Jeff
So I’m sitting here trying to write about my Dad ... and it’s not going well. I’ve tried looking at every source of inspiration possible - my kids, other blogs, funny dad quotes ... and nothing. I’m finding it a little frustrating because it’s not like I don’t have lots to say about the guy. Trust me, I could talk about him for hours ... it’s just not flowing nicely into written word tonight. And it wasn’t yesterday or the day before that either.
I suppose it’s not something I should be stressing over, I mean if it’s not working, it’s not working, there are lots of other things I could write about ... but I kind of I feel like I owe him this. After all, I’ve written plenty about my mom, I’ve written lots about my kids, I think he would be a little insulted that I haven’t written about him too. That is if dead people feel insulted ... which I’m not sure they do.
I’ve just realized I may be causing some confusion. After all, I did just write a blog about my dad. However, that was my bio-dad. My sperm donor, if you will. THIS blog is about my ACTUAL dad. The guy that put in the real work. You know, the guy that wiped my tears, put up with my teenage sass, and all with zero appreciation or thanks. And to top it all off, he didn’t even really live long enough to fully enjoy me being a successful adult. Talk about a rip-off.
Anyway, I want to write about him because a) he was an incredibly inspirational part of my life. He is the reason I have road rage and love Bob Seger and yorkshire puddings. And b) because the 10 year anniversary of his death just passed and I feel like I need to commemorate that some way ...
For those of you who weren’t not lucky enough to know my Dad (Jeff), he was an avid hockey fan (Canucks), crossword master, lover of jokes (particularly ‘Little Johnny’ jokes), and the ultimate tough guy. He was the type of dad that always had his arms and ears open to my friends and he was an amazing cook. He didn’t have a huge menu of things that he made, but the things he did make - delicious!
Among his most popular dishes, were his cesar salad and his prime rib. He loved nothing more than cooking up a roast dinner (complete with fixings) and beaming with pride when every morsel went. There was never a scrap to spare because it was sooooo yummy ... and also because he never made enough. I think that this may be a British trait because he’s not the only Brit I know that makes just enough to fill you, but barely enough for seconds ... and certainly not enough for leftovers. I’ve never been able to understand it. Is it because they are frugal? Or perhaps because they like the self-esteem boost of watching everyone lick their plates clean? Not a roast dinner went by that good ol’ Jeff didn’t look around at everyone’s empty plates and longing eyes, chuckle with pride and say “Well, guess I could have made more, eh?”
“Yes, you could have made more! For the love of God, I’ve been saying that for 16 year! Make more! This stuff’s delicious!”
I miss that routine.
Another thing that I loved about Jeff is that despite the fact that he was ‘tough as nails’ (one of things I was most proud of as a child was that ‘my dad could definitely beat up your dad!’) ... but he was also a huge softy. He would often get tears in his eyes when he saw I was crying, he would always hug and ferociously defend my friends when they were upset, and he even got so worried when he found out I was (very unexpectedly) pregnant with my first child that he vomited (just a touch of the flu, he muttered). He cared so deeply about those in his circle, he was always willing to listen, and he was very forgiving ... unless, of course, you were driving on the same stretch of road as him at the same time.
I have yet to meet someone with more severe road rage in my entire life. It really didn’t matter what you did as another driver on the road ... you did it fucking wrong. And too slowly.
Truth be told, Jeff could actually be a HUGE grump. I say that with love. I think my friend Danny said it best when he got up to speak at his funeral and started his speech with “When I first met Jeff, I thought he was the most ornery, cantankerous, old so-and so I’d ever met!”
And it was true.
Most of my friends were a little scared when they first met him ... although that didn’t last long. It was the little things that bugged him ... Heaven forbid there be any noise (like breathing) while he was doing his crosswords in the morning, or watching his beloved hockey at night. God help you if you clinked a glass too loudly or ... drank any of his drink mix. You never knew what was going to set him off, but one thing you could count on was the reaction you would get ... a ‘tsk’, a dirty look, a dramatic sigh, and a ‘Jesus Christ!’ (not necessarily in that order).
The weird thing is, I swear I miss that stuff as much as I miss the rest. I miss the road rage (which, despite the fact that we are not biologically related, I seem to have inherited), I miss his crankiness. I miss the ‘tsks’ and I miss the colorful language (which I have also inherited).
I miss it all.
For those of you that never knew him and just hear my stories, you missed out. The stories just don’t do him justice. He was one of the kindest, funniest old farts you could ever meet. (He would really appreciate that I just called him an old fart).
He was one of my absolute favorite people. Still is.
So, Jeff .... thanks again for everything. Thanks for always being there. Thank you for making our home a safe place and for always making my friends feel welcome (except when they tried to get into your drink mix). Thanks for always being there for mom and for always making me laugh. Thanks for always trying to record the shark shows so I wouldn’t miss them and for buying me feta-stuffed peppers cause you knew how much I loved them. Thank you for introducing me to Willie Nelson, Bob Seger, The Righteous Brothers, and all the other good music.
Thank you for continuing to keep an eye on us (I am certain that you are). Please help guide my boys. I will continue to remember you every time I see Rottweilers, eat prime rib, hear a ‘little Johnny’ joke, or see an old redneck mutter ‘Jesus Christ!’ under his breathe ...
I know I probably didn’t say it enough while you were alive but I love you and you were always, and always will be, my true Dad.
Turns out, you were the only source of inspiration I needed.