Father Knows Best

Having grown up in the 80s, I watched the first episode of ‘The Goldbergs’ a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to see what they would do with a family comedy set during that time period. My viewing was partially nostalgic and the other half was scared that I lived through so many horrible things – mostly the clothing. 

I can’t say it was the best comedy I’ve ever seen but it did remind me of a lot of awkward moments. One scene resonated very loudly with me. It reminded me of my own experience. The moment is when the father teaches his son to drive a car. I felt as though I was living that same moment right on my sofa. 

The father yelled at the son and the son yelled back. I flashed back to: 

“Angie!!What are you doing?! NO!!!!! “ screamed my father as he grabbed the steering wheel from the passenger seat. 

“You are smarter than that”, whenever I made a move that he didn’t think was correct.

“Use your head!!”, if I didn’t focus and follow ‘the rules of the road’. 

Ohhh I remember it well. I don’t mean that in an entirely good way. All the times I spent arguing with my dad in the car were so painful when they were happening but so funny now when I look back on them. It’s so present in my mind that I’ve written about it before (c.f. GP(api)S). 

The way the father reacted in the show also reminded me of my dad. The Goldberg dad seemed to constantly blow a gasket. When I was growing up, I wanted to stay as far away as possible from my dad when he was angry. Although he was a very tiny man, his voice bellowed over great distances. I often wanted to go to the Grand Canyon with my dad to see if his gravelly smoker’s voice would carry across the immense caverns. I guess I’ll never know now. 

Another thing about the show that reminded me of my dad was how the dad called the kids ‘idiot’ or ‘moron’. Whenever the father said something to his progeny, there was a subtitle to explain what the father meant when he said these mean things. It really was horrible to see the father’s inability to communicate effectively with his kids. However my dad was no better. He said many choice things to us in his own special way. Of course they sounded better being in Italian. 

Now that I think about a lot about what he said and look for meaning in those phrases, I do see that good intentions were there in his messages. Because he never had anyone express their emotions to him growing up, he had no idea how to do it for us. He definitely tried his best and sometimes it was good and sometimes it left much to be desired. In the end what I saw in that episode of “The Goldbergs” and in my dad’s communiqués was that perhaps subtitles are needed when it comes to understanding some people.

GP(api)S

My dad had a great sense of direction. Having driven for so many years in Italy, Canada and in New York, he had a terrific instinct for when he was heading the wrong way. He had internal GPS before Garmin or any of those other companies did.

Despite this fact he wasn’t the most patient driving teacher or passenger. He taught both my sister and brother how to drive. He attempted to do so with me but after a few occasions of grabbing the steering wheel and taking control from the passenger seat, I told him that he was making me nervous. He told me to get driving lessons from a school then and to pay for it myself. Oh well.

After finally getting my driving license, having him in the car was trying. He would tell me how to get places by saying “Follow that red car” (substitute any color car you want, it was always the same). I’d look out onto the road and see 10 red cars. I’d ask him which one and he’d say ‘the one on the right’. Of course, there were 4 red cars on the right. This would result in a dispute of my asking him to be more specific. To which he’d get upset and then we’d end up missing the exit. Or the times when he’d tell me to prepare to make the exit. I’d approach the nearing exit and he’d say ‘not this one’. I’d look ahead but wouldn’t notice another exit but over on the right, a small, service exit would pass us. Then I’d hear a grumble and an ‘ugh’ because he was trying to teach me a short cut.

As my driving experience grew, he became more comfortable with my driving. We found a way to compromise. I asked him to tell me all the directions ahead of time, with visual markers. This made us both calmer and relaxed. The trips became easier to the point that my dad would fall asleep while I drove. This was the ultimate example of his trust in my driving. Sadly, one time he was snoozing and we had an accident. My first instinct wasn’t to save myself but to save him because I was afraid the shock would give him a heart attack. Even though he had his seat belt on, I put my hand out to hold him back. In doing so I braced myself and injured my knee but at least he was fine.

After the accident I insisted that I drive home even though I was shaken up. He said “Good! That’s what you should do. Get back behind the wheel!” Even though he had been sleeping, he blamed the whole accident on the other driver. It was very sweet although there was no basis in his opinion except that he thought I was a good driver and based on how the marks in the street were plotted.

I remember so many arguments and fights in the car with my dad. I was reminded of them all this past weekend when we went to visit a family member. I thought about all those debates fondly because it was such a familiar event whenever I was driving the car. At the time he drove me absolutely insane but I’d rather have those moments now than not.

Dreams of my Father

A few nights ago I had a dream with my dad. It had been a while since he visited me during my slumbers. It was a pretty funny interaction too. I woke up with a smile on my face because it was so realistic of how he was.

For some reason in the dream I worked in a small office. It seemed like a doctor’s office – at least it was nothing like the offices where I’ve worked in my recent experience. He came by to fix the window in the office and had finished his task. It was 2:30 in the dream and he stopped by my desk and asked if I could go home yet. I told him that I still had a lot of work to do. So he said he would stick around and go take a nap.

He walked away and came back a few minutes later and asked me where the chair he liked to recline in was. I told him that the bosses had gotten rid of it. To which he replied “Idiots!” He then proceeded to go back to the area where he commenced with his nap.

I wasn’t sure what the dream meant or why all of a sudden my dad was visiting again. It was a very pleasant surprise. It reminded me of some of the other dreams I had of him when he first passed away. 

I had one dream where he was sitting in a hospital bed and he had put on weight. He was eating a dish of edamame and he picked up one of the pods and looked at it as if he had never seen it before. He then proceeded to eat it and made a ‘humpf’ sound to signify that he liked it. 

A few days later I had a dream that he, my husband and I were walking down the street. We came upon a man who was selling gallons of olive oil for 11 dollars. When my dad saw the price, he stopped and told the guy he wanted to buy all the olive oil he had. He turned to us to tell us that "11 bucks for olive oil is a great price.” 

It’s funny that I remember these things about my dad and that they are manifested in my dreams in the way they are. This last dream put a smile on my face which is something I need to keep remembering to do when I think of my dad.

O Sole Mio

My dad was a simple man. He took pleasure in the small things that life had to offer – a good movie, a nice garden, an excellent turn of phrase and a flavorful yet simple meal.My dad was not the type of person who said “I Love You” but I knew he meant it in other ways. I could see the love he had for us indirectly. One year for Valentine’s Day, he purchased a chocolate filled heart for my mom and then spent some time picking out the caramel filled ones for me. Another year he bought my mom a lottery ticket. It wasn’t extravagant but it was thoughtful and touching. In the way that he would call my sister ‘my little duck’ or in the way he would call me the ‘tempest’ or ‘earthquake’. In the way he told my dogs that he didn’t know what do with them. Some times the best indication that he liked you was that he would raise his arm in a fist and wave it around as if he were going to hurt you. The intention of the gesture was always the opposite of its meaning.

My dad was a generous man. He would use his handy man skills to help both my sister’s and my high school – making repairs and fixing their windows. In my first year of high school, my school had to relocate out of the neighborhood. My dad, my sister and I spent many warm summer days down in the East Village painting the new place in order for it to be ready for the first day of school in September. When he had time he would teach us how to do the things that he knew best. He taught me how to change a lose washer in a bathroom sink once and how to fix a loose doorknob amongst many other things.

I appreciated the indirect way he taught me to appreciate vegetables and flowers that you planted with your own hand. In the last few years we have enjoyed zucchini, tomatoes, eggplant and herbs that I grew in the garden. He was always excited to see how the garden was growing being the first one out to see what had developed in the days in between. He would give me pointers on how to make them grow faster or how to save veggies that were starting to wilt.

And speaking of tomatoes, the weeks every summer where the collecting and jarring of tomatoes would consume his brain; it was all he could think about. I remember weeks in late summer as a kid when my dad, my mom, my aunts and sometimes my uncles would go and collect tomatoes. There was a strategy to collecting the red fruit that a novice would never comprehend. Not to mention the appeal of a simple tomato salad with some olive oil, salt and oregano or a plate of spaghetti with fresh tomato sauce.

When speaking of strategy, there was no better way to see the machinations of my dad’s brain than when we was watching the game show "Jeopardy" every night. He would play the "Daily Doubles" and "Final Jeopardy" as if he were right on the sound stage in Burbank. He would often tell the players how to play the game from the dinner table or from the sofa. He would tell them that they were making silly mistakes even when he didn’t always know the answers himself.

My dad loved John Wayne. He could sit in front of the television and watch his movies for hours. He enjoyed his Westerns, his Bob Hope movies and his ‘I Love Lucy”. He delighted in his comedies especially “The Three Stooges”, “Abbott and Costello” and Roberto Benigni movies. He loved them so much that we weren’t always sure if he was taking pleasure in them because he would laugh so hard he would become almost inaudible.

My dad was very opinionated. Even so he would listen to your point of view, give it some consideration and then tell you that you didn’t know anything. Annoying as this was at times, I appreciated that he always stayed true to what he believed. Even if it was being passionate about the calls referees made during soccer games, or the price of things in the supermarket or the right way to drive, fix a broken pipe or do just about anything.

One of the things I loved best about my dad was the relationship he had with my husband and with my dogs. He would often come over to visit but he was never looking for me. He was always looking for ‘le belle della casa’ (The beauties of the house) or ‘the big guy’. Often my dad and husband would walk side-by-side in the street and the sight of them would make me smile. My 5’0” tall dad beside my 6’2” tall husband. Once in the early days of meeting my husband he said to me, “My neck hurts from looking up at him”. I chuckled because I never thought their difference in size manifested itself in any way except for the visual one.

When my dog Foxy would sit in front of him and surrender her paw to him, he would tell her “If you give me your paw, what will I do with it?” or “If you give me your paw, how will you walk?” Occasionally we would let my other dog visit with him so that they would spend time sitting on the sofa together watching television -- him petting her consistently and kissing her during commercial breaks.

My dad liked to walk outside early in the morning to see what the day would bring. In those short moments he could seize up what the rest of the day would entail. If it was snow, he knew it was going to be a strenuous and tiring day. If the birds were chirping and the sky was clear, he knew it would be a beautiful day. He was a big believer in the ‘early bird catching the worm’ and he would make the most of those early hours when everyone else was fast asleep.

My dad also liked to sing. Occasionally he would belt out an Italian song for no reason except that it was in his head. He often liked to dance because it made him smile.

I am grateful that my parents taught me well and raised me in their own special way. I am going to miss my dad more than these words or any words can express. I know he’s in a better place and isn’t suffering. Maybe now he will finally get to meet “The Quiet Man” in person.