Happy Birthday, Dad… RIP

Today, March 8th, is my dad’s birthday.  In his honor, I would like to share with you a few of my memories of him.

He’s been gone less than a year now, but it feels like so much longer.

My father may not have always been in touch regularly and he was certainly not up for any Father-Of-The-Year Awards.  However, I choose to remember the good things about him since his passing.

My dad, James Durell Dennis, Sr., was a very intelligent, handsome, and witty man born in Atmore, Alabama as the “baby” in a family of 9 children, 6 brothers and 2 sisters.  He and my mother married very young and were a gorgeous couple.  He was a Navy man in the Vietnam War.  He worked for Weyerhaeuser, Schlitz, Stroh’s, and Pabst.  He loved music… mostly the songwriters like Neil Diamond, James Taylor, Bob Seger, and Johnny Rivers.  My dad had a great voice and loved singing and writing songs and poems.

I remember my dad singing “Listen, Do You Want To Know A Secret” by the Beatles to me.  (Probably the only Beatles song I even like to this day.)

I remember when we were living in the Navy apartments in Long Beach, California, I was only about 3 years old.  There was an older boy of about 7 years old that would always bully me.  My dad came home one evening and found me crying because the boy had hit me.  He promptly took me to the little boy’s door and told his mother to have him come out so that I could hit him back.  The mother, of course, refused… until he explained to her that if she didn’t allow me to retaliate against her son, he would personally take it out on her husband.  He explained that I’d better hit the boy hard enough that he’d never want to hit me again.  Apparently, I did because I never had any trouble with him again.  He said that from then on if anyone ever hit me, I’d better fight back as hard as I could because if I didn’t beat their ass, he’d beat mine.  He told me to not ever be the one to throw the first punch, but I’d better always throw the last to defend myself.  (I sure wish I’d held to that during my first marriage.)

I remember as a small girl having a piece of soap shaped as a flower and wanting to show him.  I woke him from his nap on the couch, and since I was always sharing candy and food with him, in his sleepiness he thought the soap was a piece of candy.  Biting into it woke him up in a hurry.

I remember him teaching me how to swim and dive.  He, my baby brother, and I loved the water.

I remember him teaching me how to play sports.  He’d throw a football with me for hours on end until I could throw a pass perfectly “hitting the numbers” from the other end of the courtyard at his apartment complex.  He had me doing a perfect hook shot even though I hated basketball.  His favorite was golf and he’d take my brother and I to play Putt Putt often.  There were times he’d call me to tell me about his golf game… each stroke of every hole of the game.  Bored, I only half listened, but I guess I should have been happy that he wanted to share it with me.

I remember him being a big beer drinker… but, don’t ever remember seeing him “drunk”.

I remember that in one apartment he lived, he had me draw on the walls of the living room.  My brother loved Sesame Street at the time so our dad had me trace pictures of Big Bird, Elmo, Bert and Ernie, and Snuffleupagus on the wall and color them in so that he’d have his very own pictures of them to see whenever we were there.  (Wonder what the next tenants thought.)

I remember my dad telling jokes incessantly that were so bad you had to laugh anyway.

He would say things like “For shits and giggles”, “Squeeze me” (instead of “excuse me”), “Kiss my go to hell”… and, countless other nonsense sayings that you came to expect only from him.

He taught me that every action has a consequence and that BEFORE you act, you should figure out what the consequence will be.  If you’re willing to face the consequences, then by all means, take the action.  He would tell me that I could do ANYTHING I wanted to do… as long as I was willing to pay whatever price came with it.

Even though my brother and I didn’t talk to him often, he always made sure that we knew he loved us and was proud of us.  And, I believe that he did and was.  I just wish he’d been around more.  I wish my brother had been able to spend more time with him.  I don’t think my brother ever knew how much our dad adored him.  And, I always felt bad about that.  My brother does things and says things so very much like our dad and I’m sure he doesn’t even realize it.  But, I do. So, I guess our father will continue to live on in him.

Yes, there are memories that are not so fond… but, I choose to let those go.  I choose to forgive those… for me.

So, Dad… if you’re seeing this… I love you.  I miss your voice… your laugh… your wisdom… and, even your dumb-ass jokes.  😀

BoBo

This is about my brother.  BoBo is a nickname given to him by a little girlfriend back when he was just a toddler.  No one ever called him by that name but that little girl.  Well… except when I want to rattle his chain.  *evil grin*  He hates the name.  But, ya know what?  Too bad.  I love the man with all my heart.  I truly do.  But, I have some nightmarish memories to go along with all the adorable ones.

I was an only child for 8 1/2 years.  It was a good life.  Lonely very seldom, I spent a lot of time around my cousins and friends.  I always had playmates, but as soon as I learned that there would be a new baby in the house, I was the happiest little girl ever.  I was always mature for my age… more dependable than other kids my age, as well.  I couldn’t wait to have a real baby to play with and hold and feed and love and… change diapers?  Ewww.  Mom’s belly got bigger and bigger.  This baby was going to be huge.  And, he was… almost 10 lbs.  But, Lord… was that boy the cutest thing you’d ever seen?  Big beautiful eyes with the longest eyelashes and big pinchable puffy cheeks.  He was absolutely beautiful.  I loved that baby boy as if he were my own.

And, then… he became a toddler.  I had never experienced such lovable sweetness turn into a… well… hellion is the only word that comes to mind.  He would give kisses and hugs and be just oh-so-sweet one minute.  The next minute… he would be chasing me with a baseball bat screaming that he hated me because I was trying to put him to bed.  grrrrr.  He was smart even at that age.  That little creep, err… I mean, angel… had my mother wrapped so tight around his pudgy little baby finger.  He would do something to me and as soon as I turned to retaliate, he’d yell for our mom.  And, of course, with him being the baby boy, she would always punish me for whatever had occurred.  grrrrr

One weekend we were at my dad’s apartment and all of a sudden, he was nowhere to be found… along with my the little girl of my dad’s girlfriend.  I freaked.  My dad freaked.  His girlfriend freaked.  After searching the apartment, the pool, the courtyard, the laundry room, the game room, the roof… EVERYWHERE… we were frantic!  I didn’t think I’d be able to breathe again.  And, then… where was this giggling coming from?  The closet?  In my dad’s room?  Hmmm… well, what do we have here?  Two nekkid little kids sitting in the floor of the closet playing… and, totally oblivious to us in a panic searching for them.

Another time he came up missing was at my grandmother’s.  That poor old woman almost had a heart attack worrying about where he’d sneaked off to.  Turns out, he had decided to visit the good folks at the electric company office down the street.  He told the lady which house was our grandparents’ and she brought him back to us.  But, not before we’d lost our minds looking for him.  *sigh*

I remember as a teenager babysitting him… he was a fun little monster… most of the time.  Whenever my boyfriend would come over to hang out with the parental units out of the house, it was almost always after my little brother was asleep.  But, sometimes… he would fake me out.  My boyfriend and I would be snuggled on the couch kissing… umm, I mean… watching TV, yeah, that’s it… watching TV.  Anyway, I would notice my little brother out of the corner of my eye and would turn to tell him to get back into bed.  It would inevitably turn into an argument with the final words out of his mouth being, “I’ll tell Mom your boyfriend was here.”  Hell, what was an extra hour staying up late gonna hurt the little brat anyway?

At 17, I was graduated from high school and moved to North Carolina on my own.  Even though it was scary and exciting at the same time to do something so “adult”… the hardest thing in the world was saying “goodbye” to my brother.  Seeing his eyes water up made me cry even harder.  I hated leaving him.  But, I was back in town in less than a year.  It was great to be able to watch him grow up.  He was smart… loved sports and was good at them… musically talented… a great son… and, an all-around good kid.  (Well, at least as far as Mom knows.  *wink wink*)

When he started playing the guitar, I was just in awe of his talent.  Whenever his band was onstage, my chest would swell with pride so much that I thought for sure I’d burst.

As I watched him grow into a man, I had to admit that I was proud.  He’s honest… intelligent… full of common sense… loving and compassionate… hard-working… a good father who adores his sons… a playful uncle…  a caring friend… still a great son… and, an awesome brother.  He has been there for me when I needed a friend… a voice of reason.  He’s been known to give me hell when I needed it, too.  He’s given encouragement and support.  He’s been a total jerk… and, one of the sweetest men I know.  He makes me howl with laughter… and, he can also make me raging mad, but not too often anymore.  He’s a good man.  That beautiful little baby boy with the long eyelashes and the blonde curls matured into a really good man.  I’m so proud… and, lucky… to have had the opportunity to witness such growth.

His own boys are like him in different ways.  The oldest inherited his gift for music… and, love of long hair.  His youngest… well, let’s just say that his poor mommy is stuck with his attitude… and, his sweetness.

To this day, we still joke about how he’s mom’s favorite and that she loves him more than she does me.

Truth is… I love him more than I love me, too.