My Dad Is Retiring
My dad is retiring soon
But not from the day or for the night
And not from an active life
He is retiring from his day job
From money generation
From wealth building
From needing to tally, tarry or care
If he is still on track
Though he’s keeping the exact day open
Keeping his hand close to his chest
No need to reveal too much
Like he was at the track watching the horses
He knows exactly what combination
Of horse, jockey and owner to choose
And he’ll share all of this with you
But he’s not going to tell you his final pick
Until after the race
Like a Buddha
Here is the information, choose your own way
Someday has finally come
“I think by Thanksgiving” he says last Sunday
Which means it is certain
And pre-empts my need to fly across the continent
Because I want to walk him out of the shop,
Across the lot,
To his waiting truck,
One last time.
He’s not that type, doesn’t want the fanfare
Doesn’t want balloons or a wild ball at the bar
He doesn’t want anyone to make a big deal of it
And we’re going to respect that
My Dad is retiring soon
And I’m trying to understand
What it all means
This is a guy who I never once heard
Complain about work,
An ache or a pain,
Or about someone else
He never once bitched about going to work
My Dad leaving for work
Before I even woke
And coming back at the end of the day
Are some of my earliest infant images
In middle school I left with him every morning
He dropped me off on his way to work.
Freshman year of high school football
He dropped me off to my early morning start of hell week
Each long epic day that last week of summer
A quiet ride, between the two of us
Me, fearful and scared each day
But all the yoga, stretching, and working-out paid off:
By the conclusion of my first hell week,
Before school had even started
Our biggest lineman told me I would be a captain senior year
It was my father who dropped me off those mornings
The last family member to see me alive each day
Before my adolescent right-of-passage
On his way to work
At our awards ceremony junior year
When I was declared a co-captain
I drove back home with my Dad
But not before the senior cheerleaders exiting in street clothes
Told me they had their money on me the whole year
Close enough so my Dad could hear
Many years ago, well-into my own career
Amidst a routine winter cold
I had to take a few days off to get well
The epiphany came:
My Dad never took a day off from work
Unless he was sick as a dog
He really never took a day off
I have no memory of it
We were not a family of nappers
And once when I napped with my best friend afterschool
My Mom came home and found us in the darkened basement
Asleep with MTV flickering and flashing
She popped the lights on and was convinced we were tripping
On my birth certificate
It states the occupation of my father
At the time of my birth:
Mechanic
It doesn’t get much better than that
Like mom, baseball and apple pie
Or a song by Mellencamp
This meditation poem has made me realize
That my Dad is another baby-boomer
Who has been able to live out the American Dream
And you can’t take that shit for granted
Pilver’s Autobody was on Park Road
Inside the Hartford line
My dad was a mechanic in Hartford, Connecticut
No flashy Boston or New York City
Just two hours in either direction
Guess what city Jack Kerouac moved to
When he first left home:
Hartford, Connecticut
Around the corner from Allen Place
Where my parents lived when I was born
Down the street from Hartford Hospital
A few decades earlier
My Dad started the day in clean white t-shirts
Never returned filthy, always clean
He also wore the classic long-sleeved collared shirts
That dignified mechanics wear
He had a great boss in Pilver
Let our entire family vacation for weeks
In Rockland, Maine at his place
Where I bashed my knees-in, on the wet rocks
Before my parents could even unpack
My Dad joked that between the rocks and sharks
They were trying to do some family planning after the fact,
To thin our ranks
And it was on those rocks where my brother Rob
Knocked my Dad out with one
Just as he was telling us to stop throwing them
My memory of Pilver is of a nice older man
Telling me that he had some lobsters for us
On the floor of the shop
I may have asked where they were
He pointed to a large drain in the floor
Dark liquid glistening below, pulling my leg
My Dad let the lobsters walk around the living room
I watched them
From the top of the highest point on the couch
I refused to set foot into the ocean for 10 years
One time my Mom forgot that the lobsters were in the fridge
I can still hear her screams when she opened the door
And they spilled out
When I see the words “Maine lobster”
I think of Pilver’s Autobdy, still
When I was older and in high school
One of the “packy” stores that sold beer to minors with fake IDs
Was next door to Pilver’s
I didn’t realize this until we drove in back
Shocked to see the building next door,
Of what was now Alve’s Autobody
“My father was a mechanic there” I told my friends
Filled with awe at the arc of life,
Sentimental, and feeling guilty
As we tipped the sullen guy
Who placed the case of beer in our trunk
My Dad made a great manager
He is a great people person
Can talk with the mechanics, the owners,
The customers
On a wide range of topics
Knows everybody
And Steben’s Autobody was a special place for me
I loved the smells of the car parts
The fumes of the paint shop
The front room with the customers,
The big private office in back
Separated by tall counters and frosted windows
Hearing the loudspeaker intercom broadcast
“Richie, line one”
While walking outside
This is where my Dad was during the day
Roland Steben had a large sailboat
And took our entire family out on the water
Let us spend weekends at his place
At White Sands Beach, Connecticut
A cast of characters,
The way the sky brightens when you near the shore
From the receding tree line
Song on the radio:
“Sky rockets in flight – afternoon delight”
During high school when friction was building
Maybe between our football team & the hockey team
Or some similar nonsense
I remember confiding in my Dad
In our basement gym with the wall of mirrors
That houses were getting egged
I just wanted to let him know
My involvement was minimal,
Had no desire to ruin my record
Of never having been in a fight,
But had to explain that our house might be a target
My father took the warning in stride
Assuring me that everything would be fine,
Because if anything, anything touched our house
Gondido would take care of it
And by take care of it, he did not mean
Cleaning up
From the stories of my childhood
I knew who Gondido was
Though rarely if ever glimpsed
In the deepest bays and bowels of the shop
A character even Quentin Tarantino would envy
I knew this man feared no one
But had great respect for my Dad because
Time after time
When he was released from prison
My Dad was always the first
To offer Gondido his job back
“He’s the best body guy in New England”
I never did meet Gondido
But just hearing his name lifted my spirits,
And was not where I thought the conversation was headed.
My Dad was not upset with me,
He was problem-solving,
And probably recognized the situation for what it was –
Some high school silliness
My Dad is retiring soon
And I’m trying to figure out what it all means
He has earned the right to do so
He’s going out on his own terms –
Not interested in training his replacement
He will fill his new days putting in more steps
In a single day than I do in a week
In high school my Dad mowed the lawn himself
Though my brother and I could have taken turns
It was awesome
We still had the other chores to do
I remember even kind of giggling to myself
In our basement gym, while I pumped iron in the cool basement
Seeing my Dad through the low window, going for it
At the height of hot humid summer
Each year the ground turns up stones
And each day my Dad walks the land
Gathering them up and adding them to the low walls
Sometimes he comes across very large stones
He grabs his wheelbarrow, shovels and pry bar
He bends, digs – excavates – twists, turns, hauls
Increases the size height width & length of the wall
And his life
He has always been this way
I have the memories to prove it
My Dad is retiring soon
And I don’t know if he knows it
But we have a song
It is Elton John’s “Bennie and the Jets”
One of my parents few albums
Hearing that first single piano note,
The pause, and then the triumphant start of the song
The nostalgic, evocative tone, confusing gleeful lyrics,
The general wackiness of an early 1970’s Elton John
The swing from triumph to nostalgia within a single song
Coming up the stairs to me from the living room
It promised great, wild worlds to explore in life
The song was a promise, and
The soundtrack to my Dad’s early morning workout
Stretching and using soup cans for dumbbells
My Dad was an early adapter
Teaching us, showing us all how to stretch and breathe
And occasionally insisting upon it
Bennie & the Jets and my Dad are inseparable to me
They even looked like each other in ‘74
The song has always been with me
Inversion boots?
Nearly had to call the West Hartford fire department
To get him out of those,
While suspended upside down from the basement rafters
Where he tested the limits of the human spine
And my Mom stomped-off for a second
Threatening to call the WHFD if he didn’t try harder
To help us bend him enough to pull his feet free of the pull-up bar
Which was after we gathered underneath him
Like we were charging a mountain,
Raising the flag at Iwo Jima
To unhook those boots from the bar
As we ignored his screams of mixed pain and laughter
And sustained bombardments of uncontrolled flatulence
But soldiered on until we at last liberated his suspended,
Upside down body
From the pull-up bar
Awkwardly got him down onto the gym mat
Congratulated ourselves for not taxing
Emergency services
With our domestic disturbance
I don’t know if it was the image, or imagined sound
Of the fire fighters coming down the basement stairs
That did if for my Dad
Finally getting those inversion boots free
Was a clear testament to the indomitable will of the human spirit
And the spinal column
In my teenage years
When my Dad got home from work
He liked to get downstairs right away
To get in a workout before helping Mom with dinner
He began his day with a two hour workout
When I got home from football practice
I ate dinner first with the family and then I went downstairs
To workout for a few hours
After having had a 2-hour practice in full pads
I too tacked-on the additional workout
My girlfriend asking at the time
What I did between dinner and our nightly,
Parentally-sanctioned land-line phone call at 9 or 10pm?
After all of her homework was done
I explained that I did chest, tris, shoulders & lats
On Mondays, Wednesdays & Fridays
And legs & bis on Tuesdays & Thursdays:
The endorphins kept my anxiety and depression
At bay until I forsook my body in college
While pursuing an English degree with the same
Lack of moderation displayed in high school
Each year the ground turns up stones
And sometimes they are the tip of the big one
My Dad found such a stone
A few hours before my sister arrived for a visit
Thought he could easily get it out and bury it deeper
While still fitting in a shower
Before Amy arrived
Digging is one of the great labors
Which my Dad underestimated that day
It took an hour to get the large boulder out
Another 30 minutes to dig the whole deeper
Five seconds to place it back in the deeper hole
And just one second to realize that the hole was not deep enough
It took another hour to get it back out
And that is when my sister arrived
My Dad soaked in sweat, caked in soil
My Dad is retiring soon
And he’ll have more time
To do The Five Tibetans
He was standing in the shop at Steben’s Autobody
When he received a call from our Vice Principal
Of Sedgwick Middle School
Informing him that his son was caught
Spraying the marching band with a squirt gun
During the Memorial Day parade
My Dad doing the quick math
How much would it cost to replace
The uniforms for an entire band
Assuming it was permanent ink or dye
Contained in the gun
When he got home that night he was almost buoyant
From the relief that his son only used water
Telling me he was somewhat incredulous about the call
And all the hand-wringing by Mr. Francis, the band leader
“I thought I was on the hook for about 50 uniforms”
If the band was off by just a few notes for a block or so
My Dad could live with that
“But knock it off, got it?”
All so grateful
Amy: daughter, first-born bond with Dad
Rob: middle son, shared interest in cars with Dad
Kathy: wife, moral compass of the lot
Me, result of third unplanned pregnancy
Explains my existential tendencies
But thanks and praises Dad for giving me a shot at this world and
Realizing that you love the horse
As much as I love the tree
When I told my 6 year old daughter tonight
That Poppie was working his last day later this week
That he has saved up enough to stop working
She said “Goodie, he can move here
And help you with your work”
Which made me smile
But I didn’t tell her that I still had
25 to life, to go
And that today, reading email after email from the public
I whispered the words “mother fucker” under my breathe
25 times with each new problem that landed in my lap
In high school the most influential man in my life was Coach C
Our football coach
You could almost see the thought bubble above my head:
There is a new man in my life now.
But after each rousing talk or lesson learned on the gridiron
I returned home and found my Dad
Quietly living life with the same determined principles
The same tireless work ethic
Without needing to put any words to it
“You think you have problems now?!” Coach would shout
While we sucked wind and wished our hearts would stop
Just to cut practice short
My Dad is retiring soon
And what I want to tell him
More than anything
Is how much I will think of him
When my day comes to retire
I will think of him
Think about what it must have been like
For him at the time later this week
When he knew he no longer needed
To make money
Generate wealth
To me he isn’t retiring
He’s just coming back home at the end of the day
And he’s looking forward to what’s on tap tomorrow
It will start with The Five Tibetans
ANovember, 2017