My Father

 I never understood my father. He was very opinionated and in his mind, always right.

He was brand loyal, only Falstaff beer, Taystee bread, Quality dairy milk, Kellogg's cereal and Pepsi-Cola. If I was sent to the store and bought anything different, it was an immediate trip back for the correct item. He did lose his Catholic faith. I never knew why. He died with six children who loved him, but none who really knew him. We all just accepted him for what he was. For all his faults, his coercive nature and domineering presence, he was a kind-hearted man. He would do anything for family and extended family. He was a hard worker and loaned money to anyone needing it and rarely got any back.

He married my mother during World War II and after the war they bought a house in Saint Louis and in no time after that he had his mother and father-in-law move in for the rest of their lives. If that wasn’t enough, his mother-in-law did not speak to him or even acknowledge his presence in his own home. Yet he was always good to both of them.

I want to show what a man he was, in 1972 he was hit head on a two-lane highway and pushed down a steep hill. He was all broken up and his leg was mangled. A normal man would have died, but he pulled through, despite having at least one stroke in the hospital. He never had much circulation from his knee on down after that. He developed gangrene in that leg years later. His heart was too weak for general anesthetic so he sat and watched the surgeons saw his leg off just above the ankle. His circulation was so poor the surgery wound would not heal, so he sat and watched the surgeon saw his leg off just below his knee a week later. That’s the kind of man he was. He was not even upset about the situation.

My father and I never spoke much, when there was conversation it was in the form of a lecture to me. Now that I am older, I see wisdom in his teachings that I never recognized before.