I’d like to say I hate November. But I don’t. November is a beautiful time. Right after Halloween, oh the best day of the year. It’s fall. Too many leaves but tending towards crisp (when it isn’t in the 80s thanks to global warming, hey did you think I’d entirely remove politics from this post?)and magical.
But in November 1982 my father died. In November 2003 my beloved kitty died. Both too young. Offended by the juxtaposition. Well then, I invite you to stop reading now.
I miss my father. I will always miss my father. He wasn’t around for a lot of things he should have been around for. As an aside, I feel very lucky to have J, because he loves his daughter and understands what his presence means, something I’m not sure my dad ever did.
Don’t get me wrong. He was pretty neat in many ways. I could tell he loved me. I loved how he smelled like woodsmoke, cigarettes and dad. He had the most beautiful voice and would sing Spanish and Louis Prima songs and brush my tangled hair so it never pulled. I still have the brown courderoy coat (very emo now)my sister and I bought for him from sears with our allowances. I think it still smells like him even after all these years.
We had our problems. The way all parents and children do. Some were worse, some not so bad. He was a Republican, I was (and still am) a Democrat. He thought I needed to calm down and I wanted to be punk rock. I always knew he was proud of me though. I wish he hadn’t missed so much. He was there for my first makeout session and busted that boy but good. He went to my baseball games before that. But he didn’t make it my high school, college or master’s graduation.
He wasn’t there to talk me out of my first marriage or approve of my second.
Or to see the Bean. I will always miss what was and what could have been. I know he would have loved her and called her a ‘pistol,’ a high complement from my southern gentleman dad. I like to think he would have taken her to his garden to plant baby carrots and given her first taste just like he did me. And let his manly hunting dog have a tea party with her too. I will always wish that just once she could have felt his arms around her.
And Mr. Newg? Well he was one of the best kitties you could ever imagine. He loved everyone and was a wee little goofy lapcat. He always found me when I cried and never let a day go by without a good rousing snuggle. He was patient with children, especially ours and even more patient with those who disliked cats. Invariably they’d say “I don’t like cats, but that one is ok.” He was easily the best natured, sweetest soul I’ve ever met. He would get so excited to see you, he’d start rolling around and fall off whatever he was on. I found him on next to a Dusty Donut shop full of er, ladies of the evening in the Tenderloin in 1988 and held him close as he left us after 15 years of perfect kindness and love. He’s over my heart to remind me to find the joy in even the darkest times. He’s still my loving court jester and I know I’ll never meet another like him.
Good guys both, I miss them and I always will.
This post was edited on the 12th, but written on the 11th)
