Father & Son

On the eve of Dad's early-morning prostate surgery tomorrow [anesthesia for an 87 year old is a worry], I keep thinking about J., my oldest sibling. I've blogged about him before: http://insearchoftruthandbeauty.blogspot.com/2010_01_31_archive.html and about how sad I feel that he's dropped out of contact with us--even though he lives right in NYC. He has evolved into an enigma.

Lost
It's a long story, and I can't pinpoint its beginning. I'm nine years younger, and J. moved to NY at age 18 for college, leaving our gray Cape Cod house in the suburbs behind. I found no fault with him. Rebellious and free-thinking, yes, with his ponytail and beard, and his choice to pursue photography and live with his girlfriend at a young age back in the day, especially with Catholic parents who were pretty devout.

But I do remember a couple of father-and-son squabbles, and my brother lying on his bedspread while "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" played on the radio.

Picture yourself in a boat on a river,
With tangerine trees and marmalade skies.
Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly,
A girl with kaleidoscope eyes.


What a strange song to my little-girl ears, and it made me think of the only Lucy I knew, Lucille Ball, whom I loved. There was anger, yelling. I remember the music, the tension thick in the air--and another time, when Mom was draining hot spaghetti in the metal colander and the steam was rising. You know how it is when you're a kid, or anyone, for that matter--you don't want to witness a fight between two people you love. It's scary, and sad. It shouldn't be happening, and it makes you feel lost.

I don't blame any of them. Now that I have a free-thinking teenager of my own, I understand quite clearly.

Kept
Our mom is gone [29 years now], but our Dad has never let go of his memories of J., his first-born. I know he feels bad that we're not in touch, and has kept reaching out via phone over the past decade, trying mightily to keep J. in the family loop. Every now and then, he gets an answer.

At my request, Sis tried to reach him last week, just so we could let him know we were worried about our Dad, in the hospital. I was afraid to be the one to leave the message because when I'm worried, I cry. But his phone was disconnected. We have to see if our brother Will has a cell number to try.

Memories Dad has pulled out of his pocket again and again, like a magician with a favorite  scarf trick:

1. J. got car-sick as a baby. Every time we put him in the car. We couldn't believe it, but he did.
2. He was very cute. Mommy and I used to each hold one hand and swing him in the waves. He loved it. He really laughed.
3. He asked to get ice cream on a Cape Cod vacation but..... We were all driving in the car, and Mommy told him 'We have ice cream in the refrigerator at home.' But she meant the refrigerator in New Jersey. That was so funny.
4. He couldn't wait to grow up and move out. He said to me once, 'You don't understand. You want me to live here, wear Bermuda shorts and push a lawn mower.' And how could he say that? Me of all people. I hated the stereotype of wearing Bermuda shorts and pushing a lawn mower.

I really can't remember any other J. lore right now. I'm tired, in a pasta haze and going to the hospital early tomorrow.  But wherever J. is and whatever he's doing at this moment, and the next moment, and the next and the next, I wish him peace. 

And I wish he would come back--to ease an old man's burden and fill the hollow in our family tree.