened to Richard Pryor together, I even relayed some old Steve Martin comedy bits to him, much to his enjoyment and curiosity. I tried to explain Steve Martin to him a little, and it was like him explaining Who’s On First back in the day. Eventually, he came around on Steve Martin, and we would see all of his movies together. The R-rated ones. He took the family to see kung fu double features a lot, at the old Mayan theater downtown. He introduced me to Bruce Lee and Shih Kien, the Chinese villain actor of the time. I still remember in between films there was a local karate academy who went on stage and performed some kung fu moves. One of the students slipped and put his foot right through the screen. The theater erupted. I felt so bad for the guy, but I felt good when I looked down the row and our whole family was laughing together. He was goofy. He knew good jokes. He had impressions and accents. He would've been a lovely actor.
I knew Dirty Harry at a young age, watched dozens of horror films of the day, I beheld Don Rickles, Martin and Lewis, Marx Brothers, Hope and Crosby, Buster Keaton, Charles Bronson, Peter Sellers and all the old time Denver Broncos of the early 70s. We watched Looney Tunes on early Saturday mornings and he always mentioned they were better than Disney cartoons, because they were all comedians. Mel Blanc is my favorite actor, to this day.
Although we knew I was a nerdy chap growing up and loved classical music, he could always talk to me on my level. I don’t remember the exact point, but he introduced me to a few vinyl records he played, from some of his favorite artists who played jazz. We talked for hours about that stuff. I am very proud to say he had the chance to watch not me--but my son--play jazz, live. He cherished those moments with such reverence. It seemed like he saw a prophecy come true. I am happy he got to see my son play. I can barely hold a tune.
Later on down the road, I overheard him being upset, questioning God. I had to go into his room and talk with him. The youngest kid never really did that in those days, but I was the only one around, and I hated to hear him in misery. In his youth, he had gone through catechism, had learned the Bible, and he knew all the figures and places of the word of God. I think at that moment, he wanted a response from the world, not merely a word of comfort, but a reflection of the things he believed were true in his younger life, to help him with the events that tortured him that day. I think he needed to be reminded, and see that reflection, looking back at him. Call it a divine appointment or just simple family relations, but we both ended up in tears, holding each other in our arms, with him repeatedly saying, "my son. My son". We had a deep understanding of life after that day. It reflected in both our eyes as I saw him the last few times, lying in his final bed.
To think that my story is one of many thousands of stories, staggers me. For every one of you out there who knew him: you have volumes of love and adventures with this man. He was epic, and the scope of his life was magnified with the volumes written on his heart.
So, here we are. I am comfortable. It is well with my soul. He is walking freely under lustrous skies, seeing his parents, even talking with the son he never knew, the one who passed away in childbirth earlier in his life. Nothing deteriorates any more. There’s no more pain, there are no more tears except for those he’s leaving behind right now. We are all sad down here, but he is living a beautiful, mystical, glorious homecoming.
My story is his story, and I know I will see him again.
--Son, 2022
