I wasn't going to write an entry today; I don't always write on the weekends. But I've been watching home movies all day, the ones that we started on R's second birthday, so that's 21 years ago this past March. I don't so much focus on Father's Day, although I give the Hubs a gift (a few hard to find DVDs, today) and, unlike last year, I was able to wish his father a Happy Father's Day on the phone. This is my second Father's Day without Jack.
He is still a presence in every day of my life, and I know of my sister's as well. Several months ago, when we got our new contract at work for next year and I saw what my upcoming salary is, my first thought was to call him and tell him, because he loved it so much when he would see what my sister and I were earning as teachers these days. Of course, he wasn't there to call. But it's like that, sometimes; it's as if he's still there in the apartment, watching a ball game or doing a crossword puzzle, and all I've got to do is call him.
I was just over looking at catsnapple's entry for today, and it's about her father, and it's quite beautiful. It's what made me want to look back at what I wrote about Jack the day that he died, which was March 19, 2003. It's here.
Why, you may wonder, do I almost always refer to my father as Jack? Did I call him that when I spoke to him? Yes and no, but mostly no. He said once when I was a little kid that he didn't care what we called him, as long as we didn't call him late to dinner. Haha. I thought that was original with him, actually. When I spoke to him, I called him Daddy. Sometimes when I came into the room, I would say "Hello, Father," and he would answer "Hello, Daughter," just because they both sounded formal and funny. To the grandchildren, he was always Grandpa or Grandpa Jack. As he got to be old, my sister and I always referred to him, though, as Jack.
His name, by the way, was not really Jack. I don't know if I've ever written this here before. His name was Jacob. In the time and place he grew up, this marked him as The Jewish Kid, and all his life he hated the name Jacob, and especially Jake, or Jakie, which is what everyone called him growing up. The day he arrived at college in New Hampshire in 1937, he introduced himself to the first person he met in the dorm -- an upperclassman who happened to be Jewish -- and said "Hi, I'm Jake" and the other guy, while still shaking his hand, answered "Hi, from now on, you're Jack." And he always was, to everyone except the U.S. Army (since he'd already registered for the draft) and his mother.
He was a helluva guy. Happy Father's Day to one and all.
--------------------------------------------------
I'm watching 60 Minutes
--------------------------------------------------
last ::
next
Sweet Sorrow - 06.12.2007
So ... - 12.19.2006
Christmastime Is Near - 12.18.2006
Fifteen Years - 12.17.2006
A Message From Our Sponsor - 12.16.2006
|
