A Dedication To My Father

 

Today’s blog will be different.  And although I said last week I would keep the negativity to a minimum, this was something I needed to write. It’s part of the healing process. And right now my heart is very heavy and I need to get it out.

The holidays are a difficult time for a lot of people, myself included. I have a particularly hard time with Thanksgiving.  My father died just after Thanksgiving when I was 11 years old.  Tomorrow is the anniversary of his death. He passed away 30 years ago. And in some ways it feels like it was just yesterday.

Losing a loved one is never easy for anyone.  Losing a parent is particularly hard at any age. But when you’re 11 years old and you suddenly lose a person who meant the world to you, it changes you forever. In so many ways it has shaped me into the person I’ve become.  Losing someone close like this so early in life has made me stronger in a lot of ways.  And in some ways some of my biggest character flaws stem from this one moment in time.

This year, I thought I would be OK. I had been cruising along like normal going about my daily life.  I thought maybe I would get a little sad. I’d take a few minutes to reflect and just go on as usual.  But last night a minor disagreement was the thing that sent me over the edge. It hit me so hard that I started to cry.  And I couldn’t stop. I cried for four hours straight. The grief and the pain of losing my dad just overcame me like it had just happened. I can still hear my mom saying to me as I walked into our apartment,  “He didn’t make it”.  I remember thinking, “but he was fine the day before, how can he be gone just like that?”

I’ve done my best to think of all those great moments from those precious years that I had with my dad.  I was daddy’s little girl and the only child of my two parents.  Daddy was the one who spoiled me, and mom was the one who delivered the punishments when I misbehaved.  But it was very obvious to me, even then, that I was very loved by both of them.  And although my mom wasn’t as expressive about her love for me back then, my father expressed it every chance that he got. To this day I’m grateful for that love from both of them.  My mother was the one who had the strength to take over and be both parents.  My mom has always been very hard on me, but I know it’s out of love. I love and respect her ability to carry us both through after losing my father.

The admiration for my father is still something that stays with me.  I remember all the lengths he took to get me the best of anything and everything for me. When it came to my education he bought me every book he could get his hands on. My dad always stressed how important it was that I got a good education.  Even though we don’t have all the cool technology kids have now, he still managed to find the best learning tools out there for me.  My father was in military years before I was born. He fought in the Korean war. He was corporal in the army.  He spoke and read multiple languages: French, German, Italian and Russian. After he was gone we must have found dozens of books in all those languages. When he tucked me in at night, he always said I love you in a different language. When I was in elementary school I was in a bilingual classroom for 5 years.  I always thought it was funny that the one language I was learning, Spanish, was the one language he couldn’t speak.  He always placed the importance on speaking proper English. I wasn’t even allowed to say “ain’t” in the house.

He encouraged me to embrace every opportunity to learn. It was very important that I went to college.  He himself worked at the community college that I eventually went to. He used to drive me by the college that he said he hoped I would attend.  One of my proudest moments after he was gone was when I got accepted to Loyola Marymount University.  It was his dream that I was attend LMU. When I wrote my entrance essay I mentioned how my dad would drive me up and down Lincoln Blvd, pointing out the letters on the side of the mountain and saying “You could go there someday”. 

My father was the one who encouraged me to embrace music.  When I expressed minor interest in learning an instrument, particularly clarinet, he immediately went out and bought one and got me private lessons. He encouraged me to practice, even when I wanted to go out and play with my friends.  I eventually abandoned the clarinet after he died. I opted to sing instead. It turned out that I was a better singer than I was instrumentalist. My dad loved classical music. And he hated when I changed the radio station to Michael Jackson or Madonna when Bach or Mozart was playing in the car. His favorite song was Ave Maria. To this day, that song always brings me to tears when I hear it. I eventually embraced his love of classical music.  I wish I appreciated it more when he was alive.

My dad spoiled me.  After a certain age, I was getting a two birthday cakes at each party.  One homemade one and one store bought one with the all the cool characters. He would occasionally stop by my elementary school to surprise me McDonalds for me and my friends and of course would sit with us. Because he worked in athletics at the college he would take me to all the games.  Because of him, I got to see the Lakers practice in the college gym.  We’re talking back in the hey day of the Lakers: the Kareem and Magic Johnson days. Somewhere at my mom’s place I still have pictures of those players at practice.    I had every stuffed animal imaginable. I still have a stuffed rabbit he gave me when I was 2 years old, named Juicy. I had all games and toys.  Any extracurricular activity I wanted to participate in, he encouraged, and chaperoned.  And even though he gave me all that stuff, he also made sure I stayed humble and respectful.  He was constantly reminding me to say “please” and “thank you”. He encouraged me to share my toys with others.   He stressed that the importance of respecting elders and authority.  He reminded me that mouthing off and getting into trouble wouldn’t get me very far in life.

I’m so fortunate to have had those great memories that are still with me to this day. He meant the world to me and I know I was his world too. He never failed to tell me when I made him proud.  And as result I wanted to continue to make him proud. Those formative years with him is what gave me the work ethic that I have today. In my mind I’m still trying to make him proud even though he’s no longer here.  And when I make mistakes as most human do, I’m extra hard on myself because I feel like I’m disappointing him. I know it sounds irrational.  My dad is the one who taught me how to love. It still breaks my heart to this day that he never got to meet the one man who really ever matched that kind of expressive unconditional love, my husband Jeff. The two greatest men I have even known never got to meet.

Tomorrow morning I will go to his visit his grave. I don’t go very often. Sometimes it’s just too hard for me to go there.  I’m fortunate to live close to where he’s buried. My mother has opted not to go with me. I think it’s still too painful for her, even though she doesn’t say it. I will pay my respects.  I will tell him that I love him and I miss him everyday. I will thank him for giving me best childhood a girl could ask for. I will thank him for loving me. And I that hope he’s watching me and that I still make him proud. I will let him know that I’m in good hands with the man I’m married to.  And I promise to be there for my mom. 

I changed my profile picture on Facebook to honor him and remind myself of the love and happiness I had with my dad. It’s a picture of him holding me at 6 or 8 months old.  He’s looking at me smiling. It’s one of my favorite pictures.  I wrote this blog as kind of a love letter to say how much he meant to me and to help ease some of the grief I feel. 30 years is a long time. And at 41, I’m still daddy’s little girl. Which is why I still legally have his last name. I’m proud to be the only daughter of Joseph Henry Rogers, may he rest in peace.