Daddy Has A Word

Dearest Aubrey:

I usually just allow you to speak in this forum to tell the world about yourself and your life, and to share your pictures with family and friends. But I wanted to take a small opportunity to leave a small tale for you to read, just in case I never get the chance to share it with you.

Today is your grandfather's birthday. You never met him, and I only had the pleasure of his company for about nineteen years. It's rare that I speak of him, not because he's not worthy of being spoken of, but for the fact that nothing I could say would do his memory the justice it deserves. But I think it's important to share with you a little bit of my father, and I hope that someday you'll have similar fond memories of me.

He was born in Ecuador, of German parents and he spent his youth attending military schools, along with his brother Marcello. Eventually he found himself living in New York, where he met my mother on a blind date set up by his roommate and best friend. He was a kind and decent man, and he worked tirelessly to support his family. Sometimes working a day AND a night job, allowing himself only a few hours sleep, in order to make sure that we all were able to live comfortably. Eventually he got a job working for Eastern Airlines, which allowed us a nice life and the opportunity to travel the world. He worked there for 24 years, and didn't take one sick day. Not one. This was the kind of man he was. If he said he'd be somewhere or he'd do something - he did it. No excuses. He had many friends who loved him because he had a great sense of humor and always brought smiles to their faces. He loved to have fun. He loved to dance, and much like you, he loved music. He would spend hours listening to music he'd recorded on a reel-to-reel tape machine. Every type of music, from rock to classical to folk to latin. I learned my love of music from him.

He was not a touchy-feely kind of Dad and he kept his emotions pretty buried, but we knew he loved us - not by his words, but by his actions. Even after he started to make a decent wage, he always made sure that my mother had the "nice" car and the "newest" car. He would drive around in old beat-up cars. Not because he couldn't afford a nicer one, but because that money could be put to better use for his family. He used to love grabbing my thigh just above my knee and giving it a quick squeeze, because he knew I was ticklish and it would make me jump. I remember hating it as a kid, because he did it all the time. Now, I look back on it and I'd give anything to get him to squeeze my leg again. I'm making sure to pass on the tradition to your brother, and soon it will come to you as well.

He was a great artist. You can look around our house now, and see a few of the paintings that he did, but my house growing up was filled with his art. Not amateurish art - but true art. He loved to draw and paint, and he had an inborn talent for it. I'm sure that if he hadn't needed to support a family, he'd have someday become a famous artist. His creative talents weren't limited to painting though. He would build the most beautiful wood jewelry boxes you've ever seen, with inlaid panels and perfect hand-made drawers. It would take him weeks to make each one. Your Abuela only has a couple of them left, as over the years the rest had been sold or given away...one day you'll have one of them to keep your precious things.

He would speak to us in a German accent when he spoke English, and I remember never noticing it growing up. It wasn't until after he was gone, that I heard a tape recording of his and suddenly noticed the accent. Strange, huh? He had many hobbies too. He loved to play pool, and was very very good at it. I remember always being embarrassed to play with him, because I was so bad. But in my late teens, when conversations are hard to maintain with your parents, he and I would play, and it allowed us to connect. He also loved to play chess and backgammon. He and I would play backgammon very often and I would rarely beat him. But he loved to play games with me, and he did it for hours at a time. A sacrifice of his that didn't become apparent until I became a Daddy.

He was a man with simple tastes. He didn't wear fancy clothes, or pretend he was more successful than he was. In fact, he would even cut his own hair. He spent some time in the Army, and together with his military school upbringing, he was able to make a bed so tight that you could bounce a coin off it. This also gave him the special talent of being the best "tucker-inner" in all of history. I remember when I was young, my mother making attempts to tuck me in "tight" like I liked it. I loved it when I was tucked in so tight I could barely move, and if by chance I rolled over and the sheets got looser, I would call out for someone to tighten it up again. But my Mom never got it as tight as my Dad did. I never felt safer than after my Dad came in, checked under the bed for monsters, and tucked me in so tight that I couldn't move.

The thing I remember most about my Dad was the way he smelled. He always smoked a pipe, and if I close my eyes, I can still smell the wooden match and the wonderful aroma of his pipe tobacco filling the house. If you got up close, you could also smell his cologne. He always smelled nice and smokey!

In some ways, I've always thought that he was a little disappointed that he never had a daughter. He loved little girls, and he was especially close with his God-daughter Annette and Nancy, the daughter of my parents' best friends. Any reservations with showing emotion were wiped away when either of them would walk in the room. He was all smiles. Every time I hold you, I think about how happy he would be now if he was able to see you. I can guarantee that you would have seen him on a regular basis, and he would be sending funny letters and cards to you every time he was far away. He loved to make children laugh with silly little stories - and it came easy to him.

He and I never really "talked" a lot when I was young...but strangely enough, about a year before he died, we spent considerable time talking about who we were and what we believed in. It was odd (at least to me) that though a lot had been unspoken in our relationship over the years, we were almost exactly in tune about our opinions and beliefs. We had so much in common, and during that Summer we were able to move beyond a father-son relationship to one of two friends. That meant a lot to me. I had a chance to learn who my father was, as a man - not a parent. I hope someday that you'll get that chance with me, and more importantly, that I get the chance to understand all about you.

It's a shame that you'll never know him, and I guess another generation will pass without a grandfather to hug. I never got to meet either of my grandfathers either, so at least we'll always have that in common with each other. But I'm going to try real hard to live a really long time so that I can be a Grandpa to you and your brother's children someday. I think I'd really like that.

Happy Birthday Daddy. I miss you every day and I wish you were here to see your grandchildren. You were a great Dad, and you'd have made an even better Granddad. Just know that you won't be forgotten, no matter how many years pass. I love you.