Father's Day Thoughts

So today is Father's Day.

I've had three of these now. I'm officially old as fuck.

My grandfather was the father figure in my life, enough so that when offered the opportunity to learn who my (biological) father was I turned it down. Part of it is a horrible suspicion that there is some VC Andrews bullshit going on. But mostly it was knowing that, whoever this hypothetical dude is, he has a pair of shoes that he cannot possibly fill, and it would be unfair to even hold them in the same light.

My grandfather was sardonic and perverted, tireless in his devotion, and a master tetris player. My friends all loved him and feared him, as natives love and fear a totally badass volcano. He played IU Football when that wasn't a sad joke, and dropped out when Dick Butkus broke his back. Every time he saw that dog faced blowhard on tv he would curse. I never inherited his skill with tools; frankly Amanda runs circles around me in that regard. In some ways I know it disappointed him, and I hate that. I hate that I dropped out of IU like a fucking tard, knowing how important it was to him that I graduate, even with a useless sociology degree that I was like four classes away from attaining. I hate that he will never see his great granddaughter, and that she will never know him.

I will do my best to make up for those failings, by applying the lessons of his life to my own family, and making sure that the things that he taught me shine through in my actions. And I will make sure that my daughter knows of us, our heritage, the good and the bad, and that she can learn those lessons and pass them on.

Sample Case: I am wearing one of the silk shirts I inherited from Grandpapa today, to honor his memory. It is a panama shirt; you never see those anymore, in a tan / cream color. All my friends know that my clothes are theirs, even the rest of grandpapa's clothes-but they never wear this shirt. It is in good shape still-it was made to last-but when it is too ragged to wear I will cut this motherfucker into rags, and honor his memory by getting one last fucking use out of the thing, to scrub my sink or patch my BDUs or blow my fucking nose on. Because when the hard times come-and lord, they are a comin'-you waste nothing or you find yourself falling behind.

I miss you every day Grandpapa. I'm sorry for the things that I failed you at. But my family will always have food and a place to sleep, and I'll never pick the wrong mushroom, and if I have to cut a motherfucker I'll only do it three ways-deep, wide and continuous.