Happy Birthday

VOLUME ONE 2023

MEMORIES IN IMAGES

I've seen this picture of my father and I many times, adhered to yellowing tacky photo album paper that's lightly secured by a thin sheet of flimsy plastic. I was told that this was my first birthday party. I don't remember this day but I do have other memories of my early childhood. We lived in two different apartments before leaving Los Angeles and moving to Houston when I was five. In our second two - bedroom apartment is where most of my memories live. My two sisters shared a room and I shared the other room with my parents - mostly with my mother. My father was home periodically, but when he decided to stay home, it was an adventure for me. When he would come to bed, I would hide under the covers and pretend to be sleep. My squirmy body always gave me away - my father would nudge me and whisper, "You ain't sleep." That was my cue to sit up and we would spend the night watching television. Our show was Benny Hill. I loved the theme music and listening to my father laugh at the skits. He made me close my eyes when the ladies were chased around in their underwear, but I always peeked between my fingers.

Our cahoots continued in the morning when it was time for me to go to school. My father would hide me under the covers (I had a thing about being under the covers) and agree to burn my school down. I hated going to school and I was exhausted from mimicking my father laughing at Benny Hill's antics all night.

My consistency of parenting didn't come from my father, but he did contour my preferences. My love for old movies and the BBC - thank you Benny Hill, although I could never get into the Western movies that he absolutely loved. My elevated preferences and love for fashion. In my early childhood, my father dressed impeccable. He wore silk -like undershirts, boxers and socks that matched his suits and shoes. Sometimes his ensemble matched his orange Cadillac.

My father always dressed in a suit or a sports coat with pressed trousers. He would randomly pick me up from school, when he was in Houston - it only happened a few times, but during the short commute to my grandmother's house (she lived only blocks away) from school, I felt like a million bucks. He always rented the latest model town car; new car smell included. My thirty-minute wait was soon forgotten when I would open the door, inhale the leather interior and see my father in the driver's seat with his magnetic smile and his familiar greeting, "Hey baby!”

My nomadic desire to roam, explore and not be restricted to one place was another gift my father gave me. The running joke was that he only worked one day in his life and at the end of the day, he left with calloused hands. He later told me that he did work at a shipyard but it didn't suit him, so he quit after one day. He explained that he could make more money playing cards. My father was a card hustler, a trait he learned from his uncle. He never lost because he was brilliant with numbers. He could recall birthdays, death dates, ages, phone numbers and most importantly how many kings were already pulled in a poker game.

He was also a kind man - he never got upset or raised his voice. His flaws were in other areas, like being a good husband and a present father. I remember many times getting excited that he was coming to pick up my sisters and I for the day. He was always late and many times he would cancel at the last minute or didn't show up. The times that he did, we would go to a smoky bingo hall with his girlfriend Annie, who also smoked. As soon as we got home, I would change my outfit immediately because it wreaked of smoke. Between the hours at the bingo hall and in the car with chain-smoking Annie, I smelt like an ashtray when he dropped us off. However, my favorite part of spending time with my him was when he took us out to eat after our all day bingo extravaganza.

“Our cahoots continued in the morning. My father would hide me under the covers and agree to burn my school down.”

As I got older, my father only made guest appearances in my life. Some holidays, furnerals and the time I was boarding a flight to Paris after my college graduation and I met my oldest sister for the first time. There are four sets of us - same father, four (maybe five) different mothers. My siblings and I refer to ourselves as litters - I'm the last born in the fourth litter.

I would have an idea of what city he lived in but I would rarely see him. I always had his phone number and I would call him periodically to re-create the magic we once shared but I could never seem to get it back. It was like chasing a butterfly, always out of my reach but I could admire its beauty from afar as it flutters around landing randomly, only for a moment.

I spent most of my life missing the masculine presence that brings balance and strength to my femininity. I've had to encompass merging the two to become one big powerhouse of a personality. It was hard to let go - to melt into my softness and be open to depend on another person in a relationship. I never wanted to mirror my mother's choices by picking the wrong partner. Over time, I began to realize that her choices belonged to her and I had complete freedom over my own.

My father’s short comings had always affected my life and forgiving him as well as myself was the way I healed the narrative. I silently forgave my father, I no longer saw him as his mistakes but was thankful for the biggest gift he gave to me, my existence. I held the power over my life and what legacy I wanted to leave behind. As a child, it was his responsibility to care for me but now as an adult, the responsibility was mine.

My father passed away last July, from dementia, he was 90 years old. He lived the last years of his life in a rehabilitation facility. On one of my visits, it was just the two of us. We sat at a table in the crowed dining hall and I helped him cut the dried steak he was having for lunch. He was in a t-shirt, jeans and a light windbreaker jacket. He told me stories about my childhood that I’ve heard a million times before - laughing in between eating and remembering the details. It was the closest I ever got back to our magic.