Heather Graham

A new Krewe of Hunters Short Story and wishing all fathers a Happy Father's Day!

Father’s Day!

Well, I may be redundant here, but it’s a day when I especially remember my dad.

For me, he was the most incredible man in the world.

But he didn’t start that way. My lineage from the Graham clan arrived in Northern Wisconsin. My grandfather managed a log-mining camp. My father went to college, married . . . and destroyed his marriage and hurt his family by falling into serious alcoholism. It was so bad that when my grandfather was on the draft board as World War II arrived, he had my father drafted despite the fact he was past the draft age. He told him, “If you’re determined to kill yourself, you can at least do it for our country.”

Well, a miracle happened. My dad up and joined the Navy so that he’d have his choice of service. And in the Navy, he found AA. He survived the war. And years later, he met my mom—an Irish immigrant—and they were married.

Then my sister arrived, and then me.

He was an older father, close to sixty when I was born. A tall man, about six-three, he was also bald. The neighborhood kids called him either “The great Scot” or . . .Mr. Clean. All he needed was the earring and he did resemble the character on the cleaning product!

Because my mom left Ireland at a time when horrific attacks continued despite the supposed end of battle and the creations of the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland out of the island, he was determined my sister and I understand that wars weren’t fought for religion—they were fought for power, land, and money. Religion was used as an excuse because if you studied religion, you would learn that different though they might be, legitimate religions taught kindness and decency to our fellow human beings.

It didn’t matter where a person came from, what their ethnicity, color, or creed might be—we were all human beings and needed to be judged on their merits, their common decency, and nothing else. He practiced what he preached. He was a sponsor for AA and he had everyone in our home, black, white, gay, straight, Christian, Jewish, or whatever. He encouraged my sister and I to attend all the churches and temples that our friends might go to—and I will always thank him for that. We grew up sometimes at a Catholic church, sometimes at a Protestant, and I also spent time with my neighbor at her Temple.

Dad thought that religion was a matter of the heart; you discovered what you believed and what worked for you. I remember one day when he hadn’t gone to church with my mom and my sister and me. When we got home, I saw that he was out in the yard on one of the lounge chairs, just lying back with his eyes closed. I said, “Dad! You weren’t in church!” And he opened his eyes and smiled at me. Then he spread out his arms, indicating the foliage and the beautiful blue day. “I’m in church right here,” he told me. “Church and belief are in the heart and soul, remember?”

He could be strict, too. At the very beginning of the war, he was a “Frogman.” Eventually, Frogmen would become Navy Seals. But he was a swimmer, one of the best I’ve ever met. And since I think that he and mom discovered that there was a sun and that’s why we were raised in South Florida, he was well aware that water was everywhere.

“The beach is one thing—and we go to the beach. But there are canals and lakes everywhere. You will swim!” he told us.

To this day I love the water. I’ve been a lifeguard on South Beach and a Red Cross instructor. I loved it all. And I thank him for it.

He could have a bizarre sense of humor. When I was headed to Scotland for a conference without him, I asked for a family address. He gave me one.

It was the address to a Stirling cemetery.

And back then, no cell phones. Dinner was a family affair; both he and my mom worked and while she did most of the cooking, he was ever ready to pitch in and do the dishes.

But we weren’t allowed to receive phone calls during dinner. And if the phone rang while we were eating, he answered the phone.

“Gra-ham! City morgue. You stab ‘em, we slab ‘em!”

He also taught me about ‘frugal.’ He was actually a generous man—he loved to take friends out for coffee and a meal. But if coffee and a meal were cheaper at one chain or restaurant than another, you always went to the cheapest!

And on that same Scotland trip, they were having a “ceilidh,” pronounced “Kaylee,” a celebration with music, story-telling—and haggis.

I asked him about haggis, a traditional dish. And he looked at me, shook his head, and told me, “I’ve kept a job my entire life, one way or another. I can buy decent meat for us to eat!”

Like so many dishes, I learned, haggis—usually sheep liver, heart, and lungs, chopped up with onions and perhaps a few other vegetables and seasonings--was created from what was left after the good cuts of meat were sold.

Well, I did try the haggis. Um . . .

My dad died just a few days before my twenty-first birthday. I was lucky; I’d been in Europe during a college semester when he had fallen ill and my sister had warned me to come home.

I was able to spend the last days with him. And to be with my mom and sister when he was gone.

And every Father’s Day . . .

I remember him with love and I’m grateful for the man he became to be the father he was to me. I am so thankful for all that he taught me and I always hope that I remember the lessons in life that he gave me.

And on a happier front! For the father of my kids, Dennis, and for Jason and Derek—and the fathers they have become!

To all fathers! Because they may not always know it, but their great lessons are learned and remembered!

Happy Father's Day

Heather

For readers who like Krewe of Hunters, I've have a new Father's Day short story,

Fearsome Frenzy to a Fabulous Father's Day. I hope you enjoy.

Heather Graham Heather Graham (also writing as Heather Graham Pozzessere and Shannon Drake) is the author of numerous works of Romance, Romantic Suspense, Vampire, Ghost Stories and more! https://linktr.ee/HeatherGrahamAuthor