Memories of my Father

My father is going into heart surgery tomorrow, on 21 October 2009. We are not sure what the outcome will be, but hopefully everything will be kosher and he will make it through. I figured I would write a piece about him as my way of coping with the situation. I feel vulnerable writing this and posting it on here, but at the same time, I have always found writing to be therapeutic. So, here goes.

I always remember my father as a strong man, a hero in my eyes. A former racing jockey, rodeo clown, and bull rider, he was not a big man by any means. But he was always strong enough to lift us onto the 55 gallon barrel chained to the tree in the back yard. Strong enough to help me steer the old Chevy in the pasture; strong enough to move what seemed like entire trees with me helping. He was always trying to teach me things, showing me the value of a hard day’s work. The man who helped build Air Force One, the man who was in the Navy during the Vietnam era, the man who rode bulls, the man who has two scars on his chest from being speared by a bull. The man I always looked up to. He seemed to be indestructible, an immortal put on this earth to show me, a mere mortal, the truths of life. To show me how to become productive member of society. I will always remember him as that man, not the frail man he has become today. He has continually earned my respect and admiration. He has never given up, even in times and circumstances where others would have done so easily. Two major heart attacks, a leg amputation due to a broken leg, diabetes, heart clogs, and trouble breathing, he has continued to push forward, to be there for his children and grandchildren. I ask myself, if in his position, would I have the courage, the will to carry on as he does? The answer I hope is yes, that he has instilled the courage and the values to carry on in such a manner, to never give up, to always keep fighting, to be an honorable man in an unhonorable world. To continue to better myself, to strive for perfection, to set the standard, not just meet it. I fail in some of these categories, but in others, I excel. My father has only told me he was proud of me one time, just a few days before I left for Iraq. I am not ashamed to admit that a tear or two streamed down my face. As I sit here facing the realization that I may never see him alive again, I once again want to cry. I cried tonight for the second time in two years, the first time being after I lost a soldier. I tell you this, knowing that it is the value of honesty that my father has instilled in me, the value of shamelessness, the value of courage, and of honor. I pray that after he has passed, whether that be tomorrow or ten years from now, that I can continue to carry on his legacy, to be half the man he was, and to maybe instill in my future son the same values, that he be a man of honor as much as mine was. I can only pray for my father’s safety, that he may make it out of the operating room tomorrow, but if he doesn’t, I know that he will have gone to a better place, free of the pain and the suffering that he is going through right now. In closing, I am most saddened by the fact that my father will probably never see this, never know my true feelings of him. Tears currently blur my vision at this thought, and it is becoming difficult to typ. I love you, Dad