My Own Nickname For Dad

My dad had his own nickname for me. He called me "Pasquale." (pass-kwall-ee) He called me that because I learned to speak some Italian from talking to Italian neighbors. I learned the gestures and talked with my hands as well. I don't know where he came up with the name, but he called me Pasquale until he couldn't speak anymore.

I wanted my own nickname for Dad, something that only I was allowed to call him. I was reading an Archie's comic book, Archie called his father 'Pops' so I stole that idea. I told people that he didn't like it so I would be the only one allowed to call him that. I basically lied just so it would be special for only me. 40 years later, it seemed like everyone had adopted calling him Pops. He liked it. He knew it was a nickname he earned out of love and respect.

I'm actually glad that other people used that nickname for him. They could see how much I admired and idolized him. Even strangers called him Pops!

(My aunt Nete was the one who started calling me by my initials, she already had a son named Tommy) Too many Tom's in our family!

Life Support?

My Dad specifically told me many times that he did NOT want to be on life support. He didn't want to give up either. Twice he was intubated and we had some great conversations after he got better the first time. He didn't think that anyone would want to be kept alive by a machine. He was thankful that he survived with the help of a machine, but he didn't want to be relying on one forever. He improved after he was intubated the first time...but the second time, he never recovered.

On the doctors recommendation, we decided that enough was enough when he couldn't go on without a machine helping him survive. Blood pressure medicine and air from being intubated were just keeping him alive. He couldn't speak, but he definitely responded...his mind was not toast.

I don't regret "pulling the plug" on my best friend...I'm responsible, I did it according to his wishes. I wish we were more informed and knew what to expect but we were shooting from the hip and praying for the best. Even near the end, I didn't think he was on "life support" I just thought we were doing everything we could to get him back home and better.

Five months after he died, I had an accident that required intubation too. I wasn't awake for five days and didn't realize that I was on "life support" as well. Even after being awake in the hospital, I had no idea what the hell was going on. I was medicated, big time! I have no idea what I did or said to the friends who were around me...gathered in my time of need.

I'm still not sure of the definition of "life support" but I wouldn't be here if it weren't for the same machines that I helped decide to stop for my father. Not the same age or situation, but I would prefer to be without a machine too.

What's your opinion?

Gifted

On my 15th birthday, Dad had a great idea, he got us a ping pong table. At the time, I thought it was pretty lame. He brought it home in a box and insisted that I help put it together. We clowned around while building it and I remember it being fun, rather than a chore.

After we had it assembled, I found out that my Dad was pretty darned good at ping pong! He learned to play while he was in the Navy. His paddle had no cushion and was covered in sandpaper. If he barely tapped the ball, it shot away like a rocket. He taught me about putting spin on the ball to make it curve...basically like he had taught me about "English" on pool balls. He showed me how to stand up the other side of the table to practice and hone my skills. It took a while before I could even compete with him, but I got there.

Every night when he got home from work, he would scarf some dinner and we played ping pong until I had to go to bed. We both had a great time talking trash and spending time together. I didn't realize that our time together was actually his gift. He didn't bring his work home or the problems associated, he came home and had fun with me. That ping pong table wasn't an expensive gift but it was one of the best I ever received!

Anniversary Day, That Merits Another Good Story!

Today it's been 2 years since Dad passed away. Time has helped to heal the wound of losing him but the pain still lingers. He was my father, mentor and friend too. He's on my mind often lately so I thought I might share another story.

Dad loved to go fishing on the coast and he was an old salty dog of the sea. He had been in the Navy and I thought he naturally just knew everything about being at sea. It was 1983, I was eighteen and he decided that we needed to hit the coast because there was a hurricane coming and he thought that was when the fishing would be awesome! I had complete faith in Dad and was convinced that his fishing knowledge was the best I had ever seen. Let's go fishing!

We arrived at Port Aransas the day before hurricane Alicia was to arrive near Houston. We loaded up the gear and got the boat ready while everyone else was taking their boats OUT. That's when I realized that maybe we weren't being too dang smart. I started asking questions and Dad reassured me that he knew what he was doing.

We rode out 25 miles into the Gulf with full tanks of fuel, calm seas, fishing! We caught a few fish and then it just stopped. We weren't catching any fish so I suggested that we head back to shore and avoid the bad weather. Dad reluctantly agreed, so we started back. The wind and rough seas arrived right after we were heading back. The waves got really big in less than an hour, then it got scary.

The wind picked up after big waves arrived. We were in an eighteen foot Bayliner boat, no radio and getting hammered by eighteen foot waves. I got really seasick and couldn't do anything but hug the rail and throw up. With each swell that came, we rode over the top and dropped to the bottom of the next swell...shaking the boat fiercely. "BOOM!" After a few hours, I crawled into the cabin with a bucket, vomiting until I had the dry heaves. Dad fought the wind and waves by himself for the entire day and into the evening. I was useless.

When he finally could see land again he called me out to help him spot a place that we could get off the dang boat. No landmarks, just get the hell away from the water! We found a pier and tied up the boat and we rode out the rest of the storm with some people that took us into their home. We were lucky and Dad admitted that he didn't realize the power of a hurricane. That's when I realized that he didn't actually always have everything handled, that I wasn't always safe just being with him.

Somehow, we always survived his adventures....he certainly kept life interesting! Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Are You Stupid??

A few years back, I was hanging some gutters and found a 1X6 about 6 feet long in Dad's workshop. I grabbed it and headed out to use it for fascia. Luckily, Dad spotted me before I used his lumber. He came rushing over on his scooter and asked what I was doing with his board...so I told him while he shook his head. I just thought it was a spare that he stored inside to keep it from warping. He asked, "Does that board seem heavier?" Yeah, it did. "Does it look straighter than most wood we have?" "I guess so." "Son, that is an oak board that's been planed, jointed and ready for a real project. It's not junk. Are you stupid or just don't know any better?"

I didn't know any better. I understand now.