Laura Tate
A Father’s Day dedication
Moms have always been thought of as the main caretakers of a family’s children; even in this “modern age,” mothers still get a great deal of “nurturing” credit. But, as many of us well know, Dad is the “main man,” one of the most important persons in the life of any child who is fortunate enough to have an involved, loving and caring father.
My dad was gone most of the time during my young life, between the ages of babyhood and seven. And then he was gone for good, until I reconnected with him in my teen years. There are many reasons why he had left, too much to explain here, but, in the end, he wasn’t necessarily a bad person, just one who was incapable of being responsible enough to care for a family. The result is that I, and most likely my brothers, always sought out a father figure.
One person, the grandfather of a close family friend, was a fleeting father figure for me; fleeting only because we didn’t get to see him that often. (That friend, Joseph, or Joey, who is the exact same age as I, was fatherless as well. We sort of grew up together after our mothers befriended each other; we even lived together for a time-our moms, my two brothers and Joey, our “brother,” as I’ve always considered him.) One lasting memory of my friend’s grandfather, whose name was Ray, was a July 4th evening at the Pasadena Rose Bowl, where a fireworks show took place. I was about five or six years old. We were sitting close to the stage where the fireworks were being set off and the booming at one point scared me. So Ray took me in his arms and gently cradled me, sheltering me from the loud noise. I distinctly remember how safe I felt in his strong arms, looking up not at the fireworks in the sky, but at him. I didn’t want him to let me go, I wanted it to last forever, this safe feeling. I had wished he could be my father. Joseph was lucky to be able to see his grandfather much more than my brothers and I could.
Joseph’s whole family, including his mom, Sylvia, his grandmother, his aunts and uncles, and cousin, were an extended family for us. We celebrated many holidays and family events together. The most recent was a sad one, the memorial service of Ray’s wife, Jean, in November last year. And before that, Ray’s death. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend his memorial service to say goodbye. And to say thank you for that one special moment I will never forget.
This column is dedicated to Ray and to fathers everywhere.