Dad

Two days ago was the one year anniversary of my father's death. A lot can be written about one's father, but just because it was the anniversary of his death I wasn't convinced that I should or needed to write about him, for a father should be thought of and written about at any time. I could write a lot about him, but let me sum it up like this - my father loved me - and I know this because he told me a lot. In the two weeks he was in the hospital before he died mom and I would leave his room and on the way out we would give him a kiss and tell him "I love you." He would reply, even in his drugged or lost state of mind by pursing his lips and saying back to us "I love you." A man I grew up with who I can't say that I ever remember him telling me "I love you" made up for it in the years of my adulthood.

I don't recall that until I told him I was gay that there was the love expressions that I received after telling him. I am sure that as a child he told me, and he was one to show me his love without telling it to me verbally. But for a long time I don't ever recall him saying to me that he loved me. I had my mom telling me that she loved me regularly, but that my dad did tell me and even showed it more than I could have ever imagined is a great help.

Scared - I was scared to tell dad I am gay. I thought that my dad was a conservative man who would hate me. I think that is what a lot of people think about their fathers. But this wasn't true. He was a compassionate man. A man who cared very much for his family, his friends and for the life that he was living. He is a man that I will say will endure in my heart for eternity and not just because he was my "father" but because he espoused what it meant to be a father.

I look at today's children and their parents and because I am not a parent I am somewhat appalled at how parents have become obssessed with their child's activities. Parents are being run ragged by having to take their kids to ball games, practices, dance lessons, piano lessons or the like. When is their time for the parent? When does a parent really get to play what they want to play? My father would take me down on Saturday mornings to get a bag of candy (the candy probably cost a dollar or two at most). Saturday afternoon dad would take me back to 7-11 for a Slurpee. The candy would come first, then home to do yard work and then to get a Slurpee for me in the afternoon. That was the routine for years, and it was wonderful. I didn't play sports until I was in high school and then my parents would come to the games, but it wasn't anything that if they didn't show I was disappointed about. I wonder today what children will do when all of the sudden mom and dad aren't at a practice or a game - they will probably end up in a Psych ward somewhere.

Dad was dad. He wasn't a conservative zealot after all. He was real. He hated George W. Bush. Said he was the worst President ever - and when my dad was born Warren Harding was President. That's a lot of men in that position and W was the worst one? Dad was a Democrat. Mom was the Republican. Go figure! (Mom isn't a Republican any more.) I found out that dad wasn't what I thought he was. He was tender and loving. My coming out surprised him. He never said a thing to me about it. Treated me no differently the next day as he did the previous day. When he found out I was using drugs he didn't tell me how stupid that was. He loved me the same the day before as he did the day after. He supported me and wanted to be there as much as possible. He didn't drive, so mom had to drive and up they came to support me when I was in rehab. He was there when I got out. He was there before I went in. Dad also never got on me like mom did about me chewing my fingernails. I'm not sure why, but I want to think that he figured mom did enough nagging that he didn't need to add insult to injury.

Yes, it isn't the same going home to Fresno without him. I know that he is buried in the cemetery and that his body will remain there until the great flood brings it up and floats it somewhere or that it stays there forever. I know that his soul is a part of me and will always be around me. I haven't felt his presence, in the ghost-like type of presence, but I wouldn't be surprised if someday I do feel him. I just know that he is always a part of me because of who he was - he was for me a father! Donald George Seibert will always be MY father and I will always be HIS son. For that I am grateful. More I could write. More I will write. But for now, the memory of my father and his life - his life up until the end - is what is important for me. It is different for my mom because he was her husband, but if it wasn't for him I wouldn't be here to write this blog about him. I love you dad! I love you very very much! Thank YOU for me and thank YOU for YOU!