My Dad's Secrets, Part 2...
This stuff hurts to write about. Because I can't go to my
Dad and say " It's ok Daddy, it's OK! I understand now. Don't
feel bad, you did what you could, it's not your fault!"
But I actually think he had already found peace with it before I last talked to him.
I'm referencing my Dad's secret...
So as previously mentioned, I found the two little books from my Dad's pockets, the ones that he carried every
day. He also carried around a little St. Christopher medal. My Mom told me that it
was the patron saint of travel.
As I mentioned, my Dad went to the most dangerous places. But he so downplayed this stuff,
that we never thought anything of it. And he could be so funny with describing life on the ship...
One time at 4 pm in the afternoon when we were 16 and 17, my Mom was watching the news,
I had a friend with me, my brother was somewhere in the house, and we all heard:
" Our breaking story, Russian ship collides with US Destroyer. Details are just coming
in...The U.S.S. Fife collides with a Russian Ship... "
My Mother's face went white, and she said " Tell so- and- so that they have to go home now."
I can't even remember who was at our house that day. But that was my Dad's ship at the time, the Fife!
And our Dad's ship had just collided with a Russian ship up near their coast! Pre-Gorbachev!
Needless to say, we were freaking out. But I think they reported that no major injuries
had occurred.
But this story is such a perfect example of why it was so easy to believe my Dad, even in the face of other evidence. Such as how we were able to half- believe that he didn't know how to swim, even though he was in the Navy.
Because here's what my Dad told us about the Russian collision:
" Yeah, we were up there clowning around, mooning them, they were mooning us. We
flip each other off through the periscope and moon each other and generally BS around.
It gets boring as hell up there. We were playing chicken, they see how close they can get, we see how close WE can get. We were just joking around, we're not really trying to hurt 'em.
So we got a little too close, and bumped! Christ, It was just a bump! LOL"
He really WAS laughing because he was amused by how the media blew it up out of proportion.
Of course we were all very relieved.
But THAT'S the kind of information we were getting out of our Dad. So if he said that he had an
office job in the states during the Vietnam war, we believed him. He was a master of downplay.
Because here's the thing: There was a lot of blatantly contradictory information leaking out
over the years. Things that completely contradicted this "Office job in the states" story.
Such as, I remember when I was REALLY little, my Dad was home, and injured. He had a
big hole in his head, and a bump.
A huge, gross, bloody bump on his head. My Mom was
worried about him and nursing him back to health. We were allowed to go in and sit with him and give him care from our little toy doctor bags. Little black plastic doctor bags. I gave him
little multi-colored candy pills, and I think my brother was using his toy stethoscope. After a few minutes my dad got too tired and we had to leave him alone. It was probably 1969, 1970.
Other contradictory evidence:
My Mom telling one of her friends " His best friend got shot and killed right next to him..."
I have to stop now. Not for dramatic effect but because I am crying hard. I miss my Dad.
I told you this stuff hurts.
Dad and say " It's ok Daddy, it's OK! I understand now. Don't
feel bad, you did what you could, it's not your fault!"
But I actually think he had already found peace with it before I last talked to him.
I'm referencing my Dad's secret...
So as previously mentioned, I found the two little books from my Dad's pockets, the ones that he carried every
day. He also carried around a little St. Christopher medal. My Mom told me that it
was the patron saint of travel.
As I mentioned, my Dad went to the most dangerous places. But he so downplayed this stuff,
that we never thought anything of it. And he could be so funny with describing life on the ship...
One time at 4 pm in the afternoon when we were 16 and 17, my Mom was watching the news,
I had a friend with me, my brother was somewhere in the house, and we all heard:
" Our breaking story, Russian ship collides with US Destroyer. Details are just coming
in...The U.S.S. Fife collides with a Russian Ship... "
My Mother's face went white, and she said " Tell so- and- so that they have to go home now."
I can't even remember who was at our house that day. But that was my Dad's ship at the time, the Fife!
And our Dad's ship had just collided with a Russian ship up near their coast! Pre-Gorbachev!
Needless to say, we were freaking out. But I think they reported that no major injuries
had occurred.
But this story is such a perfect example of why it was so easy to believe my Dad, even in the face of other evidence. Such as how we were able to half- believe that he didn't know how to swim, even though he was in the Navy.
Because here's what my Dad told us about the Russian collision:
" Yeah, we were up there clowning around, mooning them, they were mooning us. We
flip each other off through the periscope and moon each other and generally BS around.
It gets boring as hell up there. We were playing chicken, they see how close they can get, we see how close WE can get. We were just joking around, we're not really trying to hurt 'em.
So we got a little too close, and bumped! Christ, It was just a bump! LOL"
He really WAS laughing because he was amused by how the media blew it up out of proportion.
Of course we were all very relieved.
But THAT'S the kind of information we were getting out of our Dad. So if he said that he had an
office job in the states during the Vietnam war, we believed him. He was a master of downplay.
Because here's the thing: There was a lot of blatantly contradictory information leaking out
over the years. Things that completely contradicted this "Office job in the states" story.
Such as, I remember when I was REALLY little, my Dad was home, and injured. He had a
big hole in his head, and a bump.
A huge, gross, bloody bump on his head. My Mom was
worried about him and nursing him back to health. We were allowed to go in and sit with him and give him care from our little toy doctor bags. Little black plastic doctor bags. I gave him
little multi-colored candy pills, and I think my brother was using his toy stethoscope. After a few minutes my dad got too tired and we had to leave him alone. It was probably 1969, 1970.
Other contradictory evidence:
My Mom telling one of her friends " His best friend got shot and killed right next to him..."
I have to stop now. Not for dramatic effect but because I am crying hard. I miss my Dad.
I told you this stuff hurts.
posted by Nabonidus at 7:59 AM
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