June 7: Letter to Dad

Dear Dad,

It’s been three years now that you’ve been gone. I can’t begin to catch you up on everything but I’d like to share some of the more recent happenings.

Remember at Kathy’s 40th birthday party, when you were horrified at the lack of completion of our painting and trim projects in the living room and dining room? Well, four years later they are still incomplete. I have new furniture but haven’t quite gotten around to the painting stuff. But with all you taught me about the importance of primer, you can see why the project is such an undertaking, right? What? You can’t? You’re still horrified? Oh.

But remember the half bath, which also needed new trim and some wall repair? It’s done! It’s totally done! I even primed and repainted the whole thing, and the room is smaller now because of it. Aren’t you proud of me? What? You’re still thinking about how shameful my living room and dining room are? Oh.

You know those portraits we have going up our stairs, of each of our family members at our wedding? Well, my mom—yes, that woman you once had the smarts to marry—thought she’d be oh-so-clever and replace her a-hole ex-husband’s (not yours!) picture with Rupert Everett’s… Yeah, I know. I shouldn’t have said a-hole. Sorry. Can I get back to what I was saying? … Everyone that noticed Rupert Everett’s picture thought it was hilarious. But it bothered Katie so she peeled it off. Mom noticed Rupert missing the next time she visited, so she thought she’d be oh-so-clever another way and hang the photo upside down and crooked. Katie (who is “OCD, like you and me!”) went to fix it later and it fell off the wall, bounced down the stairs, and shattered. She was very upset. I totally blame Mom. I know, you do too. Now there’s a big hole where Mom’s portrait was. It throws off the feng shui of the arrangement. I need to rearrange all the frames. I know, I know. It’s on my list.

Yes. Yeeeeeeeeees. The list is very long and very old. Yes. I’m sorry I mentioned it. Can I change the subject?

Katie played in her first piano recital last week. She did well, and we were so proud of her. I know you would have been there and hated every moment but hers and insisted she was better than even the high-schoolers. And the reason I brought Mint Milanos to the reception instead of Double Stuf Oreos? Duh, I didn’t want to share the Oreos.

You know, Mom buys Oreos for the kids because they were your favorite cookie. Can you believe that? I don’t think she ever bought Oreos for me. I wonder when she’s going to start buying them turkey ham and remove the packaging and tell them it’s real ham. ‘Member when she did that to you, but we all kept it a secret until I finally spilled the beans when I was an adult? And then you were torn between feeling swindled and being impressed at her wily ways? Ha! I loved that. C’mon, you did too.

Speaking of mystery meat, Darlene let Katie have some Hickory Farms Summer Sausage one day and now she asks for it all the time. Doesn’t that make you proud? ‘Cept I know if you shared a plate that you’d let her have about a tenth of what you ate yourself because that’s your thing.

I try not to think about this much because it makes me incredibly sad, but I’m afraid Jack isn’t going to remember you very well. I think he knows he’s supposed to miss you because he says pretty often that he does. But don’t worry—we are all working to keep your memory alive. That’s why Mom gets the Oreos. And when I walk into the kids’ rooms and tell them it’s clean-up time and kick around everything they’ve left on the floor, I tell them to stop crying and look, I’m just being like Grandpa Curt. Kathy has plans this summer to have them follow her around and pick up every piece of carpet lint and speck of dust she points to. So, y’see, Jack’s too young to remember much about you personally, but we’ll make sure he knows who his Grandpa Curt was, for better or worse.

Dad, I’m sorry to tell you that Ralph Knudson passed away unexpectedly a year ago. I’m actually glad you weren’t around for it because it would have been very hard for you. He was such a kind man and respected you very much and had such nice things to say at your memorial service. I know that you would have felt terrible for April but I’m also sure that you would have found a way to tell her that would mean a lot to her. You always came through at times like that with surprisingly heartfelt messages. It almost made up for the times you were kind of a shithead.

Heh heh. I didn’t mean to say that. Well, I didn’t mean to say that to you.

Mom, Kathy, Katie and I went to the Saltmarsh Christmas Eve thing this past year. It was a lot of fun even though we didn’t recognize most of the generation after ours. Uncle Mel pretended to remember us but I think we just confused him. (I’ll never forget what our cousin Deanna said about planning her daughter’s wedding reception to be held on their property: “If I can just keep Uncle Mel from peeing in the yard, I’ll call it a success.”)

I ran into Lori at Keller Auditorium the other night. No, not your niece Lori; the girl you thought of as “Hickory Farms Lori.” She’s now lost her dad too. It really has sucked for me and Kathy to be the voices of experience as our best friends have gone through the hell of saying goodbye to their fathers. At the same time, it’s nice to be able to put our grief to some good use and be a shoulder for their very special families.

Admit it, you want to know but could never bring yourself to ask: yes, Mom’s doing really well. She’s got a beautiful home and is very happy being back in Medford. Kathy and I love that she’s using the Saltmarsh name again; in fact, I think she’s more of Saltmarsh than you ever were. She’s run into lots of old friends. Oh, and guess what? She voted DEMOCRAT. Heh heh. Doesn’t that just rattle your chains?

Well, I didn’t make it to Shari’s for breakfast this morning like I’d planned to, but I’ll be going this afternoon. I’ll take in the newspaper and do the crossword puzzle in PEN at the counter and only order coffee, just like you always did. And I might stop for a Big Mac later today but I won’t put one in each hand and drive down the freeway. That was really dangerous, Dad—it’s kinda surprising you lived as long as you did with that bad habit.

I miss you and I love you and I’m thinking about you today more than usual. Hope the harp music isn’t driving you nuts or it’s not too hot, wherever you are.