My Dad

A tribute to the man I know as Dad.

“Get the toolbox” I hear as I wake up, Saturday morning. I get the toolbox, he is already downstairs, with a piece of cardboard to lay on under the car. “Get me the medium socket wrench with a 10mm on it” I knew what a socket looked like, but no idea what a 10mm looked like. I handed him the wrong one, “the other one, a 10mm” I rummaged thru the box, I put a bigger one on the wrench, he says “bigger one”, finally I got the right one. My first experience driving was in the family’s Chevy Monza, stick shift,

With a v8 in it, watched him place a full manual transmission on his chest, after, I watched him take a rusted bolt off with his bare fingers, he had the grip strength of a gorilla.

One time I slipped and fell straddling the curb, really racked my nuts, I couldn’t get up, I’m 14 or 15 about 120 to 130 pounds, he scooped me up, like I was a sack of rice. His forearms were rock hard, he always had stamina, he would run from the house to Belmont pier, and back 8 miles, everyday except for Sunday. He has always in my eyes been the image of strength.

I walk into the hotel room, and I see him, my Dad, now thin and skinny, not in a healthy way skinny, now a shell of what he once was, but still he is my Dad, he stepped in when I was just a baby, and has been there ever since. I fear this is the last time I will see him alive and I am sad. In my mind I still envision him strong standing up with a full head of jet black hair, I prefer to remember him this way because this was the guy who is and was a great man in my life, he will always be that in my heart and mind. I sit here in the airport trying not to cry.