Dance With My Father

Over the last few years, I've heard the song, Dance With My Father by Luther Vandross, played on the radio only a few times; but whenever I heard it, I would think of my dad. Because of that, I decided to add it to my playlist. Now, each time I hear it, more and more memories of my dad come flooding back, some better than others. If you are listening to my playlist while reading this, please click on that song. It is what inspired this post.

My dad passed away on July 2, 1998. He was on vacation in San Diego with my mom visiting my son Jeff and his family. They all had no idea that an aneurysm was lurking in his brain just waiting to burst. It all happened so quickly. In less than 24 hours he was gone. There was no time for anyone to say goodbye.

A few weeks before Father’s Day 1998 I was in Walmart with Rick. I was looking for a card to send to my dad but Rick thought it was a waste of money (sorry Hallmark). He said for the $4.50 I would spend on a card I could talk to my dad on the phone for 45 minutes. That reasoning sounded good to me. So on Father’s Day, me and Dad talked on the phone for almost an hour. I don’t think I had ever heard him talk so much at one time before that. We talked about his favorite sports teams, what woodworking projects he was working on (he liked to build bird houses) and other stuff I can’t remember now but wish I could. We had a good talk that ended with “I love you Dad” and hearing “I love you too” in return. That was the last time we spoke. If only I had known that, I would have recorded the conversation. Life is filled with “if onlys.”

The earliest memory I have of me and Dad was back in the late 50’s. I’m not sure how old I was, probably about seven. We lived in the Bronx and Dad had to take the bus to work. I was playing outside when I saw him come out of the apartment building we lived in. I asked if I could go to work with him. He gently said no. I persisted and even started crying saying that I wanted to go with him. I followed him all the way to the end of the street all the while asking, “Can I go, please, please, can I go with you?” He continued to tell me he couldn’t take me with him. He worked in a plastics factory on the night shift. Finally, with me standing there crying, and him having to go or he would miss his bus, he handed me a dime and told me to go buy myself some candy. I reluctantly accepted his “bribe” and watched him as he crossed the street and walked out of sight to the bus stop. I did go and buy some candy. It helped erase the sadness of not being able to go with him.

My memories of me and Dad haven't always been good ones.  Like the time he took my brother Michael to Coney Island and I didn’t find out about it until they got home. Of course, I whined and said, “When can I go?” “Someday,” he said. But someday never came. He later told me that Coney Island wasn't a good place for girls. That was no consolation.

And the time Dad took me for a driving lesson. Our driveway has a slope to it. I put the car in reverse and gave it some gas. The car quickly went down the drive and halfway out into the street before I applied the brake. Dad scolded me saying I didn’t need to give it any gas as gravity would take the car down the drive. “Oh,” was all I could say. Flustered, he said, “Okay, let’s go." I stepped on the gas and boy was I surprised when I drove up on the neighbor’s lawn…behind me! You see, I’d forgotten to put the car in drive, it was still in reverse. Really flustered now, Dad told me to put the car in drive and go back up the driveway. Our lesson was over. Dad never did take me for another driving lesson, instead I signed up for Drivers Ed at school.

Or the time he got mad at me for using his razor and not telling him. I wondered how he knew. I cleaned it and everything. He later he told me he knew because I had dulled the blade and he could feel it on his face. LOL.

No matter what I was feeling at the time these memories occurred, I wouldn't trade them for anything now.  They are precious and priceless to me and even put a smile on my face.  Time indeed does heal all wounds.

Other memories I have of me and my dad are:

Dad playing guitar for my birthday while everyone sang the happy birthday song;

being his “partner in crime” as he would break open a bag of candy or cookies in the grocery store for us to “sample” a few and my mom getting so angry with him then trying to find the bag so she could put it in her cart;

going strawberry picking with the family and watching Dad eat one strawberry for every one he put in his box;

Dad buying his one quart bottle of beer to have as he watched his Sunday sports games and me asking for a sip and making a sour face at the taste;

And Dad asking me to dance the mambo (a latin style dance-Dad was Puerto Rican) when I was in my teens. We danced for a few minutes and then he finished the dance with my mom.  That was the one and only time I can remember that we ever danced together.

Dad was the quiet type, never saying too much to us kids; and he only had one speed-slow, which always annoyed my mom.  But I did learn some valuable life lessons from him: 1) Say “I love you” as often as you can, whenever you can to the ones you love; 2) You can’t always get what you want, but maybe you'll get a dime for trying; 3) Make sure you have it in drive; 4) Replace the blade so you won’t get caught; 5) Candy, cookies, and strawberries are yummy but beer is yucky; and 6) Never turn down a dance with someone you love.  You may never get another chance and you won't want to miss the memory.