Life with Dad
Born in a little burg in the backhills of Pennsylvania, my Father came into this world in 1923. From what I learned about him when he was growing up is that he was a real spit ball. If there was any problems or mischief in the neighbourhood, it was taken as granted that my father and his friend, George, were behind it. Understand these were not acts of vandalism or petty crime just mischief. I recall a family picture of my father taken one Sunday before church. He was about 6 years old and looked the very epitome of innocence.
Come 1938 my Father reached his 15th year and ran away to the circus and started the long path that lead to the man that would become my Father.
His life certainly was tragic...
His first marriage ended in 1942 when he was overseas fighting for Uncle Sam. His wife 1st the time met another man and that effectively started the damage. He served in France and was based in the UK. There came his love for England and all things English which incidently was my Mother, his 4th marriage.
On his return to the US his was reconciled with his ex-wife and they remarried. She shortly became pregnant and then he learned that the child was not his. They had already had a girl and the soon to be born boy never met my father. He divorced the woman again and left Texas forever and his daughter.
Then he met his 3rd wife, this was apparently the Love of his life and he was besotted with her. I recall seeing a picture of her and you could see the strength in the woman. Her name was Dean, she looked a lot like Joan Crawford and they decided to adopt a child, a young German boy called Dieter and they rechristened him John Francis. Shortly after adopting this poor boy his 3rd wife was diagnosed with cancer and he lost here.
Okay let's take a breath here, My father was now about 28 years old. By the time I was 28 I was living with me soon top be 1st wife and looking forward to a life of serenity and wedded bliss...yeah right! Anyway back to Dad. He had 2 broken marriages and become a widower. That in anyone's book was tough. Image 3 broken, hopeful lives in the course of 13 years and estrangement from a daughter he never really got to know because when she was born after he left to for war. He was only back a year when he's re-divored his 1st, and 2nd, wife. Now that tragic.
After Dean's death he was transferred with his newly acquired son to England. Remember he was in the USAF. He met my Mother a few years later in a dance in the local hall. He was besotted immediately, he was a 31 year old man courting a 20 year old woman. He saw in her everything he wanted. An English Rose and he hope for a brighter life for him and young John. Little did he know that this woman had seen more heartache that he could have possible imagined. They married and started on their life together with young John.
Within Months she was pregnant with My older brother. I remember whilst pregnant, my Mother told me she attempted suicide (clue here for the perceptive) by throwing herself into the river but was stopped in time by a passer by. Instead of married bliss they both became trapped in a downward spiral that lead my Father into alcoholism and my her to a life as a Mother to an unloving adopted son and a child she hadn't expected and pregnant with me.
My Father then joined SAC and spend the next 3 years as a Gypsy with an illiterate english wife and 3 children. We lived in Denver, Alberquerque and his little backhills home town and back to England where he retired from the UASF in 1963.
My Father was not a bad man, he was savaged by life and his choices. He learned his lessons in life the hard way and tried his best. I have to honour a man that would take all this pain before I was a sparkle in his eye and try again...I am not sure that I would.
He died in 1984 while my Mother was in an enforced holiday in Hawaii. We never really got to know each other as I now would have liked. In 1981 he had a severe heart attack that left him near death. In fact, the doctor, told my Mother and I that he only had a 1/10 chance of making it though the night. My Father was made of stronger stuff. His will to live, and God's blessing, helped him live another 2.5 years.
I decided to get to know my Father. If he wanted to do something, no matter what I was doing I make sure it would happen. Sadly I did not have either the emotional depth to know of my problems or the experience to be able to heal what had happened between us. I did learn a lot about him and his history. That's why I was able to write this and I'm glad I did it. I'm glad I got to know my Father. When my own divorce came only then did I really begin to understand the man...to know my Dad and the pain he carried.
Rest in Peace Dad.
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