For My Dad On Father's Day

Today's practice was for my Dad, Harold L. Howard, Sr. who is my inspiration for living and for all of the things that I do.  He passed away in 2000 at the age of 88.  My Dad was born in Macon, Georgia in 1911; his parents died when he was very young - he would never tell  me how.  Dad  left Macon soon after never to return and he would tell me when I asked about his home town that he would never go back there because of racism. Under the care of his older brother and sister he moved to Michigan and stayed with a family friend, and when he came of age moved to New York during the era of zoot suits, the Cotton Club, Coney Island and Martha's Vineyard.

After some years there Dad moved to Maryland where he married and began raising my oldest brother.  He would lose his first wife to cancer - the pictures of her deterioration saddened me; a loss he seemed to never get over. He later married my Mom, who with two children of her own brought new life into Dad's home and a year later I was born.  His brother and sister died before I could meet them.

I have vivid memories of my Dad, his manual transmission cars (he would never drive an automatic); his HAM radio (he was an operator for more than 50 years); the smell of soldered wires in the house (he was an electrician by trade), his golf clubs and cleats (he started playing when I was about 9), his love for his own southern cooking, the large citrine ring he never took off, his flower and vegetable garden and our many pets.

Since my Dad was older, he retired while I was still in elementary school and was home in the afternoons to supervise homework and to cook dinner.  He was often the one to show up at school when that sort of thing was necessary.  We spent summers together at the pool and amusement parks.  He was an adamant supporter of my education, a  stern disciplinarian, and one that boyfriends didn't toy with.  He was everything that a Dad could be - he was always there.

Dad walked me down the aisle on my wedding day and insisted on watching me drive off from his nursing home bed. 

On days like today, he is especially on my mind and my heart breaks a little.   A friend of mine from college who lost her Mom yesterday shared with me that even though her Mom's condition was grim, she and her sister and Father wanted to do everything possible to save her.  I could identify with that because try as I might to let him go, if my Dad were still here at 102 years old I would still lay next to him holding his hand.  Some things you  just never lose attachment of easily, I guess.  So today I practiced releasing a little of the melancholy and bought him a bunch of red roses and took them to the cemetery.  Our front yard had an ancient antique rose bush, from which he picked a flower for his lapel for church every Sunday.    From the bunch I kept one - because he'd also pick one for my hair for church.  Think I'll wear it to dinner tonight.

I miss you Dad and I carry you with me everywhere.