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My 92 year old pop passed away a few weeks back. He was an unsentimental old goat: he wanted no funeral, no obit, no 'Donations in the Name Of . . . ' requests to be made by yours truly. But WTF, how many pops does a guy have? If like me, but one, then you gotta fuck'n say . .
SOMETHING. So here goes. My pop had dementia, a raft of physical infirmities: it was his time, and his passing was a mutual release - no faux boo-hoo'n - He'd 'passed away', as a sentient soul, some time back . . . But in his profane, roistering prime, he commingled
tenderness, generosity, & playfulness, with world class, Blue Ribbon worthy wise-assedness. He couldn't help but correct a fellow's grammar, even at the risk of inviting violence; he couldn't help but comment on a fellow's weight gain, even at the risk of inviting tears..
He managed to mangle every one of my girlfriend's names, down the years, and he confused their biographies to such an extent as to make them unrecognizable when referenced ("I never dated a opera singer . . I slept with a busker once, is that who you're thinking of . . . ?").
He'd empty his wallet if I needed a buck (starving actor years), and he never said what he really thought, which was why don't you cut your fucking hair and get a real job; he stocked his garage with toilet paper, canned peas, and windshield wiper blades primarily
to keep me from going without . . . he taught me how to differentiate between scotch, bourbon and Irish before I was old enough to drive; he taught me how to swear like a sailor; he taught me not to be intolerant (in theory: in practice, he was intolerant of bible thumpers,
'long haired hippie freaks', and women with large butts), and when he eventually came out of the closet, in his early 60's, after my mom died, he taught me how to make conversation with a succession of vacuous boy-toys who he used as arm candy at various social events.
He liked to sing loudly in public; he didn't seem to care much about stains on his shirt; he read like a motherfucker, until his mind went; he ordered all the desserts on the menu and invited the waiter to join us in eating them; he embarrassed me as a kid but taught me,
basically, to be unembarrassable as an adult. He was too far gone by the end for me to say goodbye to him, alas, and it's kinda weird to memorialize him in a tweet-storm, but WTF, such is the age we live in. Dad: I still confuse lie and lay, I am way too fucking fat, and I
probably should have cut my hair and gone to law school like you secretly wanted - but for what it's worth, I think you were a great dad, I loved you, and I hope you're wrong and there is an afterlife and that it includes a buffet.
