Monday, May 10, 2010

Happy Belated Mother's Day, Daddy Wahoo...

I come from a dysfunctional family back when no one really knew what that was. Most of my peers came from Ozzie and Harriet homes. I spent a lot of my nights in the backyard listening to my father and step-mother berating each other and taking occasional swings or throwing beer bottles. My father and mother were divorced when I was a toddler. I never heard my father say a kind word about my mother and vice-versa. The truth was somewhere in between. My father remarried - my stepmother had a son who was a few years older than me. And my mother remarried - to the man I would always think of as my dad. Anybody can contribute sperm, it takes a special man to want to be a father to a child that doesn't share his genes. He and my mother had two live children and a dozen miscarriages. He wanted a boy but he only cultivated wigglers that created girls. All the miscarriages were female, but I never heard him voice disappointment.

I don't remember this but I've heard all the stories; how I used to walk behind him and imitate his sailor’s side to side roll. He had been a cook on an aircraft carrier. I called him Daddy Wahoo but no one knows why. My mother wasn’t domestic. She worked in bars and nightclubs and was usually gone nights. My step-father was a county policeman and worked days. When I needed a cake for the bake sale, he was there. When I needed tampons, he was there. When I needed a ride to anywhere, he was there. He gave me all my perms. He turned down a lucrative railroad job in Africa because my father would not let him take me. When I was invited to my senior prom, he bought my gown, shoes and a rabbit stole; he took me to the beauty shop. I later learned he pawned his watch to buy my clothes. When I went into labor with my daughter he took me to the hospital. When I was discharged he took me home, made me a hot bath, wrapped up my daughter and took her to meet his friends at Mr. Donut. I named her Charlotte Ray after him, Charles Ray. He became her best friend that day as he had become mine 19 years earlier. When she had colic, he could ease her pain. She dressed him up, he took her everywhere. When my husband left me for my best friend, he taught me how to drive and helped me find an apartment. When I had to take a second shift job, he babysat my daughter and had a hot meal waiting for me when I got home. He died during heart surgery in 1980 and I have missed him every day of my life since. I haven’t gotten behind the wheel of a car that I don’t thank him for the freedom. He left a huge hole in my heart when he died, he was absolutely the best parent that any child could have.

My father died from the effects of too much drinking. My step-mother died of diabetes complications; a life full of indulgence with alcohol and bad diet. My mother died as a result of the misuse of prescription drugs. I am no longer in touch with my step-brother. The oldest child of my mother and step-father died of a brain tumor not long ago and I’ve lost track of the youngest one. My daughter and grandchildren are all the family I have left.

In 2004 I married a man who is in every way, my Daddy Wahoo’s equal. I feel as warm and loved and secure now as I did when he was alive. So, again, a very happy belated Mother's Day to the best dad a girl could have.

The reason I have not posted a card is I just gave birth to some kidney stones that were harder to pass than a 6 pound baby girl and took about as long. I prefer childbirth if I have it all to do again. I hope everyone had a great Mother's Day and I hope to be back in the swing of things soon.

2 comments:

  1. Wow! What an awesome story and it pours out so much love! Congrats on the time you had him in your life and so sorry that he is gone! Hope you feel better soon!

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  2. Similar story with the dysfunctional parents. My father was a drunk (not even alcoholism as an excuse) and my growing up was a nightmare. My mother coped the best she could and later on became my best friend. She passed in 2000 and I miss her every day.

    My friend's father stepped in and became my surrogate father. When he passed it was like a piece of me died too and I felt like an orphan.

    My father is full of regrets and in his old age, we have developed a mutual relationship....and, for that I am grateful.

    I am sorry for your pain and I share your sense of loss.

    Cathy

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