Remembering

   My first memory of my dad was him sitting at the kitchen table, the sleeves on the tee-shirt he wore were rolled up, and one contained a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes. His hair was greased down with something I later knew as Brylcream hair goo. He was drinking a bottle of Carlings black label beer he never let get warm.

   I would sit with him rolling my sleeves up and puffing on an unlit smoke he rolled across the table to me. Rock and roll was coming from the small green radio sitting on the window sill to get better reception, but he often got up and searched for a Saturday ball game or some news about the war.

  He had served in the Army a few years back and got hurt making it, so they discharged him early which kind of made him angry and restless. He couldn’t hold down a job for too long as he always seemed to get in trouble of one sort or another. When my mom tried to talk to him about losing work, he brushed her away and opened one of many beers he would drink until passing out on the couch

   He was always sorry the next morning kissing my mom and messing up my hair promising me he would never get that drunk again, and I shouldn’t worry because he heard they were hiring down at the docks and he had a buddy that could probably get him on there. It didn’t happen.

   My dad lived the next forty-something years, drinking away the pain and unhappiness. Mom stayed with him, although I never really understood why she did? I guess back then vows meant something. She passed away one night alone in their bed while he slept it off on the couch, and I cried for both of them.

   Sometimes I close my eyes and see the man who was my dad with sleeves rolled up and a pack of lucky strikes in one of them. His hair greased back, and a cold bottle of beer never too far from his reach. I could smell his aqua Velva and hear his laugh that rarely presented itself. He wasn’t a great man, nor was he bad. He was fighting demons his entire life and always seemed to lose. I loved him, and I hope he knew that? Mom said he did, and that would have to do.

   I sense that one day we will meet again and he will be the way I remember him only he will laugh a lot more and not have to carry the burdens that were his life. He will leave behind a smell of aqua Velva and a son who loved him dearly.

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