When
I was eight years old, my parents were divorced. It was a traumatic time for me and my
family.
For
my dad, his world was turned upside down. His family gone and he moved to Boise from
Twin Falls, Idaho. He started a new job. For six months he lived in a hotel and
then he bought a mobile home.
For
my dad and me, our relationship changed dramatically. I didn't really know my
dad until I was eight. Before that he worked all the time and when he wasn't
working, the relationship with my mom and dad was caustic at best.
After
the divorce and when dad moved to Boise, he literally had to deal with me. We
loved each other, but we were essentially strangers.
But
suddenly, he had a kid every other weekend that he had to entertain because of
visitation rights.
He
did not have a clue about how to entertain eight-year-old boy. We watched a lot
of TV and we went to a lot of drive-in movies.
But
we cherished those memories. He taught me a lot. He taught me to barbecue
(Dad was a much better cook than Mom!), make wonderful scrambled eggs, enjoy
old movies, a love history, respect
our ancestors, a love of old cars, taught me to draw, and instilled a love of politics. And he had an
enviable wit.
When
I started to drive, I would take my dad to Kalispell, Montana to visit family.
Those were some of my best times with my dad.
At
63 years old my dad was diagnosed with liver cancer. The death of parent is
awful but I'm so glad I had time to spend with my dad when he was dying.
Nothing was left unsaid.
One
night my dad told me that one of his biggest regrets was that he will never see
my children. When he said that, he seemed to cry a little bit.
But
there was no child in my horizon at that point. It wasn't until I was 43 that I
had the experience to have a son. I often think about my dad wondering about a
lot of things.
When
my second stroke happened, I was carried through the hallways in the bowels of
the hospital to have another brain scan.
I
just knew that my dad was there telling me that I would be okay. I don't know
how I knew that but I had a vivid memory of that. And he had been dead almost
20 years.
Really
my relationship with my dad started when I was eight years old. And it was a
great relationship.
So
now my son is eight years old. I think about my son and our relationship.
The
stroke had to have affected him in so many ways that I don't really know
yet.
It
took me several months to recover to the point that he would really talk to me.
It helped that I could write a bike several months after the stroke.
Every
day things mean a lot to me now because I realize how life is precious. I
treasure the memories I'm making with my son.
This
morning, my eight-year-old son crawled in my lap when he awoke. Ethan said, “Daddy,
Can we watch cartoons together?"
My
dad and I used to watch “Looney Tunes” all the time. And my son loves “Looney
Tunes” also.
Is it coincidental that “Looney Tunes” helped repair the relationship with my father and it is helping repair my relationship with my son? The generational thing? I don't know.
My son, Ethan Stanford, was named after my dad, Stanford. I
miss my dad.
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