My father died penniless — well, almost. We kept a $10 bill in the drawer of his nursing-home nightstand, because he became anxious without a little cash on hand. But aside from that, he had no money. (I don't care.) I've been thinking about the intangible things my father gave me, the inheritance I've already been carrying around.
The nose: I have my mother's eyes and my father's nose. It's crooked and a little too large for my face. Hypothetically I've thought, "If you were able to change it, would you?" I wouldn't. I always knew that at some point, it would be one of the few parts of my dad that I'd have left.
The sense of humor: He was always telling jokes, always making people laugh. I'm far more serious than he was, but I like to think I picked up some of his wit. The older I get, the better I am at laughing.
Stubbornness: My father could be incredibly obstinate, often for no apparent reason. I am similarly stubborn. JC says I stand on ceremony, and Scott said something about me holding to my convictions too tightly, so I think it is safe to say that it's my way or the highway. Not a good thing to inherit. Working on this.
Certain tastes: My father liked to eat some crazy shit: scrapple, shit on a shingle, liver. (Liver!) I forgo those but share his love of chocolate malts, pecans, chocolate chip cookies, hard-boiled eggs in salad, olives, Ovaltine.
Laziness: I love my dad, but he was not an industrious man. If he loved doing something, he was happy to throw himself into it head-first. But he avoided household chores and often cut corners. I am not dirty or an ultra-sloth, but spending an afternoon cleaning the oven is not my first priority.
Creativity: My father was a painter, and family ties aside, I like his work very much. Unfortunately, though I was surrounded by paint and markers, I have none of his artistic talent. I can draw bunnies and Milo, and that's about it. But I did develop the need to express myself one way or another, and although I am not the great writer I once thought I could be, I have this bizarre need to record, to write, to capture. So there's that.
Forgiveness: I didn't realize this until the last couple of years, but my father taught me to forgive. As far as I know, the only person he didn't forgive is the man who broken into our house when I was young; a decade after that, I'd find out that he'd told my father what he wanted to do to me. I don't think my dad ever let go of that one, but I never remember him holding grudges. So his ability to forgive is something I try to cultivate in myself.
The nose: I have my mother's eyes and my father's nose. It's crooked and a little too large for my face. Hypothetically I've thought, "If you were able to change it, would you?" I wouldn't. I always knew that at some point, it would be one of the few parts of my dad that I'd have left.
The sense of humor: He was always telling jokes, always making people laugh. I'm far more serious than he was, but I like to think I picked up some of his wit. The older I get, the better I am at laughing.
Stubbornness: My father could be incredibly obstinate, often for no apparent reason. I am similarly stubborn. JC says I stand on ceremony, and Scott said something about me holding to my convictions too tightly, so I think it is safe to say that it's my way or the highway. Not a good thing to inherit. Working on this.
Certain tastes: My father liked to eat some crazy shit: scrapple, shit on a shingle, liver. (Liver!) I forgo those but share his love of chocolate malts, pecans, chocolate chip cookies, hard-boiled eggs in salad, olives, Ovaltine.
Laziness: I love my dad, but he was not an industrious man. If he loved doing something, he was happy to throw himself into it head-first. But he avoided household chores and often cut corners. I am not dirty or an ultra-sloth, but spending an afternoon cleaning the oven is not my first priority.
Creativity: My father was a painter, and family ties aside, I like his work very much. Unfortunately, though I was surrounded by paint and markers, I have none of his artistic talent. I can draw bunnies and Milo, and that's about it. But I did develop the need to express myself one way or another, and although I am not the great writer I once thought I could be, I have this bizarre need to record, to write, to capture. So there's that.
Forgiveness: I didn't realize this until the last couple of years, but my father taught me to forgive. As far as I know, the only person he didn't forgive is the man who broken into our house when I was young; a decade after that, I'd find out that he'd told my father what he wanted to do to me. I don't think my dad ever let go of that one, but I never remember him holding grudges. So his ability to forgive is something I try to cultivate in myself.
Labels: dad
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