Tag Archives: dad

Over the weekend

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Last weekend marked five years that my father passed away. It didn’t really hit me until I put it into the frame point that it’s been half a decade. We’re coming around to the point that next year, the anniversary will fall on the same day of the week as it was when he first passed. I will as I always have try and keep myself busy that day.

I spoke about him last night while recording a podcast with my friend, Donnie. About how he was a simple man, not a stupid one. How he didn’t need complicated reasons about race theory or LGTBQIA+ because in his mind, he boiled down everything to “There are good people and bad people and it doesn’t matter what if they’re gay, white or black”. He judged people as they came to him.

One of the stories that remains in my mind is that my dad did taxes from January to April. There was an older woman who was on a fixed income and three years of her tax return had been messed up. My father was so angry about the work the guy had done before him. He never took that out on me though, I remember coming downstairs to give him his coffee and he was cursing at the computer. I handed him the coffee, he immediately calmed, said thank you and as I walked away went back to angrily talking about this “Fucking idiot accountant”. My father charged about a hundred dollars an hour for his time but he put the work in. He put in enough effort that he could get people back thousands of dollars and do it in a legal way. I was eating dinner alone when the woman came to pick up her tax returns. I remember sitting at the table and thinking that all the work, about three hours for return, would be a nice paycheck for him. She was over the moon. He had gotten her back so much money. Then I heard him say:

“Let’s just call it fifty dollars and be done with it.”

The woman paid him his money and left. He was clearing up his papers when I went into the room. I asked him why he had only charged her fifty dollars. That should have been a nine hundred dollar paycheck. My father took off his glasses, something that always signaled that he was about to talk to me seriously, and told me:

“Money isn’t the most important thing. She’s a woman alone, Rollo. You have to help where you can.”

That’s been with me since that day and probably will until I can no longer draw a breath. Another favorite story of his is that my dad told me that he didn’t want me to steal because he would be embarrassed if he had to come to the police station because I got caught stealing a candy bar. He didn’t tell me not to steal because it’s wrong, just to do it in a smart way. He told me that if you can steal enough to retire and never work again and do it in a way that you didn’t have to harm anyone, go for it. Anything else was pointless. That was way more effective and I never thought about stealing little things because what would be the point? I can’t retire on what’s in a cash register. I can’t retire on a Butterfingers. My dad said be Danny Ocean or don’t bother.

In conclusion, I want to talk about one of the greatest gifts that my mother gave me. One year, she took a video on her phone of my dad wishing me a happy birthday and that he loved me. Whenever I’m down, I watch that video and get to hear my father’s voice. I get to hear him tell me he loves me.

This is a hard thing I have to tell people and I get asked about the death of my father alot. I’m older and people are seeing their parents get old and becoming infirm. They need someone with experience to get through it. So, they talk to me.

What I’m trying to tell you is if you’re a parent, you should leave behind something that your children can hear you tell them that you love them. That they can go forward without doubting that. And no matter where you are in your life if you have loved ones, tell them that you love them as a goodbye. You want to make sure that that’s the last thing they hear from you in case something happens.

Be well my friends. I love you.

A Role I Didn’t Ask For

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My father passed away in 2020. It wasn’t from Covid but something else that I don’t really want to talk about right now. It was a strange, sad time in my life. But that’s not what this post is really about right now.

I have a new role in my friend group. For the most part, all of my friends still have both of their parents. We’re all in our late thirties and their parents are getting older. My sorrow, my loss makes them think about things though. Considering the future. Having to live through a fear that they don’t want to name.

So, they ask me questions. They ask me how did I know when certain things happened to my dad. How did I handle this or that. How am I feeling? How did you prepare?

They’re kindhearted people so they want to make sure that they can take care of the people that took care of them. Those are legitimate concerns. I told them about the things we did to prepare. To make sure that we would be ready.

But that’s not what they’re really asking. They’re really asking, “am I going to be okay when they’re gone?”. And I have to say yes. It’s going to be different. It’s going to be hard but you’re going to get through it.

You’re going to think about him daily. I do. You’re going to think about how I would love to talk to him about this. I would love to get his input on this or that. You’re going to get a job and wonder if he would be proud of you. You’re going to miss him at big events.

There’s unfortunately, no magic path that I can give you. There’s nothing that I can say to make the pain any less. The only path is through. But what has always worked for me was trying to live up to the standard that my father showed me.

I think the most telling moment in my mind for my father was this. He was an accountant and charged 100 dollars an hour. Let me put it simply, he deserved every dollar he got from his clients. He was exemplar. He had this older woman, living on a fixed income. She had been screwed over by a lazy accountant for the last three years. Each return took him about three hours to fix. He was so angry at the shitty work the guy before him had done.

Finally came the day when he called her over. He had gotten her back somewhere in the thousands in her refund. I thought that nine hours of work would at least give him a good paycheck to make up for the headache that he had been put through while working on them. I was eating dinner while they were talking at the dining room table. He was explaining how much money she was getting back and she was so excited. I waited for the hammer to fall.

He charged her fifty bucks.

When she was gone, I walked into the dining room to talk to him. I asked him why he only charged her fifty bucks. He took off his glasses, which was always a signal that he wanted to talk to me seriously and said:

“Rollo, she’s a woman alone, living off the state. Some things are more important than money.”

That alone has made me try and be fair and kind in all my dealings. He was a good man.

The one thing that I know that I don’t have to worry about and I prepared for this, was to make sure that the last thing I said to my father was “I love you”. I always knew that my parents were older and that made me want to make sure I spent more time with them. Because I knew that this day was going to come and a far harder day is coming down the line. When I will fully be an orphan. I hate thinking about that day. But it makes me be, hopefully, a better son. To make sure my mom knows I care about her.

Fortunately, my mom had my dad make videos for my sister and I of him wishing us a happy birthday. I have a video of my father telling me happy birthday and that he loves me. I’m so lucky for that. I know that it’s something that other people don’t have. To be able to hear their father’s voice.

And if you’re a parent reading this, then that’s my advice for you. To make sure that there are physical things that your children can have and hold or hear of your love. Make them videos, audio recordings or whatever so that they can hear your voice in times of trouble. That they’ll never forget what it sounds like when you say you love them.