tomorrow is father's day. and the summer soulstice. since i'm getting tattooed early on, i'm writing this now so i won't forget or get sidetracked or whatever...
came back from my trip to ireland feeling like a different person. mellowed out. refocused.
my cousin shane, who's 36 and married with an 18 month old baby and another on the way, was sitting and talking to me about life. after i played football with him and his friends on a weeknight at 10 pm. sun was still up. glass of spanish wine in my hand. havianas on my feet. jeans. hoodie. no dressing up in ireland unless you're some lass tarted up going out to the pub to find yourself a man. (in words my dad would use.)
shane is the one i can hang with more than all the rest of my cousins in ireland. we like the same music. he's really into education, reading. (as a teacher and coach, he should be!) surfs. has travelled the world.
sometimes someone says a thing to you. just some really basic truth. but since you've never heard those words in that certain way, it resonates with you more than if they had launched into a whole explanation of why they think this way.
shane says to me: "life is as simple or as complex as you make it."
not really rocket science, i know. but usually i need a good kick in the ass. someone to tell me to shut the fuck up. to be patient. to think with my head and not go with my gut.
i'm really strong. independent. stubborn. just like my dad.
on this father's day eve, i'm very thankful that he's taught me everything he has, both in deeds and in words.
a couple of my good friends have lost their dads. my sister has lost her mom.
never know if it's ok to bring these people up. am so thankful that i have my dad still. but i know that on the day that i don't, no matter how far in the future that day is, he always lives on in my heart and my brain.
tomorrow i'm getting tattooed. hummingbirds. double meaning. it's from the last cd of one of my favorite bands, knapsack. my grandpa also used to make hummingbird feeders and hang them outside their home in rural madison county, ny. during the time when i was going through my teen angst bullshit, my grandpa, (mom's dad), served as my dad.
grandpa stanton was as old school as you can get. he was raised one of eleven children on a farm in madison county. his dad owned a farm and was also the high school principal. held all his kids to a really high standard of achievement. grandpa took a few classes in agriculture at the local college, but really liked to work with his hands. became a carpenter and a total DIY guy. changed his own oil, rebuilt cars, fixed anything that broke, built me a swing that was the best present that a little 4 year old inner-city kid could ever get!
rex was the only one to yell at me when i got my first tattoo at 18. but somehow this one i don't think he'll mind. i'm having my friend steve who's doing it hide my grandparents initials in the design. was never into "dad" and "mom" tattoos. not going to cover myself with names like some norman rockwell painting.
grandma will see it next weekend when i'm home for my mom's surprise 50th birthday that i still need to finish planning. she'll just shake her head and say my name with that inflection reserved for ladies born in 1920 who have no filter...
happy father's day for tomorrow to all my guy friends with kids!
post script...
this one is for mike. and my "other dad" bob.
RIP jack morgan & rex stanton. real men. class acts.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through. -s.h.p.
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