It's Kind of a Long Story... about MY FATHER

This Dad's no joke.

Hey Drama Goblins,

In the aftermath of Father’s Day, another dip into the archives, from my long-abandoned circa 2007 blog, It Ain’t What You Do, It’s the Way That You Do It.

I called it that because I thought my problems were all about my attitude. I wouldn’t be so stressed and tense if I could be more grateful and gracious. I couldn’t change what I had to do, but I could change the way I did it.

Ha. That’s the kind of BS that makes crazed women crazy.

It wasn’t my attitude that was the problem. It was working long hours. It was a long commute. It was raising a family and maintaining a marriage and friendships always worried about money and navigating the world as a very fat woman.

It was the time in my life when I described my schedule and obligations to a therapist and she looked at me wide-eyed and told me I needed a cleaning lady. And no, she didn’t offer to pay for it.

Changing my attitude wasn’t going to cut it. I was swimming against a strong current created by capitalism and patriarchy and I alone could not turn the tide.

It’s never a bad thing to have a good attitude or being grateful. It certainly helps, but don’t let that keep you from fighting for justice, equity, equality… or whatever it is you need to live a life that serves you best.

I’m so glad you’re here,

Lara

And I Felt… Nothing

Short Story

I learned that my father was in the hospital close to death, and if I wanted to see him before he died, I needed to do it soon. I slept on it and had pretty much decided not to, but it didn’t matter. The decision had been made for me. He died the next day.

I have no regrets.

Long Story

“You never talk about your dad.” - different friends to me from time to time.

ProTip: If you’re thinking of saying that to someone, consider that there’s probably a good reason.

This is my blog entry from October 8, 2006

“and I felt… nothing.”

Remember that number from A Chorus Line? Yes, I'm too young for A Chorus Line but my mom was big into it in the 70's and had the soundtrack on a continuous loop. There's a character who recalls an acting teacher who was very tough on her and tried to get her to access her emotions, but she couldn't do it - she felt nothing. In the last few lines she learns that the teacher has died, and she finally cries, because she still feels nothing.

I had a similar experience recently. My father, who I had not seen or spoken to in almost 20 years, died. He was a lifelong alcoholic and sometimes drug abuser who allowed his addictions to take precedence over family, friends, or in the end, any kind of a productive life. I heard he was in the hospital the night before he died, and that the prognosis was not good. I thought a lot about whether or not I wanted to go down to LA to see him. I had pretty much decided not to, and then the decision was made for me early the next morning. I came home from work, and I did tear up a bit when I talked to his brother about the arangements. His death was not a loss to me, because he was not a part of my life. Learning that he did not clean up is act at all, but in fact sunk further into addiction over the last 20 years, just afirmed that I did the right thing by staying away - there was never going to be anything good for me there. Part of me honestly felt a sense of relief. This open wound that was my "relationship" with my father had now closed. I now had a good answer for awkward questions about my family. I no longer have to worry about what I might be morally obligated to do if he were to become infirm or destitute.

The odd thing is is that now that I'm seven years into this parenting thing, I have both more and less sympathy for the chaos my parents created. I understand that being a parent is overwhelming, all-encompasin, earth-beneath-your-feet-shaking and awesome financial, physical and spiriual commitment - if you want to do it right. I understand the urge to take the short cuts, to respond in anger, to not only feel frustration and loss of self and freedom but to act on it. But, for crying out loud you don't give in to that urge! The gift of the tsuris that was my childhood is that I don't take my relationship with Max for granted. I know that I have to earn his respect and love. I try every day to give him the things I didn't have, and to help him become a strong confident man and (hopefully) father some day. I see how much happiness and sense of identity that he gets from being a part of our little family, and it makes me very proud. It would be my great shame and responsibility if I ever created a situation such that Max would feel as little as I do at the death of his parent.

So though I'm usually pretty quick to cry when things get too close too real - all of the business around my father's death has been oddly lacking in emotion. I've been able to talk about it with people with much greater ease than I thought I would, and even dealing with things like the cremation details, the little bit of money he left, etc. have been routine and easy. The part that have been weird are when I've been assumed, even in a small way, to be in grief. I've gotten a few "sorry for your loss" cards - and I just sort of looked at them curiously and wondered "Is this really for me?" The mortuary woman said, in hushed sympathetic tones, that the county required my address as the official location to which the remains would go. I responded "Oh ick, really!!??" I can tell you that was not the response she expected. (And no, the remains are not actually being sent here thank god. They were picked up by my Uncle and my brother is making plans to take them to Yankee stadium as our father requested.)

Part of me wonders if the other emotional shoe will drop, but I really don't think so. We play the cards we are dealt - and this particular hand has folded.

The other shoe has never dropped. I have never felt regret. Whatever small chance there might have been for connection, reconciliation, and closure was not worth the risk of bringing tsuris into my life or Max’s.

One of the gifts of the experience is that I’ve been able to assure and comfort friends who don’t traditionally mourn or grieve a loss that it’s OK. It’s OK to feel relief. Maybe whistful. Or nothing.

In a poignant twist, I learned this week - when I sent her a draft of this Substack to read - that when she drove away from my house after telling me that my father was dying, my mom had the same song from A Chorus Line going through her head too.

A friend and I were talking about grief the other day. She asked, “What is grief anyway? How do you do it? How do you know you’re done?”

My answer is that grief doesn’t always equal sadness. For me, grieving is learning to life with a new reality. You don’t ever fully get over a loss. It’s a constant companion. It changes and shifts you. It’s part of your story. Grieving is not something you do and then are done, the loss always lives alongside you.

I’ve described the loss of someone you love, someone you feel the absence of in your life as a pinball game. In the beginning, the grief ball is big and hits the sides hard and often. Over time, the ball gets smaller. It hits the sides less often and hurts less when it does (although it can hit at really weird and unexpected times) but the ball is always there.

When you lose someone from whom you are estranged but entangled, your state of being changes. Doors are closed. Possibilities, however remote, no longer exist. You are now a person without a father, mother, sibling, or friend who once played a really big role in your life. The answers to questions about those relationships now have a different answer. Feeling some kinda way about that is also grief.

At least it is for me.

I do get bummed out on Father’s Day. Not because I didn’t have the kind of warm, wise, supportive father that many of my friends have, but because there are those for whom the day is hard. They don’t want to see photos or read tributes other folks make to their dads.

I love them. I know many men, including men in my family, who are top-notch dads. I love seeing how they enjoy and celebrate their kids. I love knowing those kids are getting such a strong foundation. I want there to be as many happy, healthy, and whole people as possible.

And, I get how hard it can be to want something you can never have. To wonder how different your life would be if you had had it. To be envious and sad and mask that with anger or sarcasm or putting other people down to manage your own feelings. It’s not heathy, but it’s very human.

My husband John grew up in chaos. He was the youngest of ten, the son of an abusive, alcoholic mother and a mentally ill father. Being a dad meant everything to him. It was his life’s work. I am so damn proud of him for breaking the cycle, for being the dad he always wanted and deserved.

When he died, I didn’t understand at first why Jews said, “May his memory be a blessing.” I thought, “Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be?” Then I got it. They’re wishing that when I think about him that I don’t feel pain at the loss, they weren’t assuming my memories of him were mostly painful ones. Like they are of my father.

John may not physically be in Max’s life anymore, but he is still walking alongside him. Max’s grief will take different forms as he ages, but he will never “get over” his father’s death. I wouldn’t want him to. It’s an essential part of his story. I want him to feel it live with it and use it to make him empathetic and connected to others who have had loss and inspire him to create the best life for himself that he can while he can.

To create memories that will be blessings.

Lara Sez…

Listen!

80s deep cut of the week! I tried to recall an 80s deep cut with a Father’s Day theme, but I came up empty. So, I give you, The Human League.

Read!

I recently saw The Lehman Trilogy, which I highly recommend if you have an opportunity to see it. The Lehman brothers got their start in a clothing and fabric store in Alabama, which made me think of The Jew Store, about another family of Southern Jewish shopkeepers.

My great-grandfather and his brothers owned a grocery store and wholesale grocer in Pennsylvania coal country. Unlike the Lehmans and the family in The Jew Store, theirs was in a thriving Jewish Community in which they were respected leaders.

Max Spector’s Store

A tribute to Max Spector in his local paper. He died the following year in an elevator accident.

Do!

In the Starr Family, we always had two sponges at the kitchen sink: The Good Sponge and The Grody Sponge. The good one for washing dishes, the grody one for cleaning. So we didn’t grab the wrong one, John Starr came up with the idea of cutting the corner off of the grody one so don’t grab it by mistake.

Eat!

In Thailand they call it Gai Kraprow. We just called it "Theee Chicken.” Dunno why we stretched out the “eee,” it’s just one of those weird family things. John first made it to put the new meat grinder attachment for the Kitchenaid through its paces, but we quickly scaled back the level of difficulty and used ground chicken.

3 lbs. ground chicken

2-1/2 tablespoons dry white wine

3 pinches black pepper

2 tablespoons sesame oil

1-1/2 tablespoons sesame oil

1-1/2 tablespoons salt

2 tablespoons cornstarch

1 tablespoon garlic powder

1/2 tablespoon vegetable oil

2 jalapeno chiles, sliced

1/2 cup thinly sliced basil leaves

In a large bowl mix all of the above ingredients except the vegetable oil, jalapenos and basil.

Heat a wok or skillet over high heat and add the vegetable oil. Add the chicken mixture and stir-fry until the chicken is cooked, about 5 minutes. Stir in the jalapenos and basil and serve over rice with steamed broccoli.

Follow!

If you’re in the mood for love, follow @MeetCutesNY. The fellow stops couples on the street and asks how they met. It’s adorable.

Before I let you go…

Mulling over a few new features for It’s Kind of a Long Story…

AMA: a form for asking me any questions anonymously about anything I’ve written (or anything else!)

Advice - Give: I ask for advice from y’all about shizz I’m needing advice about. I’ll share the answers in an upcoming ‘stack

Advice - Get: a form for anonymously asking me for advice about shizz you need advice about.