Photo for Monday, July 6, 2009

Posted: 8:10 am, Monday, July 6th - photo by Andrew Huth

That's my Dad and my Aunt Joanie, at the wedding. Every Christmas, they exchange the Ugly Gift, which is just any old gift that's as cheap as possible and completely hideous as possible.

Dad was born April 10, 1933, in Albany (or Troy or wherever, somewhere in the Capital District), back when they marked "legitimate" or "illegitimate" on birth certificates. He grew up during the Depression eating Velveeta. His brother, Bob, fought a bit in the Pacific with the Navy during WWII. Dad did his service in the 50s, after going to Siena Collitch on a ROTC scholarship. He was on a base on the border in Germany, and passed up the opportunity to see Elvis at a USO show or something that always made me wonder about him. Back in the States, Dad was apparently some sort of young Irish thug, and by the time he was my age, most of his friends were dying or already dead. I've shared a few of those stories.

Dad loved Mom, Guinness, and Notre Dame football. He loved the saints, his lawn, and Ballykissangel. Christmas decorations, the Magnificent Seven, and classical music.

When I was two, Dad still owned the gas station on the corner of Lark and Madison in Albany. A guy drove into the station with a box full of puppies, the runt of which kept wriggling out of the box. Dad took her home, and she became Daisy, my best friend for the first six years, and constant companion for the first seventeen years of my life. Dad coming home with Daisy is, I think, my first memory.

When I was in third grade, Dad bought me a skateboard. I don't know why. I was an awkward, clumsy kid who lived on a dirt road with no pavement within a mile. He took me to a skate shop in Albany and bought me a naked board, chassis, wheels and ball bearings. The entire time, I couldn't really figure out why - the bill came to about $150, and this was in 1987 or so. We didn't have a lot of money back then, and I never learned how to ride that thing, and it's still in pretty pristine condition with a Batman grip, "Skateboarding is not a crime" bumper sticker, and some bright green slime ball thing on the bottom of it.

When I was in tenth grade, I got home from school one Friday afternoon to find Dad working on a rock in the middle of our drive. It was just a tiny flat rock that maybe poked two inches out of the ground. Four hours later, Dad and I had excavated, using shovels, a massive prying bar, and the tractor, a two-hundred fifty pound boulder that to this day, sits five feet to the east of where the formation of the earth deposited it billions of years ago.

I'm not sure when, but it was somehwere around here when Dad decided he would just start wearing bow ties. He owns at least 40 of them. The tie-'em-yourself variety, not the clip-ons.

When I went to Notre Dame, Dad worked Saturdays every week so that I could graduate with my friggin' English degree without any debt. Mom's paycheck paid for my schooling, his paid for their living, and I only found this out yesterday. Dad went to an Irish game every year for the rest of his life for his trouble.

When I played golf for the first time, Dad immediately went out and bought me a left-handed set of clubs. I've used them twice, because I'm just brutal at golf.

Dad knew that blue fireworks were the hardest to make, the red part of a poinsettia is the leaf and not the flower, and how to make yogurt. He made a great gin and tonic, but I hear his specialty was bourbon Manhattans.

February 18, Dad was in Brooklyn, and we all ate at Di Fara's as a family. March 18, Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. He hadn't smoked in 40 years and was astoundingly vital. In a fight, I only would've put money on myself in the past three years or so. There was no question he was going to beat this. Dad finished chemo on June 17, and radiation on June 29. He lost none of his hair, but about 40 pounds, and all of his energy.

Mom called me twice Friday night, and my dad's brother called an hour after that after I didn't get the first two calls. Thankfully, the phone not ringing or just not noticing the phone because I was playing Zelda didn't matter, because 2.0 and I got up there at a touch past eleven. Dad was really happy.

Dad died at 1:40 yesterday afternoon in Ellis Hosptial in Schenectady, NY. His last few hours were so racked with pain that it was a blessing. My wife and I, Mom, and Dad's brother and two sisters, sister-in-law and neice were all there. Hearing's the last thing to go, so I like to think Dad knew we were there even though he didn't say much of anything after the morphine drip went in. We're burying him on Friday.

I love you, Dad, and I miss you already.

I know that I did a terrible job communicating this to a lot of people - several people who should've been the first to know Dad was sick only found out yesterday, when he died. I apologize for that. It was just hard. I'm sorry.

Mowing the lawn, chopping wood, eating red Jell-o, and everything else I always hated, built character, thanks to Dad. Thanks to all that character, I someday might be half the man my dad was.

bullfrog

Zero -- Monday, July 6 2009, 08:13 am

aw, hell. Sorry for your loss, bu it's good to see that at the worst of times you can still remember all the great things he brought to your life.

Zero

Your Dad was a great man! I'm lucky to have known him during some of his happiest moments... tailgating at ND, graduation, and your wedding. That picture is perfect. You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers.

What an amazing man, and such a beautiful tribute (and that fantastic photo!). Thanks for putting it up. I'm so glad I got to meet him and hear some of his stories in person. I'm not sure what else to say, other than I am so sorry for your loss and I love you guys!

I'm so sorry, Bullfrog. This was an amazing and beautiful remembrance.

I am also sorry for your loss.

My deepest condolences to you, your Mom, and the rest of your family. Your Father sounds like a wonderful man, and that was a fantastic tribute to him. Unfortunately, I have some understanding of how tough the last several months must have been since my 84-yr-old Dad had been battling colon cancer for the last nine months.

Thank you for sharing some memories of your father. He sounds a lot like mine, except for the bow ties.

I'm so sorry for your loss.

Bullfrog - I am so sorry to hear of the loss of your father. You and your family are in my prayers.

Frogo, It's hard to find any words that might help, but I echo my wife's thoughts above: you and your family will be in our prayers, especially in the tough week ahead.

Sorry to hear. Losing parents is hard. For what it's worth I think the English degree paid off: your well chosen words said a lot to us.

Oh man, I am so so sorry. He was a pretty awesome father, clearly the source of a lot of joy in the lives of his family and friends. I will remember him as always having a welcoming smile and a clever remark. As several ahead of me have already said, you and your family are in my thoughts and prayers.

A beautiful and loving tribute, bullfrog. I imagine more fitting words would be hard to come by. You, your family, and your dad will be in my prayers.

Aw, Bullfrog, how'd you get to be so sweet? Probably, in large part because of your father who you've so eloquently described. My thoughts are with you and your family.

Jeremiah, I'm so sorry to hear about your father. You paid tribute to him most beautifully - I'd expect nothing less. I will keep you and your family in my thoughts.

(BTW, the above post is from Aine - one day I'll get the hang of these 'blog' things...)

there aren't any words for how sorry tom and i are to hear this news. we are thinking of you, your mom, the rest of your family. one of my favorite things about your dad: the random postcards he would send to you at school. his every gesture was testament to how much he adores you.

I'm sorry about your father. I'm glad you were there to be with him. You are an amazing person and that's clearly a result of your father and mother. You're also a great teacher and will only get better. So in the words of our students, "Yo, Mista, that sucks." We love you, Pudgymiah.

God Bless, hang in there.

I'm very sorry to hear about your dad. My sympathies to you and your family.

Bullfrog I'm so sorry. My favorite memory of your dad is when he shared figs with me and we talked about all of the ways you can eat them (bubba gump shrimp style) while we were at the kickoff classic in '02 I think. I'll always think of him every time I eat figs. Love you, man. If you need anything besides prayers just call.

My thoughts to you and your family during this time.

Deepest sympathies sir.

I'm so sorry for your loss, and offer my deepest sympathies to you and your family. I think you did your Dad proud with the tribute you posted today, and I hope wherever he is he loves what you wrote about him

That was a lovely tribute. I'm sorry for your loss.

If you would like me to light a candle at the grotto for your father just ask.

I'm pretty speechless after reading this. I love you and I am just so sorry for your loss.

My prayers and sympathies to you and your family.

Wow, what an awesome remembrance. Your dad clearly led a full life and helped build a lot of character along the way. Whenever I saw your dad, i would think of your character building stories, and I half expected him to turn to me and ask me to eat more vegetables or go chop some wood. And secretly, i was hoping he would because we could all use a little more character.

Amazing tribute, absolutely amazing.

Michelangelo - I never met your father, but if he helped make you the friendly, smart, hilarious, kind man you are today, then he must have been pretty cool too.