Blog #1: The Mirror Image

It was one of those restless nights, tossing and turning. Not uncommon as I am now retired with all the usual aches and pains.

I finally woke up early and limped to the edge of the bathroom sink, bent over, and splashed water on my face to wash the crustiness from my eyes.

With water dripping from my face I looked up and stared in the mirror.

It was all quickly recognizable. His eyes. His nose. His skin. It was all there.

I marveled at the notion. Whenever I sneeze, I sound exactly like him.

Never before did I believe I looked like or acted like my father. As a child, I had bright blonde, straight hair, just like my Mother. She was just beautiful.

Dad had dark brown, wavy hair combed straight back. I always admired it. He was handsome and I remember feeling bad that I did not look like him.

Born in Mississippi in 1918, he never made it to eighth grade. Joined the Army as a teenager and just as he got out after several years, World War II broke out instead of going back into the Army, he joined the Navy as a cook.

He served on destroyers in the North Atlantic and in the Mediterranean Sea.

Both Mom and Dad were “tough cookies”, to quote one of their favorite expressions. Not the sociable type, they spent most of their free time in a very small cape-style house in Quincy. They could sit for hours in the small dining room talking, arguing, and whispering about everything.

In the kitchen, not much bigger than a closet, the constant hum of the little fan motor in the tiny window was always running to suck out the cigarette smoke.

Their other unfortunate habit was alcohol.

They worked with discipline and purpose all week. Mom kept the books. Working only at night, Dad and a helper cleaned Howard Johnson’s kitchen ventilation systems. It was a dirty, disgusting job that delivered a reliable, low income for a family with three kids during the fifties and sixties.

They loved their independence and self-reliance. They were a partnership. They were also religious Catholics and believed strongly in God, especially in their later years.

When the weekend came, however, it was time to drink.

It was also the time when I learned their values: if I got out of line, Dad would take the belt to my buttocks.

Dad was a tough, disciplined, orderly, no-nonsense man. His own early circumstances prevented him from getting an education, but he married someone who did. She was a nurse at Mass General Hospital when they met.

They disliked politicians and believed most of them were outright thieves who used their positions to accumulate wealth at the expense of the “little guy”.  They believed strongly that most politicians at all levels, city, county, state, and federal, were generally selfish, power-hungry liars, and under no circumstances should they be trusted. As a result, we avoided any comments about family secrets like income and family plans.

Dad believed in honor and trust. Old school, you could take his “word” to the bank.

Dad got cancer of the throat in his early 60s. When the doctor gave him the news, he never picked up a cigarette again.

When I asked him why, after all these years of trying to get him to quit, he was able to quit cold turkey! He said, in a quick, matter-of-fact tone, he just believed it would not happen to him.

When Mom had her first stroke and was hospitalized, Dad would visit her every day and sit and talk for hours or watch their favorite TV shows together.

When Mom passed, he remained in the same home. At 90, he was out shoveling snow in the driveway. No way would he go to a “damn nursing home”.

When the doctor told him cancer had come back after nearly 30 years, he decided to fight it. I learned about the toxic nature of cigarettes and alcohol. Esophageal cancer is horrific.

However, the full extent of the problem became clear when in the hospital, he became intolerant and incredibly nervous. He was suffering from alcohol withdrawal or, using a term I had not heard for years, the “DTs”. To control him, they had to strap him down to his bed.

My brother, one of the kindest and most respectful family men I know, and I spent hours by his side over the next couple of years. He was in and out of hospitals and rehab centers.

I learned so much more about him during this time. He kept talking about his time in the Navy. As a result of Dad’s repeated stories of the USS Redwing, I did some Internet searches and was shocked to see a picture taken from a rescue boat of his ship sinking in the harbor of Algiers after it hit a mine in 1944.

When I showed him the picture, he jerked forward in his bed and pointed at it saying, “That’s my ship!”

I won’t forget the look in his eyes.

He also told me about the sinking of a German U-Boat, U-233, aboard the USS Baker. He was firing from a 3-inch naval gun and saw his rounds bouncing off the sub.  In his few photos of WW II, there was a picture of the bow of the Baker just a few yards away from ramming the sub just behind the conning tower.

He loved talking about the Navy.

When I visited him at the Dedham rehab center, the nurses I had not met knew immediately who I was visiting. When I asked how they knew me, they said I looked just like my Dad.

Incredulous, I challenged them by saying. “No way!” But sure enough, they took me to the right room.

When I visit their graves, side by side, at Pine Hill Cemetery in Quincy, I think of how truly they loved one another and never left each other’s side.

Their spirit in me is undeniable. I sincerely believe they gave me the “fire in the belly” to have a passion at work, to succeed with discipline and persistence, and to be a responsible man.

Dad was a fighter to his last days and did not give up driving until he was 91.

When I look in the mirror, I expect to carry on his tradition.

Classic values: hard work, loyalty, no-nonsense, discipline, self-reliance, and commitment.

I feel his presence.

Yes, I see the reflection.