I Miss You Dad

As he sat there, at the computer, he was transfixed on the monitor and his duties of programming the machine to play a video game that didn't even exist yet.  The year was 1981, and things such as home video games on the computer were not common place.  The man was my father, and I was only 7 months old.  

"Bob," a voice chimed up from behind him.  He was confused, considering the fact my mother was not at home.  He turned back around, just thinking that he had heard something.

"Bob," the voice said again, at which point, he spun around and just stared, thinking that it could not have come from his 7 month old son.  "What did you say little man?" he asked, half expecting an answer.

"Bob!" I answered back.

"That is daddy to you, son," he said with an air of annoyance.  That was the first conversation that I had with my father.

During the time period leading up to September 17, 1981, I actually do have some recollection of things.  I remember sitting on his lap, with a bowl of ice cubes, where he would chomp away on them and read a magazine.  I remember running to the living room window everyday when I expected him to come home.  I also remember that day, September 17, where I was waiting for my father to come pick me up.  See, at this point, my parents had separated, and he was coming over for visitations.  Everytime I heard a car, I would run to the window, and look out and say, Daddy, and get excited.  Each time, I was wrong.  In hindsight, my mother said she knew that something was wrong.  My father was always punctual.  After 45 minuets had passed from the time he said he would be over, she knew something had to have happened.  3 hours later, there was a knock on the door.  All I remember about that is seeing my grandfather with a policeman, and seeing my mom on the floor in front of our door crying.  I did not understand what was going on, just that my mom was sad, and it was something my grandfather said.  

The reality of the news that he gave her would affect me for the rest of my life.  While my father was on his way over to pick me up, a drunk drive had run him off the road and into oncoming traffic.  He was broadsided by a bread truck, and had suffered severe injuries due to the impact.  3 hours later, he died.  Within a few hours, my whole life had changed, and I was unaware as to why.  

There are a lot of strange aspects of this story, such as the fact that my aunt drove by the accident, and commented to herself, that looks like Bob's car.  She kept going, not thinking anything.  Or the fact that the kid who ran him off the road, went to school and bragged about not getting caught.  His girlfriend called the police department to report it, but when they placed an undercover officer in the school, she denied everything.  The kid got away scot free.  Or the fact that this tragedy confined my mother to our home for over 1 year, because, my father was her high-school sweet heart, and probably the only man that she ever loved.

Still to this day, it is hard on my grandmother.  She says that I remind her of my father, and usually winds up crying and leaving the room due to this fact.  I take it as a compliment, not the crying, but the resemblance.  My father was a great person, from what I have been told, and very intelligent to boot. He was kind, and compassionate, however, very quite, because he always felt that people talked a lot, yet never had anything real to say.  He was very serious, yet still acted like a kid at heart.  These are all qualities, that if I posses, I am proud to have gotten from him.  

I guess the worst part is knowing what a teenage kid took away from me and my family.  My grandmother will never recover, it has been 24 years, and it still hurts her deeply.  My mother gets teary eyed still when she talks about my father, and well, I myself never knew the man.  I never had a chance to learn from him, or be guided by him.  I guess though, some things are genetic, and I am proud that I have so much of him in me.  Sometimes, when I feel that I am at my worst, I feel an odd comfort, which I like to think is my father, at my side, still trying to guide me through life.