the earliest memory i have of you is probably aided by the way you used to tell the story.i guess i was about 3 or 4 years old,and you were driving me around to somewhere.you stopped at a bar to get a pack of cigarettes,and had taken me inside propping me up on a barstool whilst you chatted with the bartender for a minute.i was content to sit and pick at the bowl of peanuts set in front of me.that was,at least,until some drunk a couple of stools away protested me being in the bar,calling me a "little monkey".you walked over to the loudmouth and - BAM! - knocked him to the floor with one punch.you calmly picked me up,said "good-bye" to the bartender,and we were outta there.

i never figured out how you knew the bartender,because you did all your drinking at home.often falling asleep on the toilet,snoring like a walrus.you never got abusive,nor mean when drunk.you wanted to philosophize.often with me.it's not until now that i realize how funny it was,me being maybe 5 or 6 years old and you asking me what i wanted to do with my life.but,you never pressured me,you weren't belligerent about getting an answer.you honestly wanted to know what was going on in my head.it didn't strike me until years later that your father never asked you those questions.i don't know if it was because he never thought about it,or never got the chance being that he died when you were still young.

i remember sometimes you would say (maybe) not the most appropriate things when you were only trying to be funny.i know where i get that from,as i'm regularly given the stinkeye at my stabs at humor or levity.you once made a comment at a family get-together that was taken out of context to my cousin/your nephew's wife,not knowing that they were having troubles conceiving a child.you felt like a heel,and left the party for a while,taking me with you.we went to a pizzaria,and ordered a small pie.we didn't talk much,and i wasn't exactly sure why we were there and not at the party.but,i was with you,and that's all that mattered.

and,not for nothin' - you never missed a day of work,drinking the way you did.we may have not had much,but we had food on the table,clothes on our backs,and love for each other.that's a lot,by today's standards,and should always be the yardstick by which all households are measured.and after all that abuse you put on your body - even when you almost died from a bleeding ulcer - you stopped the drink,cold.no meetings,no pills,no therapy.well,aside from Ma.

you and Ma were best friends,aside from being husband and wife.you never really had any friends.you weren't close with your own family (with good reason,none that i'll go into here),and was taken in by Ma's family with open arms.you were Uncle Eddie,and you were loved.for over 50 years,you and Ma struggled to keep the family together throughout many a hard time.i want you to know,you both succeeded.

when i started getting more and more independent as i grew,you were always there for me.you maybe didn't understand what exactly it was i was trying to do,but you didn't criticize me.you questioned me,to see if i was happy.you just wanted to know if i was in a safe place (literally,as well as emotionally).and,if i wasn't - you were there to help bring me back to one.even if it was just a roof over my head for a night,or a year.there were no time limits on your love for me.

you always thought that because we moved around quite a bit (though,not as much as one would be led to believe) when we (me,tom,and sandi) were young that that was the reason why we - as grown individuals - made some bad/stupid life decisions.it wasn't,Da.whenever we fucked up,it was all because of our own doing.trust me.

there is so much more that i want to say,and maybe i will one day.we have you in a home,right now,because there's really not much we can do for you AT home.ma misses you dearly,as well do your grandson's,matthew and alex.when i go see you,i wonder if you still know that it's me,your son.i know that 2 weeks ago,you did,at least for a minute.it kills me to see you smoking cigarettes that aren't there,or calling to the dog that won't come to you (or,if she does,i hope she's being good).

so much more,Da...i wanted you to have the world...but you gave me mine...showed me the way around it...through hard work...and through love.

so fucking much more,Da...so fucking much more....

i love you,and will see you tomorrow.

your son.
paul



note : you didn't know who i was.

but you rolled up the newspaper that i brought you to beat me with.

if i can have you riled up before you go,i'll take it,Pop...