Dad…God…God Dad!

I lost my dad in February of last year. I didn't really lose him since I know exactly where he is; St. Michael's Cemetery buried with his mother and father.

For most of my life, death was almost never a part of it. I don’t remember anyone dying in my family until I was 27 years old when my grandmother passed away. Then, I was almost 50 years old when the previous generation started to make a mass exodus.

A couple of my favorite aunts passed away, then a couple of uncles I was close to when I was a child; then last year dad. I already think about death too much but these things really started the ball rolling. So now, not quite the first anniversary of my father’s passing, I’ll share some things about dad. So sit back, grab a drink, and reflect as I tell you at least one thing you’ve probably not considered. And if you have considered all these things, you’re as weird as I am!

During my first twenty years, my dad and I were very close. If he would have died then, I think I’d have been lost. Not having a mother to speak of while I was growing up, my dad was everything to me. As a teen and young adult, I went the usual rebellious route. I developed friends of my own, struck out on my own and began my own family. But as the saying goes, the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree.

There are many things I don’t have in common with my father. I don’t treat my children as he treated his. I don’t rule my family as he ruled his. I don’t believe his list of rights and wrongs as it pertains to people. For example, he always thought I should respect him because he was my father. That’s an incredible thought to me. I should respect you because you were able to climax, lucky enough to create a zygote which developed into a human being, specifically me? Are you serious? I don’t think so. Most of the time, procreation has nothing to do with procreating. So while I don’t begrudge people’s sexual escapades, I don’t respect them for those escapades anymore than I respect them for riding a rollercoaster, watching a movie or doing anything else they’ve done for pleasure.

I respect my father because he took care of me. He raised me, made sure I was fed – let’s not go there right now – clothed, educated and entertained. He was an average dad in the mold of the 50s dads like Ward Cleaver and Ozzie Nelson. That is why I respected my father. I believe he tried to be a good parent. He didn’t shirk his responsibility to me. He took care of me which is what most people should do when they become parents. I can respect that and my father for it.

Politically and culturally I couldn’t be more different than my father. Did we really spend my first 20 years together? Amazing…..he was an Archie Bunker conservative which is a nice way of saying a bigot and chauvinist. He always laughed at Archie because he believed Archie was right and that no one else watching knew how right he was. I’m an off the chart liberal, maybe the most politically liberal person you know. Suffice it to say my dad and I did not see eye to eye politically in almost any sense.

Dad was also religious if he was forced to be. He certainly didn’t doubt there was a creator, but for most of my dad’s life, god was an afterthought. He didn’t live for god, the afterlife or anything spiritual as a young man. While he may have grown wiser in his spirituality as he aged, I suspected it was the fear of death catching up with him.

Regardless, we couldn’t have been further apart on the subject of spirituality either. He died the Catholic he was born. Certainly he broke just about every law and rule the Catholics had, but he still remained a Catholic to his death. The closest religion for me is this New Age Spirituality thing, but I’m not sure I fully understand it. I don’t know if I believe in one god, more than one god or no god at all. When I do believe in god, I definitely believe in reincarnation. My father couldn’t wrap his mind around reincarnation since you couldn’t come back as the same person. From his perspective, the only possibility was to come back as the same person you were. What are the odds that Carmen Corica would come back as Carmen Corica? Then, from his perspective, reincarnation was fiction.

Dad and I did love the culture we were born into. I have enjoyed being a full-blooded first generation Eyetalian. I love the food, the music, the celebrations and I know he loved them too. He and I did think about our culture a bit differently. He thought, like a lot of people, that his culture was somehow better than most. I don’t see how a culture can be better or worse unless we’re talking about a culture that sacrifices virgins. A culture’s food, music or celebrations don’t make a culture better or worse than other cultures. It’s the hubris of human beings that even gives rise to the thought of a culture being good, better or best. Cultures are not better than one another; they’re different from one another, just like people

To tell you the truth, if my dad and I weren’t born in to the same family, I don’t think I would have ever become friends with him. However, I was born into his family. I was his first born male child and got to know him as well as any other human being on this planet. He had his good side and his bad side, just like all of us. He was generous, kind and supportive when he wanted to be, just like all of us. He was a mean bastard when he wanted to be, just like all of us.

My father was just like all of us. He was a human being. Some things I grew to hate about him and some things I grew to love about him. I know I miss him. Probably the biggest thing he taught me, even though he didn’t know he taught it to me, is that every person has value. Every person is someone’s child. Every person deserves to be loved and respected just because they exist. We don’t have to agree with everyone. We don’t have to hang out with people we don’t agree with. We don’t have to do anything we don’t like or want to do, not even love and respect people. But this world will be a far better place if people would realize that you can love and respect someone and still disagree with them. We can do that with everyone. But starting out loving everyone, even strangers, will put us in a far different place than starting out anywhere else.

I miss you dad! We should’ve hung out more, had more dinners together, watched more television together and went to more ballgames together. Then we could’ve argued about all the things we didn’t agree on more often. I loved to hate your opinions; I loved to hate the way you treated some people; I loved to hate some of the things you did. In the end, I miss you and I love you. Maybe next lifetime we can hang out more!e hehhhdhasdfioajh

Father, Forgive Me

I get so angry with people at times and then I just want to yell at the top of my lungs. I want to break something. I want to beat an inanimate object until it’s unrecognizable.

I think it’s better for me to lash out in order to release my frustrations. I have never attacked anyone. I haven’t hit anyone since third grade when I sat on Jimmy Gaffney’s chest. I’ve never hit either of my children. I believe that violence is the last refuge for the incompetent and should never be the resolution to a problem. To hit people, or bring physical pain, is wrong.

I don’t come home when I’m angry and kick the cat either. That wouldn’t be much better; and not at all for the cat. I do, however, believe it is healthier to release my pent up frustrations. I’ve beaten an electric pencil sharpener with a baseball bat until the blades were dull.

I don’t condone acts of violence, even against pencil sharpeners, though this one might have had it coming. I believe it’s best to be able to shrug off the things that would normally anger me. If I could let it go, I would. However, given the choice of being angry and holding it in, or being angry and taking a hammer to the guacamole dip, I choose the latter. I don’t like guacamole dip much anyway.

So I yell. I scream. My voice escalates from loud to louder as I get angrier. Actually, almost any emotion brings a rise in my voice. I am naturally loud, though my hearing is normal. My whole family is. Once, when my brother was visiting my Colorado home, we came out of my house to get into my car in the driveway to go to the store. My neighbors, sitting on their porch five houses down the block, about 100 yards away, clearly heard our conversation. They regale me with the story every 4^th of July picnic. I shrug, and smirk and look at my shoes. I was definitely raised by loud Italians.

Me, my ex and my daughter went back east for Thanksgiving one year. We visited my dear family in Connecticut; the one that raised me. When we left, the ex asked if my family was always mad at each other like that. I’m not sure even now she believes that we were not angry with each other. We just talk loud and yell to make our points. Sure, it’s not the best way to communicate but it’s our way. There’s a lot of love, joy, sarcasm, yelling, and grief in my family. I don’t say I’m sorry for the way I was raised, but I do understand it has left me with a lifetime of dysfunctions to repair. It gives me something to do while waiting for baseball season to return.

I do believe it is best to forgive. Even now, when I’m angry, I tell myself I am not angry at the person. I am angry at what the person did. You forgot about our date to go dancing so you’re playing checkers at your friend’s house? You left me ringing your doorbell holding the flowers I bought so you would look nice on our date? Boy, am I angry! But I am angry at what you’ve done, not with you. I’m probably not going to change your tire if it goes flat in the next day or two, but I won’t give you the flat either. Retribution is a terrible thing too.

Forgiveness is one of the reasons for life. It’s one of the things the entire human race has in common. Everyone has people they need to forgive. We need to forgive their trespasses against us if we expect our trespasses against others to be forgiven. Even the holiest and most sacred amongst us have trespassed against others.

It’s not good to hold a grudge against people either. Pencil sharpeners yes; people, no. We need to let it go. A grudge is like an infected cell inside our body. We can let that grudge go, forgive the person we’re holding the grudge against, thereby releasing that cell so the infection doesn’t cause us harm. Otherwise, the cell splits and grows. Before we know it, the cell becomes a growth. Then we might need the growth removed. There’s pain involved. Then the growth can become a tumor. The tumor can become cancerous. The suffering we face then is huge. Radiation, chemotherapy, and operations to remove the cancer are all possibilities. It’s far better to get rid of that infected cell while it’s still small, if it can avoid any of that other pain.

Best of all, we feel better by forgiving others. It’s hard to carry a grudge. Some grudges get so heavy; it takes a lot of effort to carry it all day. Wouldn’t it be better to just let it go, see a movie and enjoy yourself? I think so.

I understand this concept since I’ve thought about it so long and so often. It makes perfect sense to me. So why do I carry around my grudges?

Like I know!

Forgiveness is not something you can intellectualize. Forgiveness is something that has to come from your heart. I may know the intellectual lesson of forgiveness but putting it to practice, that is going to take more effort.

Oh well. I know I won’t be canonized this lifetime. I have issues and things to work on to make my life better. That’s what life is all about. Experiencing, doing and being. Thank you Universe for giving me all these things to work on! I may get depressed and apathetic, but I’ll never be bored!