1/9/2017

I don’t say much about me or mine. It’s not interesting to me, until I talk about it, at which point everyone says “YOU SHOULD SAY SOMETHING!” ok…fine. Here goes.

My dad was born 1/9, back in 1948. That makes him 69. So what. Except from the number and all that the juvenile laughs entail, big deal. However, as I look at it, he deserves praise. You see, it’s not usual.

He may have had hearing when he was born. We will never know for sure. Regardless, he likely caught scarlet fever and became Deaf (Maybe. More later.). I say Deaf, because that is what he is. Deaf is like White, Black, Latino, etc., except it is so much more. It precedes color (come fight me). Growing up (thankfully for once) in Wisconsin, his parents sent him to the Wisconsin School for the Deaf, in operation since 1852. At that time, the big theme was inclusion. What does that mean? Well…making the Deaf talk. My Dad, who’s never heard a word of any spoken language, was forced like Hellen Keller to “speak” the English language. Dwell on that as you stumble across a keyboard looking for the right synonym for your metaphor. What the fuck is a metaphor?

So what’s a boy to do? As he tells it, he grew up normal. Aside from the evil religious folk (which make Penn State blush…no more on that), he went to school, excelled at football (linebacker and DB), and went to work in the industrial trades which was all they were good for then. Life was normal. Then, at some point, he met a newly deaf woman. Note I say deaf. She’s NEVAR been Deaf, just in remission quite literally (another tale for another time). This is about Dad.

They met, they fell in love for a time, and had three boys. I’m the oldest. Middle is DEAF. Youngest is hearing. I lived as interpreter for them for most of my early years. Still do at times. It’s fun. Typical phone conversation goes as follows (I’m 6-18 years old here, so imagine Darlene from Roseanne, but finely tuned):

“I’m calling from so-and-so…can i speak to?”
“They’re deaf, you’ll have to talk to me and I’ll interpret.”

“Oh my God, I’M SO SORRY! I’LL CALL LATER!”

“Fine. They’ll still be deaf.”

My life was normal (to me) too. I had all the best music and comedy records. Learned the drums because why the fuck not? They divorced when I was in middle school. Better lovers than fighters I’ve always said. Regardless, they’ve always been together for us. Yes, they’re the weird divorced parents who still hang out to this very day (mom’s been married 20+years since). Mom knows business, Dad smartly allows her to conduct it. Many long weekends driving with Dad and the brothers, belting all sorts of Metal/Alt/Carlin on the way back and forth from Green Bay to Sturgeon Bay. Once I could drive, I worked, so I was out. Dad fell into a bit of a hole afterwards with the drink. There were some questionable trips, but we lived, and are here. I may have followed in his footsteps a bit (A LOT BUT WORSE). But like him, I climbed out.

But imagine…all you’ve ever been is Deaf. Life is good, you met a hearing/deaf girl (I SAID MORE LATER). Got a wife, and then you start a family. Your oldest spawn is hearing, has your charm and is running wild on the populace. Your next is the apple of your eye (rightly so for all the reasons, Deaf, sports and otherwise), and your baby is hearing and sadly taking on the traits of your first son and wife. What the Hell do you do? What else? You. Keep. Going.

Divorce, trapped with two kids who can’t comfortably talk to you and one you only see on weekends while the other two want attention?

Keep.

Your parents die? Dad with Alzheimer’s, Mom relates best to the oldest because she thinks he’s what you should have been?

Moving.

Ex remarries, you’re right there, but somehow it’s all ok?

On.

Prostate Cancer?

Bring it.

OH! Want some more cancer?

Couple years ago, the prostate cancer came back. Bigger, and with more organs. We all thought that was it. I honestly thought I said my last everytime I left the hospital. Somehow the man made it. To the youngest’s wedding, to my own 2nd, and now he’s a Grandfather. Through it all, he’s never lost his “A” game. This man, with his cute aw-shucks puppy eyes and charisma has never failed to make a lady blush. Right after he told me alone in the ICU “I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen.” Even there, on his deathbed, he signed/spoke to me, “You see that nurse’s ass? WOW. She bends over me and I know peace.”

He lives happily in his home these days. And now to today, which made me write this. He says “69 is special age. They give you all sexy discounts and specials.” I know what he’s up to right now. I would be ashamed, except I have none to give. I’m honored to be his. Love You Dad. Go Firebirds, Go Pack.