11th Chapter, Day 16: EleFan: For the love of elephants (and other giant animals) Happy Father’s Day! My father died in 2002, so I haven’t had a Father’s Day connection in awhile…In my father’s honor, I am sipping locally-made vodka, Oryza. Oryza is a rice distillation, from Thibodaux, Louisiana, which is where I found my Boxer girl, Lady, 2 years ago. Funny, in all the years that I’ve been drinking vodka, the grain source never occurred to me. As someone pointed out recently, “You’d care, if you need to be gluten-free.” Many vodkas are wheat-based, alas, for some people. Oryza has a distinct flavor, much like sake. I must say that I prefer another grain, but hey, how do you know unless you try it? My father enjoyed vodka, daily…red wine…beer…I learned how to make Manhattans for him when I was a kid. Don’t forget the maraschino cherry! He and Walt would go through bottles of Georges de Boeuf Nouveau Beaujolais every season, over a leg of lamb. My father was a fabulous roast cook, his signature being millions of thin garlic slivers inserted into the meat, by way of razor sharp knives that he honed frequently. The phrase “Excess is best” was coined for him. My father was born in 1913, on Dec. 14th, my birthday, too. His parents were Lithuanian and kept a grocery store in Massachusetts, outside of Boston, that flourished, even during the Depression. My grandfather carried many people when they were broke, and they stayed with him, long after the economy improved. The point is: my dad never knew a lack of money. He never cared about making money. He just sort of ambled through life. He was a very bright guy, a Navy medic, who just couldn’t hack the hard work of med school or any serious conformity. Somehow, he became an insurance claims adjuster for Mutual of Omaha. To their credit, and my mother’s benefit, Mutual of Omaha saw my father through his drinking and breakdowns. Those events were public. The abuse, especially to my brother, was private…a family affair…His other unseemly behavior is also private, maiming our family for life…My father retired when he was 60, to sit and drink and do crossword puzzles…to drive and drink and get into accidents…to walk and drink and fall down and lie in a pool of gasoline in the garage and get 3rd degree burns on his knees…When I was very young, he dressed to the nines, always…Impeccably attired… Polished… charming…After my high school years, there was such a decline….Eventually, he wore nothing but the LLBean clothes that I would buy for him. I would make sure that the chamois shirts had 2 breast pockets for his pens. He especially liked the green chamois shirt with the deer appliquéd on it. Never an affectionate man, when he became more and more house-bound, he wanted hugs. Whenever I would come to visit, he wanted hugs. It took me awhile to get used to this change. Despite the fact that he was stuck in the house a lot of the time, having lost his license and totaled his car, he was very serene. I asked him his secret. He gave me a sly look and said “You have to adapt.” This complicated, amoral, extremely abusive man, how do I still love him? He was my father.
Posted on: Sun, 16 Jun 2013 22:11:20 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015