TheBanyanTree: Dads

[Margaret R. Kramer]

9/15/07
for that vcr in garage , i might put that tv & radio on this. 
Love you, Sorry I upset you about the clothes.
 love you
 Ray& Geo

My Dad
My dad was a precursor to the more involved dads of today.  I was born in
1955.  Back in my middle class white suburban world, men went to work and
the wives kept house.  When the man came home, he ate dinner and then began
home repairs.  Dads didn't really interact with the kids unless it was for
discipline.  "Wait until your father gets home!" was truly a scary thing.   

My dad helped with my math when I couldn't quite get multiplication and
division.  After dinner, he'd sit down with the flash cards and we'd go
through them night after night.

He helped me with my baseball skills.  I was a very uncoordinated kid, the
last picked for any team, but he taught me how to catch and hit a baseball.

My dad would help me build things with Lincoln logs and tinker toys.  There
were no legos back then.

He organized bike trips for my Girl Scout troop.  Later, for my sister's
Girl Scout troop, he organized camping trips.

The neighborhood dads formed a Dads' Adventure Club which consisted of
monthly meetings, one month was dads and daughters, the next month would be
dads and sons, and the next month would be dads and families.  They did a
whole range of activities, from cross country camping trips to bowling.

My dad loved to bowl and golf.

He couldn't cook a meal, except while camping or grilling, but he made a
great breakfast.

He was a day person, like me.

He didn't drink, except for a beer on the 4th of July.  He smoked for many
years, but quit a few years before he died.  Quitting smoking was very
difficult for him.

He was very mellow, but when he got mad, he blew like a volcano.

My dad could fix anything.

My dad was a systems analyst, he got into the computer industry when it
first began.  He was a computer pioneer.

He bought a Commodore 64.  Remember those?

My mother died at age 52 from a heart attack, and my dad remarried, and was
married to my stepmother for over 20 years.  He was "Dad" to her five
children.

My dad and Ray were like two peas in a pod.  I'm so glad they lived long
enough to know and respect each other.

 Ray's Dad
I don't know much about Ray's dad, except that he was a skid row bum.  A few
years back, our local public television station showed a documentary on the
skid row of the 50s in Minneapolis, MN.  Ray and I watched the show, with
Ray carefully scanning the film, looking for images of his dad.  He didn't
see any.  

Ray's dad died in Minneapolis.  Ray was always curious about it, so I got
Ray's dad's death certificate from the county.  Ray was so grateful.  I gave
the death certificate to his children after he died.  His body was donated
to the University of Minnesota and he was buried in a local cemetery a few
years later.

Ray was the youngest of three.  His mom and dad didn't stay together, and he
bounced around from relative to relative.  He remembers staying with his dad
in Minneapolis.  It was on Park Ave.  The address stuck in Ray's head, and
it was one of the first places he had to see when he first moved to
Minnesota.

Ray
Ray was an alcoholic for years and years.  He drank two gallons of beer a
day.  He would get the DTs when he tried to quit.  His family did an
intervention and got him in treatment and he remained sober until he died.
He had been sober about 15 years before we met.

He told me that there were whole chunks of memories when his children were
growing up that were lost.  He regretted more than anything those lost drunk
years when his family was young.  

Unfortunately, that's the man most remembered by his children.  I noticed
that they wanted him to the play the "town drunk" role when he was at family
events, and seemed puzzled when he didn't want to play it anymore.

After he sobered up, he became the fun and crazy grandpa.  He loved doing
magic tricks with the kids.  He loved to take them fishing.  He babysat his
youngest granddaughter for the first couple of years of her life.  He'd
drive his daughter to work and pick her up.

My grandsons drove Ray nuts sometimes with their loud voices and
hyperactivity, but he was always willing to take them to the Science Museum
or a play at the Children's Theater or freeze his butt off at the Holidazzle
Parade.  

And baseball . . . Ray never turned down an opportunity to go to a baseball
game and he enjoyed sharing his joy of baseball with the boys.  

Sobriety turned him into a good man.

He and Asher didn't have a father/son relationship by any means, but Asher
respected Ray enough to be at his bedside when he died.

Asher's Dad
Asher's dad was a fluke.  How did we meet?  When I was in Europe, I had a
relationship with a Sudanese man.  I lost track of him, so I was told to
call the Sudanese embassy in Washington, DC.  They transferred me to their
Cultural Counsel.  His job was to keep track of the Sudanese students in the
United States.

The man I was looking for wasn't in the United States, but Osman knew his
family, so he gave me an address to write to.  Then we talked for a while.

He had a conference in Chicago or something and asked if he could stop in
Minneapolis.  "Well, sure," I said, because I was a wild and crazy girl.

Osman was 20 years old than me (I was 21 at the time), short and chunky,
but, oh, boy, he just oozed charisma.  I have never been with anyone like
him EVER!  Naturally, he was married.  His wife was back in the Sudan.  He
had three children.  But, again, I was a wild and crazy girl with very
little morals.  

I remember we went to a grocery store and he bought all kinds of food.  Then
he totally took over my kitchen and made me a Sudanese dinner.  I can't
remember what we had.  I remember we smoked Dunhill cigarettes and he drank
Johnny Walker Black.  

He snored.  And badly.  That was my first experience with someone who
snored.  And it wasn't pleasant.

We met a couple of times more in Minneapolis, Chicago, and Milwaukee.  I
used birth control pills, but I got pregnant anyway.

I never really told him that the baby was his, but he knew.

We never saw each other again, but we kept writing and calling when we could
until 1985.

He was sent back to the Sudan.  His last letters were filled with plans for
marriage, but I had very little money, as did he, and certainly no
connections to get him out.  And I was terrified of giving up everything I
knew to be with a man I barely knew.  I was a chicken!  Sudan was, and still
is, a very oppressive dictatorship, so any talk of marriage and moving to
the States was done when Osman was on foreign soil.

Osman started a Sudanese Student Association in 1981, which meets once a
year to encourage understanding between Sudanese and Americans.  The
Association stills has annual meetings.  While I was googling him one day, I
found in a 2001 newsletter that they were going to do a tribute to him, the
"late" was the term used, so now I know he's dead.

Asher has always had issues with not having a dad.  That's the sad thing my
capriciousness has caused.  I never thought about that, because I grew up
with a dad.  It took me a long time to realize that I caused Asher an
injustice by not forcefully pursuing Osman to acknowledge parenthood.  

I often think Osman and I met at the wrong time in our lives.  If I would
have met him when I was older and more established career-wise and
financially, maybe we would have had a future together.

Asher     
For not growing up with a dad, Asher is a great dad.

When Asher and Susan split up last year, he took the boys.  Sure, they all
live with me, but he takes care of them in every other way.
     
He buys their groceries, their clothes, washes their clothes, makes sure
they pick up after themselves.  He coaches football and baseball.  He takes
them to and picks them up from school.  He makes sure they get their
homework done.  He takes care of them when they're sick.  He punishes them
when they need it.

Susan takes the boys, too, no doubt about it, and between them, they make
sure the boys spend time with each parent.  

Sharing custody is tough, but they seem to manage it very well.

The boys are doing well in school.  They have manners.  They have friends.
They seem comfortable in their own skin.

Asher is truly raising his kids.  And they'll remember that when it's their
turn to be dads.

Joe
Joe grew up with a mom and dad who stayed together until his mom died.  His
dad worked for years at a steel mill.  His dad was illiterate, but he knew
how to take care of his family.  Joe loves his dad more than anything, I
think, even though he has been dead for years.

Joe has three children.  

He refused to marry his daughter's mother.  Then he married another woman
and had a son with her.  He had sporadic contact with the daughter and son.
He would pop up in their lives are various times and expect them to worship
the ground he walked on.

His second wife is a Canadian and they had a son who is now 28 years old.
They were divorced when Richard was two years and I don't believe Joe has
talked to Richard since he was eight years old or seen him since he was two.

Last year, just for fun, I did a search in MySpace for Richard, and there he
was!  Joe almost died, he started shaking so bad.  All of a sudden, his mind
had to adjust that his son was not a child anymore, but a grown man.  

So, at that point, Joe could have contacted Richard directly, but chose not
to, or was afraid to.  

He's been in contact off and on with his ex-wife over the years, but she
doesn't let him know any contact information about Richard.  He gave her his
email address and asked to have Richard email him.

Well, last week, Richard emailed Joe.  It was a simple email, just a
statement about catching up.  Joe was thrilled.  He thought carefully about
his response, and it took him a few days to answer.  He sent Richard his
telephone number.

And now he waits to see if Richard answers.

Asher told me that Richard is probably curious about his father.  He's
probably curious about Joe's side of the family since he doesn't even know
them.  He's probably curious about a lot of things.

I'm hope Richard answers soon.  I hope it goes slow and easy.  I hope that
expectations on both sides are kept low.

Margaret R. Kramer
margaretkramer at comcast.net
margaret.kramer at polarispublications.com
www.polarispublications.com

If you're going through hell, keep going.
-Winston Churchill