In this picture he's with his dog Taffy and my sister's dog, Schroeder, whom my parents took in after Karen died.
He loved San Francisco and refused to leave the flat they rented in the city for a long time, though my mother always wanted a home of her own. But he was finally convinced to buy a house in Marin County when she told him she was moving and he could come with her or not. He ultimately loved owning a house because it had a pool.
He always wanted an Irish setter and I told my sister when they were going to move that we should go together and get him an Irish setter. Instead, she found Taffy as a puppy and brought her to him. Probably the only thing I am still angry with her about, that she didn't ask if I wanted to go with her to give him the dog. It was difficult to find something that pleased him, and she gave him the dog he loved and talked about how happy he was that she gave him the dog for the rest of the dog's life.
My father was not an easy man and my mother put up with him, unhappily, for 33 years until she found a man she loved more...and then had happy years with him until he died. My father had a wonderful sense of humor, but could go from being happy to being miserable in an instant...and then refuse to speak to anyone for days, though you were never sure why he was so angry. He was never physically abusive and I didn't learn about mental abuse until after he died...but that is definitely what he put us all through for years.
Sadly two things I think about when I remember him are first, the time my parents came to visit me when I worked for the physics department at UC Berkeley. I was secretary to three physicists and had my own office. He met my bosses and thanked them for taking such good care of me. He made it sound like I had no real talent at all and they were just letting me keep my job.
The other time was after the second Lamplighter book was published. I took him a copy and he flipped through it and then handed it back to me and told me I might as well take it because he'd never look at it. This was a book I had written and I was so proud of it and he didn't even care.
I also remember after my sister died when he told me to come into the living room so he could play a record for me. It was called "My Little Girl," and he sat there crying and never even noticed that he still had a living daughter. My sister's death was HIS tragedy. The saddest thing I heard my mother say was "one day I just had to cry, so I went outside so he wouldn't see me."
When he was in the hospital, I told him I was coming to see him and he told me not to come...and then cried to his neighbors that all he wanted to do was to see me, but I wouldn't come to see him. He died several weeks later. The neighbors refused to speak to me at his funeral.
I always had a difficult time finding cards for him for his birthday and Father's Day. I never got one that expressed any affection, but usually had something about beer or some other alcohol in it. I'd like to say I miss him, but I don't. Not at all.
I do miss his potato salad, tho! He made the best potato salad, which I have been unable to duplicate.
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PHOTO OF THE DAY
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