On this day 19 years ago, the path my life was taking, changed forever.  I was not prepared for this change emotionally nor was I ready to admit this to my family.  How can you prepare you heart for something your mind knows is inevitable, but will hurt just the same?  I was the oldest and was to be strong for my mother, and younger siblings.  Well, that is what I was told was my “position” within the family.  To be honest, I think that this attitude helped me to get through this time in my life unscathed, well not exactly, maybe okay is the word, no maybe . . . who am I kidding, it was horrible!!!
My father passed away when I was 15, my sister had just turned 12 and my brother was 5.  He was diagnosed almost a year prior, with Pancreatic Cancer.  It was determined later that this was due to his exposure to Agent Orange.  

My daughter Maggie has recently started to ask questions about my father, Grand-pop Tom as she calls him.  I have tried to remember things about his life that may seem of interest to her, mostly stories about his childhood that he told me.  I have been trying to portray him as I remember him a caring, loving, lots of fun, full of life, a teaser and practical jokester.  Yet I find myself pondering and asking questions also, questions that I will never have the answers too: Who was he really? How would he have reacted to “this”?  Would “this” or “that” have happened if he were physically here?  Would he like who I am today?  Would he like my family?

What prompted me to question my memory of my father?  A statement was made to me by a relative about my personal and political convictions.  This relative said that my father would not have felt the same way and would support the current administration.  He acted as if they knew more about my father then I did.  The conversation then turned to “your father was going to change his party affiliation not too soon before he got sick”, now I knew he was wrong.  I find this hard to believe considering he was a federal employee and saw all the bureaucratic crap that went on.  Also, the following incidents show the level of fortitude he displayed and passed on:

When my father was 18 he registered for selective service and to vote.  When he came home to his Irish, Catholic, Republican parents, my grandmother asked him what party he registered under.  My father’s response was “after much consideration I decided to register as an independent”.  My grandparents were furious and demanded that he change his party or he they would disown them.  He did not change and they did not disown him.  Although my father swore that this was why his parents did not help him pay for college.

After my father graduated from college, he met my mother and they made plans to be married.  A few weeks after my father proposed, he received his draft notification.  My grandfather being a “big shot” at Philadelphia Electric made some phone calls about how to delay my father’s deployment.  It was determined that his best avenue was Officer School, but he was going to have to report for duty earlier then the draft indicated.  So my parents had to plan a wedding in three months and honeymooned on their way to boot camp in OK.  

He was deployed to Vietnam in December of 1970 right before my mom found out she was pregnant with me. Here is a picture of his hat from his dress uniform and a patch my father wore on his everyday uniform.  I know for a fact he did not believe in that war, or any for that matter.

The patch says Curse this stupid war

My father was given a 10 day pass after I was born in July and did not return home until January, 1972.  When he returned, he did not have a job and could not find one that would support his family.  He was emotionally scarred by the experience and would not talk about it, even years later when I had to do an interview with someone who had experienced a historical time or event. He was so pissed off about his military service that he specifically asked not to have the flag placed on his coffin and not to have his grave marked as a veteran.

Fast forward a few years, when I was in 8th grade I had an incident with a nun.  She accused me of lying to her about a homework assignment.  She made me stand in her class room until I admitted it. I told my parents what happened and my father said do not back down, stand up for yourself.   I stood in her class for about 4 days, when my father finally came to school and spoke with the nun.  My father told me I was to stand in her class the next day until she apologized to me in front of the class.  I went in and stood, she told me to sit down; I told her I was told not to sit down until she apologized.  She did and it made the rest of my time in her class hell, but it was worth it to see that look on her face of defeat.

Two years later, after my father was diagnosed, we had another incident, this time with a priest.  My dad had been going through several months of chemo and it was not helping.  We were looking into alternative methods of treatment and had just found a clinic in Buffalo that would help.  At this point he stood 6’2 and was about 110 pounds, so sitting the wooden pews at church was uncomfortable.  

We were sitting towards the back of the church, off to the side, just in case he started to not feel well.  When the priest started his sermon, I could see my father get tense, his ears turned red, then purple.   I asked him several times if he was OK and finally he said no.  He stood up put his jacket on and started to walk out of the church.  As he proceeded down the isle he said out load at least twice “this is bullshit”.  Now to be honest with you, I was not really listening to the priest, but I was concerned for my father, so I did not question his actions. When we came home a lot earlier then usual my mother was concerned.  I told her what happened, but I was not sure why he did this.  My father explained that the priest said that everyone in that church was a sinner and we were all going to hell.

How do you tell a dying man that he is going to hell as he is sitting there every week suffering?  My father refused to go back to church after both he and my mother made a call to the pastor.   After that we had a priest visit almost every Sunday night until the week before he died.  

So as you can tell, he was not a person to stand down, compromise his convictions or take crap from anyone and that myself and my siblings are exactly like him.  After writing this I discovered that I don’t care what others think, I know in my heart who he was and what he stood for.  I think he would be proud of who I am today and supported me in my decisions and loved my children.   Also, he would have loved Darrell for his level of intelligence, his ability to think on his feet, and smart ass attitude.

I have a few other pictures below of some of the things my brother has kept to honor our father’s memory:

My dad’s Southern Comfort Bank:

My fathers Irish rosaries:

Our favorite picture of our dad:

One of the last pictures taken of my dad and brother before he was sick: