2013. The year of goodbye.

As I count down the waning hours of 2013 I can’t recall a New Year’s Day without my father. For the last 13 years, he joined us for every New Year’s Eve as well. Each New Year’s Eve, the phone would ring: 

Jin. It's thy favorite father.

Um, dad. You are my only father.

Well even if you had others, I'd still be your favorite. So when are you coming by?

I liked that about my father. He was secure in his place with me; sure of my affection. He was certain of everyone’s affection. It never occurred to him that he wasn’t universally loved. He was genuinely surprised the handful of times he found out otherwise. Truth is, most people did like him. Once he flashed his infectious grin, he could get away with almost anything. I miss my adventures with him. And yes, I suspect even presented with other fathers, he'd still be my favorite.

He won’t join me this New Year’s Eve, of course. For that reason, I am reluctant to close the door on 2013. 2014 starts a year in which he doesn’t exist. It marks the first full year he isn’t part of my life. I am not ready to put him squarely in the past. I want to linger in 2013 a little longer where I can still find him. Where I can still reach out my hand and almost touch him.

I am afraid if I stray too far from 2013 the sound of his laugh will grow too soft. I won’t hear the lilt in his voice as he calls out, “Jin!” I won’t be able to conjure up his smile. The image of his sturdy hands, the hands I studied thousands of times, will grow dim. I will forget which finger bore the scare from an old construction accident. I will loose my optimism without his steady presence. I am reluctant to enter a world without him.

But there it is. The future sits as it always has, squarely before me. The countdown continues, picking up greater and greater  speed. I hear my father’s clear voice, telling me, “Jin, what comes, comes. You can't stop tomorrow from coming.” 

No, you can’t. It is time to go forward.

But I won't let him go. I will etch it all in my mind. I will carry his laughter in my heart. I will take his well-loved ancients with me. I will carry him with me however far I travel. I will begin tomorrow with his smile. 

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Employee of the Month

Last night Sam said me, "Mommy is Employee of the Month." I thanked him for that honor. Then a few minutes later he said, "Slugule Mommy.” (Translation: Slug Mommy) and proceeded to try. Ah, it was a fleeting honor at best. Or maybe it’s some kind of Employee of the Month initiation ritual.

Either way, Employee of the Month isn't all it's cracked up to be.  

If Sam is indeed my boss, he can be an irrational one. The volatile nature of the last two months is certainly evidence of that. Even during better times it's a job filled with unexpected ups and down: Some days I’m lavished with affection for the smallest deed; other days my Herculean efforts are met with indifference. Or worse.

Still, there are those perks. As Employee of the Month should, I have the parking spot closest to the kitchen. A good day is like basking in warm sunlight. I never lack for entertainment. And if you like the twists and turns "I sure didn't see that coming" mystery, a week at my house could be nirvana. 

There are those nights when I am certain I can't make it through another day; days when I've had quite enough. Sleep coupled with a new morning brings optimism for a string of good days.  

I don't expect a plaque for this recent recognition, though the words alone were kind of nice. Thank you, Sam. I accept the honor. I'm going to pass on the 'slugule' though. You can give that to Tony.

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Don't give up

Life long pals. On vacation November 2000.

“Don’t worry,” I hear my father say. “He will get there.” He watches Sam, now asleep on his bed and shakes his head in amusement. “He looks comfortable. One thing about Sam, he is always smiling.” My father is Sam’s number one fan.

“Yes he is.” I confirm. “He gets that from you.” My father agrees saying, “When I was in the army I was always in trouble for smiling. They told me, Smiling Jack! Wipe that smile off your face.“ “Yes,” I say.“ And I have heard many other stories when you were in trouble for smiling.” True.” He acknowledges with another of his famous grins.

“How is school?” he asks. “Sam likes math,” I answer, “He likes to read, he likes to draw.” My father responds, “I think he will surprise everyone one of these days.” For a moment or two I feel safe within the cocoon of my father’s optimism.

“Sam is always happy,” my father marvels again. “Yes,” I say. “Well most of the time. He wasn’t too happy at school last week. And they weren’t too happy with Sam.” “Ah,” says my father, “no one ever said life would be easy. Never quit.” “Never quit.” I echo. In my mind I hear my Uncle Anthony tell me, “One thing about your father. He’s no quitter.” We are not quitters. This is our legacy.

My father drifts off for a moment and then returns to me asking, “How tall is Sam now?” “Tall like you. Six foot one.” I answer. My father likes that answer. He likes being responsible for Sam's height. “Sam is a good-looking boy.” He says. “He has a beautiful nose.”  My father also treasures beautiful noses.

He watches Sam thoughtfully. Then he reminds me, “My father used to say to us: Don’t you know, you didn’t come looking for me. I went looking for you.” “Yes, I remember.” I say, acknowledging my responsibility. “I had a wise grandfather.”

Sam is now awake and boisterous once more.  My father marvels one last time, “Look how happy he is. He will get there. Never give up.”

“I won't,” I promise my father for what will be the last time, “I won't.” “Good,” he answers as he smiles once more. 

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