My dad - can anyone top this?

i had a lousy relationship with my dad for a long time. it wasn't until the last few years that we were able to somewhat mend the past. he's been in either a hospital or nursing facility now for a little over 2 months and none of us are sure he can understand us and we know we can't understand 95 percent of what he says.

having said this, i think i'm handling the stroke and eventually will handle his death a lot better than if we had still been on the outs. the things my dad did were wrong but unresolved differences - even the deepest divisions - can make for feelings of incompleteness when they're gone.

 

My biological father and I have a very difficult relationship (he walked out on mom and me when I was 9 months old, refused to help pay for college, etc.). That said, I don't think I'll every have to worry about him letting my kids gamble when they're teenagers or acting a fool to an Asian waitress. You have my sympathies, Poin.

 

Also has this guy to beat.

 

That's the worst thing he ever did? Your dad is a great guy then.

 

Shit, this thread even makes me want to go hug my dad, who is not really awesome but a long way from poin's.

 

A few years ago, I had gone to Vegas, placed some bets for him and I for football games that weekend. I had dropped by his house - and didn't give him his bet tickets - I had already won a bet, and knew I would be mailing at least one ticket. After I got home, we were on the phone:

Him: Did you place my bets?
Me: Yeah - Here are your spreads.
Him: But where are the tickets?
Me: I am holding them. I'll mail them in if there are any winners - I already have a winner, so I am mailing them anyways.

He completely blew up because HE WASN'T ABLE TO HOLD THE BET TICKETS IN HIS HAND WHILE HE WATCHED THE GAMES.

 

When I told my father that my new girlfriend was Armenian, the first thing he said to me was, "Well, is she white?"

Then again, when he was 8, he told the Mother Superior at his Catholic school that she was full of shit. And he did it in front of his old man, who beat him senseless.

Once, he got in a fight with his little brother and threw a can of Drano at him, which broke upon contact. Dad then held his head under the water for a minute or two to rinse it out. Hilarity ensued.

He got in a fight with his drill instructor in his first night in Parris Island.

He used to regale us with stories of whorehouses and burlesque shows, running numbers for cops in his neighborhood and barroom brawls full of brass knuckles, saps and gun barrels.

He was a warrior and sometimes a bastard, but he loved my Mom and in his own way was immensely proud of his kids. There was no one who was better in a foxhole, either.

In the last years of his life, he used to tease me relentlessly about our daughter and the fact that boys will be flocking to her when she starts dating. "I bet you hope she finds a nice boy like you were in high school," he'd tell me, laughing, aware that I'd had a somewhat active social life back in the day. "Yeah, that's it. A nice boy like you."

 

Never said he wasn't. Just said he was a bit goofy every now and then.

 

My dad was an alcoholic who I basically didn't speak to after my mom died, unless I had to. When he died, just before I graduated college, I was equal parts relieved and sad. Maybe a little more relieved.

 

Poins' dad sounds like a mix of Archie Bunker and Jerry Van Dyke in his stint on Yes Dear...