A man goes by many names throughout his life. When he’s born, he is called the son of his parents, the grandson of his grandparents or the nephew of his aunts and uncles. When he gets a little older, he is known as a brother or a cousin. When he starts school, he becomes the friend of his friends or ‘that boy who runs around with them’. For a brief time after high school, he is himself as he goes to college or starts a career, Later; if he’s lucky, he will become a husband and another family will know him as an in-law. Then, if he’s blessed, he becomes known as his children’s dad and later a grandfather.
Of all these names or associations, I have enjoyed being called Dad most of all. And actually, it had very little to do with me. I obviously had to take all the steps necessary to become a Dad, but the pleasure of the job lies totally with the kids. Before they’re born, God gives them a big dose of complete, unconditional love -- the only true example of it that I know of. Babies don’t care if you’re short, tall, skinny, fat, black, or white. They couldn’t care less about how you look or how much money is in your bank account. All they want is for you to love and take care of them, and honestly, they don’t even care if you don’t even do that, because they’re still going to hug on you and kiss on you and make you feel like you’re the most important person in the world. Because to them, you are.
That’s where I found myself with Doug. He was no longer a baby but he was still very young. We became a team in November and he turned 6 in December. And he thought I was the world. That is a very big thing to live up to when you have to handle everything yourself. You can’t always be the good guy; you have to be the one who calls the shots on everything, right or wrong, down to buying their socks. Thank God for Geranimals!
How did I do? I would give myself a B, maybe a high C at times. I recall one morning when he had a cold and was stuffed up. The bus was blowing its horn outside, he was late getting his coat on, and he wouldn’t stand still so I could zip it up. So I popped his cheek. Not hard, but with an open hand. It was meant to get his attention. There were several reasons why I did it, but not one of them was really worth a damn in the end. Anyway, the mucus and the blood came spewing out of his nose and down the front of his coat. I had to wave the bus on, dress him all over, and wash his coat. He ended up staying home, which is what should have happened in the first place. To make matters worse, later on when I was telling someone about it, I glossed over it, saying my hand slipped off his zipper. I was afraid the military would do something if I said I popped him. It didn’t matter, it was an out and out lie no matter how you look at it, and he was standing right there. The look in his eyes told me I had just wasted some credibility with him, and that’s something you can’t get back.
Another incident was later on, when we had moved to Monterey, CA. He was about 11 and asked me one day if he could play in the school band. I told him yes but only if the school provided the instrument because we couldn’t afford one. They did, so a day or two later he brought his instrument home. You have to picture this. Monterey was similar to San Francisco in that it was on a bay and was hilly. His bus stop was 2 or 3 blocks down the hill from our apartment. I’m sitting on the couch watching TV one day when he comes walking in the door with a cello! It was almost twice his size but he was so proud of it. I told him he should take it back and ask for something else. He did, and got a drum. It’s funny. He and I talked about this at Thanksgiving and we remember it differently. He says he kept it for a few days, but I remember having him take it back the next day. It doesn’t really matter I guess, since the drums that I thought would be a passing fad ended up carrying him to his PhD.
There was also the time a year or so later when I got sick and was out of it for awhile. He took care of me then and more than once I saw fear or concern in his eyes, but he did it and did it well. My biggest worry had always been if something happened to me, what would happen. He showed me what would happen; in spades. He was a trooper who did what he had to do.
So, logically, when I met Sue, it was important to me that they get along. In fact, when I started feeling stronger toward her and began to think about asking her to marry me, I talked to Douglas first. To a point, he had veto rights over the whole thing. I did not want to make him feel trapped in something he wouldn’t like. He said he was okay with it and was my Best Man at the wedding.
There are times I still miss those days.
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