That's my Dad!!

My father is quite a man. He has many great qualities and a few I don't care for. He was originally from St. Louis, Mo. My Mother attended college near there and they met around 1950. They married and had two children there. When my Grandfather (in Jackson) passed away in 1955 my Grandmother offered to purchase a home in Jackson, if they would move here. If not for that sweet deal I would have most likely grown up in St. Louis area. 

From all I knew he was a great Dad. He is a handsome man and very tall. Some said he looked like Anthony Quinn. He provided for the family as a plumber. He entertained with slide shows of family photos in the living room. He was a well respected Boy Scout leader for Troop 310 at Bloomfield Elementary School. He could fix stuff. He kept the home in good repair. We were a typical happy family in the 1950'-60's. I don't remember him drinking at all. Never drugs!! I never heard a harsh word in the home. Just a hard working  straight up kind of man that drove a station wagon with the wood on the side. A family man. A civic minded man. 

Everything was just perfect.....until one day. The day I can still see clearly in my memory. We pulled up to the Burger Chef on Brown St. for our once a month or so treat to fast food. It was a new thing then. I remember the parking space we occupied. It was about 1969 and I still remember the parking space. He ran in to get the burgers and fries and as soon as he got out of the station wagon, my Mom turned around to the 4 children in the back seat and said, "I just wanted you to know we are getting a divorce."  

Mind you I never recalled a fight or a harsh word. WHAT?? A divorce. That is it? He just packed his personal belongings and moved to a little apartment. We barely got to visit it. I don't remember it at all. 

Within a year he invited us all to his wedding at the Greek Church. It was really strange for me. That is MY Dad. It didn't matter. He was moving on. We got invited to his home with his new family about twice a year. All I remember is the Christmas visits. We had to get all dressed up for company and they didn't seem to. I had 3 new Step-Sisters and a new Step-Mom. A few years later I had a new half brother too. It was awkward, for me anyway. I just tried to do the best that I could do. I tried to keep communication but it just kept getting less and less. Soon it was down to nothing. I figured out one day that he had never dialed my phone number. I was always the one that called him. It didn't seem right. 

I met a guy and decided to get married in 1979. I wanted my Father to know that I was getting married but because of very little communication and the fact that I was working for my Mom and Step-Father, I asked my Step-Father to walk me down the isle. I did not want to see my Father in the front row bothered by that choice, so I sent him an invitation with no time or date on it. Just an announcement. At the time I thought it was OK. Looking back it might have been passive aggressive. I was so young and hurt and naive that I really thought I had made the best choice for the situation that I was dealing with. It hurt him and I know it now. 

Time went on and the distance got further. I had a son and took him to go see him. He seemed interested, somewhat. When I got home from the visit I found a $50 bill in the baby carrier. 

Soon there was no communication. Nothing. Not a word. 

I was teaching Sunday School at the church that I attended and they  had a meeting for Summer Camp. They said it would be held at Camp McGregor for the whole week. That is the camp that I knew he ran. I almost backed out but I decided to be strong and go. All week I was in a small cabin with some Elementary school age kids teaching them love and forgiveness. Meanwhile, Mr. Jamieson would walk the grounds and pass the cabin and never say hi. The last day of camp we met in the big mess hall. The whole group was singing songs. Happy songs. Church songs. My seat was by the kitchen. Near the end of the gathering he walked in the building and went into the kitchen. I held my hand out. He held mine. He asked me what I wanted. I said to him that I knew he was a good person and so was I and I don't understand the distance. I was asking him if we could go talk about it. You know, try and be a Father and Daughter. His answer was, "You will have to go up to the house and talk to my wife and ask her if it is OK. If she says yes, then I will." I had to leave. Right now!! I grabbed my 3 sons and put them in the car and drove down the driveway. I left my smashed heart on the parking lot. I was so hurt. A lifetime of hurts. I cried and drove all the way home. Go talk to your wife?? I did not understand that at all. Turns out (I was informed) that his wife had told him that her kids were his "family" now and his children were not. He spent over 30 years with little or no communication with us. 

I do feel that this has affected my relationships. 

She passed away a few years ago and soon after that a package came in the mail for me from him. I had no idea what that would be. I opened it and everything was wrapped in newspaper. I reached in and took an item in my hand and unwrapped it carefully and could not believe my eyes. He had sent me the ceramic Christmas decorations that his Mom had handmade. The ones that every holiday I had taken down from the attic storage right after Thanksgiving and placed them with love on the top of the TV in the room where the children hung out. There was a ceramic tree with the little lights on it, Santa and 8 winged choir kids singing Christmas songs. I remember rearranging it daily to put them in different spots. He had taken it with him when he moved out. I had not seen them since. 

They now have a prominent spot in my home every Christmas. 

He is 84 and we talk once in a while. I send him the calendar that I make every year and he sends me a Christmas card that says....Love Dad

My inspiration....

I have wanted to write for years now but I always struggled with what the message would be. I didn't want it to be just me ranting about events in my life. I wanted what I wrote to have a purpose. Something to learn from it and maybe if you read what happened to me, you might not have to go through it yourself.

I opened a book by my bedside by Dalai Lama for inspiration. I told myself that the first page I opened to would be the message for me to base the stories on. The first one I opened to is.....

If you are a teacher, try not to merely transmit knowledge, but try at the same time to awaken your students' minds to basic human qualities such as kindness, compassion, forgiveness and understanding. Do not communicate these as though they were the reserve of ethics or religion. Show them that these qualities are indispensable for the happiness and survival of everyone. 

Then I thought to myself wow, that was really good what if I try another......

One family influences another, and then another, then ten, a hundred, and a thousand, and thus the whole of society will be better off. 

I bet I would like most of what Dalai Lama has to say, so to keep it simple I decided to use three of the quotes to base the writing of my life stories on.....

It is important to examine our suffering, to find out where it has come from and if possible to cause it to dissolve. Usually, we do not think we have any share of responsibility in bringing about our own problems. Invariably, they are blamed on someone or something else. But I doubt that this is always the case. We are a bit like students who have failed an exam and who refuse to admit that if they had worked harder they would have been able to pass it. We get angry at so-and -so or proclaim that circumstances conspired against us. But don't things become even worse when this mental suffering is added to the initial difficulty?

Out of 365 different quotes by Mr. Lama, these three were chosen at random. The first three I came to as I opened the book. I think you will see them as very appropriate for the writings.