My father is a man of few words. He doesn't speak just to hear the sound of his voice; he doesn't talk for attention. For this reason, when he does put in his two cents, what he says has more weight.
My mother and father grew up together on Park Avenue. My mother was in love with him since she was a little girl, so growing up, my father was depicted as a hero who could do no wrong. To strengthen her own feelings, he really didn't do anything wrong. He wasn't abusive, he didn't drink, he played with us kids after dinner, he truly loved and cared about us. Don't get me wrong. My parents would fight here and there, and he had a temper. Since I inherited said temper, when the two of us would fight, holes would be known to have been kicked or punched into walls here or there. But in general, my dad was a pretty cool dude.
Our family joked about the colloquialisms that my dad would sprout. "Oh what a tangled web we weave when we practice to deceive" was one of them. I'm sure it came about when one of us foolish girls either lied to my parents or one of our friends and got caught. It never made me stop lying, but you can bet I was careful not to get caught out again! Another of his golden nuggets was "Nothing is free!" his point being that no matter what, everything comes with a price. "Don't hate the plumber; be the plumber" was a new one, one he told me within the past few years, when I was having issues at work (or maybe when my brother was deciding whether to continue with college or go to work). He told me a story about being spiteful of a friend who was working (as a plumber I assume)and making good money. These words of wisdom always stuck with me.
One of his stories, told to me when I was probably 4, had such a profound effect on me (and I finally told him at Fakesgiving this year, 32 years later). When he was young, in grade school, his class made some delightful treat, and when they were done, his teacher asked "Who would like to lick the spoon?" The kids went nuts! Raising their hands, jumping up and down in their seats, screaming "Me, me, me!" and "Oh, oh, oh!" My dad just sat there. And guess what? He. Got. Picked.
He. Got. Picked.
That story hit me somewhere so deep inside. I was four. I used to cry in Kindergarten. I used to ask my teacher, Mrs. Loper, "Do you think that will ever happen to me?" (This is 100% true. I have serious issues.)
I love my dad. As I said before, he's an awesome fellow. When Andy lost his job (and consequently we lost our home) he was the first person I called. He gave us the top floor of their house. He has done so much for us it is unspeakable (along with my mother, of course, but that is an entire other post). When I read Game of Thrones, I immediately identified Eddard Stark with my dad, because he was so honorable and good.
Then yesterday, something happened that solidified, reinforced, brought to the surface everything that my father is.
We were out on the boat, headed to The Island. He saw "Enid" and said "Oh, no! There's Enid!" (All names have been changed, yet hopefully reflect the characters they are meant to portray). I said "Why do you say such things?" as we like Enid. He responds, "Gunnar (a grisly old captain of a ship who runs the Yacht Club) is mad at Enid, so I was told not to talk to her if I want Gunnar not to hate me." So I say, "What did Enid do?" And he tells me (it was pretty fucking stupid).
So we continue through the breakwater. We see Gunnar's wife, Esmarelda, talking to her friend, Rosie. My dad stops and talks to them. Oh, what a beautiful day. Yea, we're going to the island. Yadda yadda yadda. Gunnar's boat is right across from this encounter.
Then we continue.
About ten feet ahead is Enid, lying out on her boat. Because I am a terrible person, I put my head down. Me. I have NOTHING to do with the politics and going ons of the Yacht club. And I PUT MY HEAD DOWN. All of a sudden, my father's voice rings out, clear and loud. "Hello, Enid! Beautiful day!" Enid's voice responds, relief clear, because obviously all the other lemmings are NOT speaking to her. They talk for awhile, because MY FATHER IS A DEFIANT M-F'ER! As we leave, tears are in my eyes, and I say, "I am so proud of you!" My mom says, "I bet Gunnar is watching." And my dad says "Fuck 'em. Enid was the only one who was nice to me when I joined. I'll be damned if I'm going to shun her now."
My father is a great person. He does what's right. He does NOT go along with the crowd. He doesn't follow along with what the loudest person tells him to do. He is all heart. He is strong.
This summer, after the grueling hell that was my school year, I had a really big struggle with good vs. evil (that's being dramatic, but it sounds good). As a leader within my school, I prided myself on doing the right thing, taking responsibility. And it got me nowhere. So I was like, what's the point? What is the point in being a good person? Fuck it.
Then, witnessing this display yesterday, it dawned on me. People don't do the right thing because they get rewarded for it. My dad didn't get a raise or a promotion for being nice to Enid yesterday. He did it because THAT'S WHO HE IS. And I want to be like him.
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