Father

My father (sometimes hard to use the more familiar term "dad") has come up in the more recent "LOOPS" (see earlier blog) with my mom. She has referred to the way they met, at night school in the library. Their courtship was brief and then my father proposed. However, my grandmother did not approve the pairing because she needed the "room and board" my mom provided and the impending nuputials would cut off the funds. That and the fact that my father was not Catholic did not sit well with my grandmother. Well, then WWII made the news, and my father was drafted and sent off to North Africa as a general's clerk and editor of the "Screaming Red Asses (as in donkey)" unit newsletter, and the wait was on...four years to be exact. Upon his return in August of 1945, they planned their wedding. On a bright and sunny Saturday in November, they wed.
Long story, to bring you to the point of my entry today..and that is that my mother's patience was life long. You see, my father traveled the entire time we kids were growing up. He started his career in 1947 with the Military Sea Transport Service, aboard a ship that carried 4400 troops to the Pacific Rim. In the early days, the troops and their families would make the 6 week trek to Okinawa or the Phillipines aboard this large ship. The Army owned ship made a concession to the families and had a 10 ft by 10 ft cage on the deck that had a swing, slide and hopscotch drawing inside. That was were the kids could play when sailing. Pretty sad, but necessary in high seas. My father was a purser. Chief purser. He was in charge of all payroll, ship's bills, and supply orders. He was very well respected by his peers. This is were things get interesting. After their wedding, my sister was born almost a year later. My father was antsy, he wanted something other than working for my grandfather's accounting firm. He signed up for MSTS and the rest is (my) history. He sailed the high seas for 38 years. Sailing for 6 weeks, home for 3 days, gone again for 6 weeks, and on and on. Not exactly an ideal life for a family. The family suffered. Sometimes in silence sometimes in protest. I did try that once. I was 16 and decided that I wanted an explanation for the absence. Well, that didn't go over very well as my father did not see a good reason to justify his choice. It was sad. I thought that he would want to reassure me that he loved us, wanted to be with us, but that didn't happen. I believe that he felt trapped by my confrontation and just walked away. I never did get a good explanation from either my mother or my father. This is the kind of thing you have to forgive and move on or it will haunt you.
Despite the trama, my father was an incrediable man. Self educated. Would be reading 2 or 3 books at a time. Had a full typed record of all American and National League baseball players: runs, times at bat, trades, etc on 3 x 5 index cards. He was meticulous with this hobby. He introduced us to classical, country, jazz, big band music. Even The Supremes. He taught us about Japanese farmers who wrapped silk bags around each apple blossom as a form of protection from insects. Also, he showed us how to stain a redwood fence, and the proper way to eat an ear of corn. These are small examples of his way of parenting. He was a very complex man. I am sure that when we are united in the next life, he will be more prepared to welcome us into his heart. I am ready.