In anticipation of the
upcoming release of my novel, Call Me Daddy, I asked for stories about family:
the fun, the inspirational, the heartwarming moments that make us part of a
family. Susan Kennedy discusses growing up without her father and the men who helped fill that void...
Father Figures
When I was five years old, my father died, so I don’t have many memories of what life is like with a dad. After his passing, my mother moved our little family two states north. Her decision gave me a priceless gift: father figures in the forms of my grandfather and my uncle. They welcomed us with warmth and accepted a responsibility neither had ever imagined they would be asked to shoulder: helping raise another set of children. For my grandfather, this was his second time around. His own kids were grown, and he was nearing retirement. For my uncle, we were an addition to the children he was already raising.
If you’re a frequent reader of this blog, you know that
my friend Kelly has a marvelous sense of humor. I certainly am no match for her
wit nor are my life experiences half as interesting, so I hope you forgive me
when you realize that this post won’t make you laugh. I don’t have any humorous
tales to tell or a funny take on what it’s like to have two father figures. I
do, though, have a deep well of gratitude and a wealth of memories, which
appear in my mind’s eye like snapshots in a photo album. Some are more vivid
than others, and the oldest ones are not always the most faded. Like the cliché
of a picture being worth a thousand words, sometimes snippets of memory can be
more revealing than a meditative essay, so I’m going to share my experiences
with you as I see them myself: like snapshots composed of words, instead of
stories.
·
My uncle helped me, as a small child, fly a kite
during a family day at the beach. Unfortunately, I don’t remember it, but
thankfully someone snapped a picture of us working with the kite string.
Twenty-seven years later, in a “Happy Father’s Day, Uncle” card with a man and
child flying a kite on the front, I gave him a copy of the photo, which I guess
he hadn’t seen in several years. “Whoa!” he said and laughed. It’s a picture
that means a lot to us both.
·
My grandfather was—and still is—always a good
sport. One time when my sister and I were small children, he played Pretty,
Pretty Princess (a board game where the object was to “earn” a set of plastic
“jewelry” and a “crown”) with us. We sat on the living room floor, and as our
game pieces traveled around the circular board, he followed the rules and
donned each item as he earned it, even the clip-on earrings! And I think he
might have won the crown, too.
·
One Christmas as an older child, I received from
my uncle an Irish flute he had fashioned from a narrow, fourteen-inch white
plastic tube. With a mouthpiece and six perfectly bored finger holes, it produces
pleasing notes. That was about the time my friends and I were learning to play
the recorder for music class. I have no idea where my recorder is now, but I
still have the flute.
·
As seniors in high school, a group of my friends
and I planned to meet at the prom, some of us sans dates. To drop me off at the
dance, my grandfather donned a light yellow suit and tie—something he probably
hadn’t worn since he had retired from banking at least a decade earlier—and
played the part of my chauffer.
·
I have countless memories of my uncle explaining
to me how various things were constructed and operated. With a brilliant
engineer’s mind, he was—and still is—better than any episode of the Science
Channel’s How It’s Made. Not only can
he explain how it works, but he can probably fix it, too!
·
I have countless memories spanning nearly three
decades of my grandfather teaching me about gardening, allowing me to help him
by planting seeds, pruning bushes, weeding, watering, and harvesting, which of
course was the best part. Those memories include summer afternoons when he and
I picked blueberries from his bushes. Sometimes we worked in a comfortable
silence, sometimes we talked, especially the comic strips in our state’s daily
newspaper. We bonded over “the funnies” the way some New Englanders bond over
the Red Sox.
·
About three years ago, I tagged along with my
uncle and aunt to the New Hampshire Highland Games, an annual celebration of
everything Scottish. He and I donned our kilts and we spent the day enjoying
the music, food, vendors, athletics, and bagpipe parade.
·
At the reception of my cousin’s wedding five
years ago, my grandfather and I shared a dance, something we had never done
before despite my love of dancing. Courtesy of my aunt’s sister, I have a
picture of that moment, and thankfully, I also remember it.
 |
| New Hampshire Highland Games & Festival |
I have so many good
memories, and I’m lucky I can still hope to make even more. On Father’s Day
this year, my family again celebrated my uncle and my grandfather. I was fortunate
to grow up with them, and I am blessed to still have them both. They might not
be my dad, but I couldn’t have asked for better father figures.
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