On Top of The World

I will never forget how I felt. The goosebumps running along my arms; the hair on the back of my neck, standing up at attention like little soldiers during a military inspection. The intensity and joy of a little boy finally getting the attention and affection he so desperately longed for....from his dad. To most other people, it would have been hindsight or an overlooked, recurring act that probably happens a million times a day. But to me....it was a once in a lifetime act that will be treasured forever; eight years old and all he did was tussle my hair. In a state of euphoria, I was on top of the world.

They were rare occasions at best. The disciplinarian, the fear-instilling creature of a man that loomed over even the highest of mountains (at least that's how it appears when you are only eight) was never an emotional, family man oriented individual. Without him knowing, I changed his name one year...to Randeus, a made-up, imaginary Greek God of Fear and Pain. He was the type of individual that would send shivers down the spines of other Greek God's, such as Hercules and Zeus. And as a child, I certainly had no problem getting into a verbalized, childish taunt with another neighborhood kid, spewing the back and forth rhetoric of "My dad can beat up your dad" routine. Once they met my father...the debate was over. I won!

He hugged me once. At a time where his career, his marriage and his family was falling apart, and he was forced to make some changes, he found out I was playing football for my high school. After getting off the plane, he put his arm around me and said, "I hear you're playing ball!", however, the resentment and anger I had for him at the time prohibited me from experiencing the jubilation and overwhelming exhilarating feeling I so desperately longed for. Opportunity wasted.

Over the years, we grew from two complete strangers, into best friends, confidants, golf partners and much, much more. We developed an "unspoken understanding" of how each of us thought and felt. As a son, he finally came to terms and accepted me for all things human (or inhuman, depending on you look at things). He accepted my flaws, my weaknesses and my downfalls. I learned to accept that his nonverbal, non-emotional way was just who he was. But most importantly, I learned to simply lower my expectations, so that the disappointment of rejection and thoughts of nonacceptance was minimized.

I don't allow myself to completely dwell on his errors, failures and misgivings as a father. Instead, I reminisce about the days of early morning fishing trips, the endless misguided projects in the garage, or the last minute tee-times for golf the very next day. We annually went to the Patriots Day Red Sox game at Fenway, and although it's been quite some time since we've last gone, these are moments that will never be forgotten, but often thought of. At the end of the day, my father did the best he could with what he knew. And myself, as well as anyone else for that matter, can never blame him for that. In retrospect, in all that he was, all that he did and didn't do, I deeply and truly admire him, on so many different levels.

I have a son now. Every moment, every free chance I get, I tussle his hair, rub his cheek, or simply look at him and tell him I love him. He is 9 now, and although he will respond with a monotonous tone in his voice of a "I love you too", he is now at an age where the physical affection in public is taboo and pulls away with the typical "Da-a-a-a-ad, come on!" rejection phrase. But deep down inside, I chuckle to myself. If he only knew how lucky he was to have a dad who cares so much, that he never wants his child to feel unwanted, unloved or forgotten. The tussle of the hair I sporadically give him will never hold the same semblance as it did for me when I was his age, and for that, I am forever grateful.

You see, if anything, my father taught me a few things along the way. In my earlier years, he taught me about the kind of father I never want to be, and in his later years, he taught me about being the type of father I always long to be. And eventually, I will get it right. Perhaps not today, nor tomorrow, but someday, maybe, just maybe, I will once, just once give my own son that feeling of euphoria and being on top of the world.

In one and a half weeks from today, my father will have been gone two years. June 30, 2008, he passed away after a long illness. But in my mind, "Randeus" still has the Greek God effect on me. I am still searching for answers, still searching for approval and acceptance, and still reminiscing about yesteryear. His physical presence lacking, he will forever hold a lasting effect over all the good and bad I have come to know and expect in a relationship between a father and son. The day he passed away, we were just getting him settled into a hospice facility. Like anything else, my fathers ability to control any situation did not end with his military career or his family. He decided he had enough, and was not going to fight a losing battle with a disease that seemed to want to control him. He called the shots to finally say, "Enough is enough".

I arrived early at the hospice facility and the ambulance was just pulling into the driveway after making the 20 minute cross-city trek from the hospital. As they wheeled him into his room, it was apparent that time was of essence. As mom sat on the couch with the admissions counselor, attempting to sort through mounds of paperwork, I walked over to him and held his hand. Bending down, I whispered in his ear "I love you" while at the same time, giving his hand a gentle squeeze and I tussled his hair. Then, the unthinkable happened; the goosebumps running along my arms; the hair on the back of my neck, standing up at attention like little soldiers during a military inspection as he took his last breath, and I knew, at that moment, immediately after his passing, he was finally in a state of euphoria; he was on top of the world....and he was gone.

I miss him dearly. Every Fathers Day in the future will never be the same without him. No golfing together, no chatting about the Red Sox or the dysfunctional melody our family sings. But I do know this: I will forever continue to work as hard as I do, still seeking his approval and acceptance. But most importantly, I have turned the tables for my own son as well. He will never feel like he has to win my approval, but conversely, I should constantly have to win his. It is the only just cause of my belief in growing from here on out...and I strive to be a better person and a better father to my son than I was yesterday.

Happy Fathers Day, Dad!