Epitaph for my Father

Whenever someone in my family passes on, I sit down and do a sort of stream-of-consciousness thing that allows me to vent a little, remember a lot, and sort of prioritize what I remember about them. Puts it in context; allows me to work through some stuff, and gives me an incredible sense of peace. I've printed some of those here; I may print some of those again later.

This one is for my Dad. It kept me up until 1:00 am this morning -- once these things get their hooks in me, it's hard to just put them down until they're done with me.

John Edward Long: February 13th 1928 to August 31st 2007. 79 years old.

Born to two parents who didn’t stay together long after his birth, he was taken by his mother, who promptly put him up in a Catholic orphanage. When he tried to get her permission to go through Catechism to please the nuns at the orphanage, she quickly yanked him out. He suffered from rickets due to being a small child in the Depression; an unwanted sidekick to a single mother trying to snag a husband. And after she married Ray Glynn, she had him shipped off to Mexico Military Academy in Mexico MO.

He responded by rebelling in his own semi-quiet way. A kid who just wanted a little attention; he stole, he got into fights, he excelled at sports. He edited the Mexico student paper, where he emphasized his own exploits. “LONG CARRIES THE MAIL” the headline read, even though another boy had scored all the winning touchdowns. He went home to Centerville for holidays, and got into fights with his father Roy. One of the fights was about a girl named Shirley, his first wife. He lied about his age and joined the Army Air Corps, where he was either thrown out for stealing cigarettes from the vending machines, or lied about his age to join and was thrown out for that.

He used his GI bill benefits to get a degree in accounting. He worked for the Austin Company and traveled to Albuquerque NM, White Bear Lake MN, King of Prussia PA, Los Angeles and San Francisco CA, Chicago IL, and Tehran Iran at various times. He was the financial Controller for the Sears Tower construction project in Chicago. There he met his second wife (also Shirley), who left him after six months. He blamed drinking. "If I'm sorry for anything, it's that. And the booze, of course, I just couldn't lay off the f***ing booze -- which was the real problem."

While building the Indiana General plant in Valparaiso Indiana he met a girl soda-jerking at Torbeson’s Drug Store. He told the story many times of how they met. He ordered an ice cream sundae from her:
“Whipped Cream?” she asked naively.
He made an anticipatory face, “Oh Yes, Please!”
She giggled and ladled the cream on top of the Sundae. “Crushed Nuts?” she asked.
He replied, “Oh no, it’s just my back hurting . . . “

Then he would laugh and laugh, amused at his own lascivious wit.

They married and had three children; my sisters and I. They divorced in 1967 after ten years of marriage, but she left him in 1963 after the birth of the youngest. Mom would never talk about it, but Dad had said one time after a drunken binge that he had made a pass at my Kindergarten teacher and accused my mother of being unfaithful. “Dumbest thing I ever did,” he’d said. "I just couldn't stop looking for that greener pasture. All those women I married, all those whores -- and the only one that was really worth a damn was your mother. I treated her like dirt, and she still was the best thing I ever found."

There were others after my Mom; Julie in Illinois; Judy from Illinois; Barbara from California. Then one day in 1976 he had re-appeared on our doorstep, knuckles bloodied and hiding out from someone. His few-day stay turned into fifteen years and his seventh marriage. “We were married over 25 years if you count them both together,” he said just two weeks ago. It was something he was actually proud of. After that, there was another woman in South Haven IN, then Lana in Centerville.

Nine marriages. That’s not counting Joan in California and the other assorted live-ins from time to time.

Was he a good father? No, but I think he tried to be. He paid $200 a month child support at a time when he was only court mandated to pay $15.00 a month. He tried to have us kids over to see us for holidays or vacations once a year. He drove us to Illinois in the winter; and flew us to Washington and California during the summer.

Did he love us? Who knows. I don’t think he even liked himself very much.

He could be maddening sometimes, but in fairness, all my memories of these problems seem to involve alcohol. He did a month for Public Intoxication in Valparaiso and made it sound like Summer Camp. He would scream and throw things, but was angry at himself and try to make it up to you when he sobered up.

Alternately, he could be the kindest, most generous man you ever met. He paid several thousand dollars to move us from Missouri just so he could see his grandson. He bough our Mom several cars when she had no transportation, and hired a truck to clean up the property (which was very dilapidated when we moved in.) There were other things too; buying annuities for his grandchildren, helping out neighbors who had been burned out; even paying for the college education of a secretary of his who couldn’t afford it.

Does it balance out? NO – not even close.

But as you get older, you may not agree with your parents’ choices; you may not like your parents’ choices; you may not even like your parents themselves very much.

But you understand. As you gain more experience and context, you understand a little more.

Dad, I understand. I don’t agree with all your choices, and I don’t like some of what you did. But I understand.

And some of it was . . . even a little bit fun.

Thanks, Dad.