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| Dad's porch |
Dad was Willy Loman, Rich Man/Poor Man and Jack Nicholson
rolled into one. His fortunes were
always most certainly followed by losses so great he would call me for
cigarette and Diet Pepsi money.
When Dad’s time ran out, his money had already run out
months ahead of him.
His house went back to the bank; his possessions were sold
to help offset the cost of his funeral and the rest was either tossed or given
away.
The pictures of this modest house which had been in a state
of disarray when Dad died showed the bank had invested in new paint, new roof,
new carpet and a bit of landscaping.
It didn’t look half bad.
The pictures also showed an empty house but with each click
my mind filled in the blanks.
The kitchen was bright and cheery and probably didn’t smell
of smoke since the drapes had been removed.
The dead plants in the corner near the sink could only be seen by
me.
His 20 year old refrigerator would have been filled with
orange juice, Diet Pepsi, hot dogs, a mostly empty ketchup bottle, A-1 Sauce and
leftover cooked noodles. Sometimes cans of beer and half empty bottles of
wine.
His freezer would have been packed with frozen meals,
vegetables and meats and a variety of ice cream treats. The outside of the
fridge would be covered with pictures of the kids and grandkids and their
drawings as well as pictures of the children of a much younger woman who was
only around during the times of fortune.
The cupboards held several years of Girl Scout cookies,
cereal and crackers – mostly all expired.
The counters and stove were covered with a thin layer of grease, only
removed when I visited since he had fired most housekeepers in town and those
he hadn’t fired, knew to stay away.
Birthday cakes had been cut and served on the island as had
a Thanksgiving turkey or two. On one of his
birthdays, Dad had sat in a kitchen table chair and was adorned with a crown, a
cape made from a blanket and confetti sprinkled on him by two of his young
granddaughters. And then ventured out to a restaurant – still in costume – much
to the delight of the girls.
The rest of the rooms of this empty, bank-owned house brought
back as many memories.
In the family room, more pictures of the grandkids sat on
the fireplace hearth and Christmas stockings hung half of the year. We got
Robert settled on the couch after Dad’s funeral and he worked on his Word
Search while dad’s older brother sat protectively next to him.
The living room was where Dad had sat years before telling
me the FBI was spying on him; where he would sit and read or watch his gigantic
television crammed into the little room because he thought the cable reception
was better. It is also where Richard, Rachel and I found him only half awake
and completely confused when his kidneys were failing him, only hours before he
died.
This was also the room where his brothers and sister and Other
Brother and I hung out, looking through pictures and telling stories after Dad
had died.
The front porch had been fixed and had a fresh coat of paint
on it. Dad would call me from the front porch and tell me how he liked to put
on his pajamas, lay down a blanket and sit on the porch watching people go by.
I pictured him with his Diet Pepsi, cigarettes and wearing only his sweat pants
staring at people as they walked by and wondered how long it would be before
the police showed up.
This house held a few weddings – one or two of dad’s as well
as that of Robert’s. Robert was a young
man in his twenties when he married a woman (who later turned out to be a thief)
but on that day, Robert was happy. His smile was broad and he looked sharp in
his tux. Other Brother and I were amazed at our little brother getting married
since neither of us had thought this was in the cards for him. His marriage
didn’t last much longer than the honeymoon but I will never forget the smile on
Robert’s face before he went into the backyard to say his vows.
For a house I never dreamed would mean anything to me, it
has filled my evening with memories of both good times and bad. A few pictures of a non-descript house has filled
my heart with love for a dad who was both exasperating and fascinating and who
loved his family with all of his heart.
These few pictures have made me smile thinking of my
daughters who are thoughtful and funny; brothers who I adore with all my heart
and aunts and uncles who are thousands of miles away but as close to my heart
as you can get.
The bank may get the house and they may recoup their
investment since the market is improving but these memories – they don’t get those.
Those are mine to keep and to remember with just a glance at
a picture or two.
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