For Better or For Worse

My parents eloped almost thirty years ago. They said their I Do's in a small, private ceremony with a Justice of the Peace, escaping the disapproval of family and friends that didn't support their interracial union. Although they separated some fifteen years later, I may have learned more about the true meaning of those sacred vows in their divorce than I can take from any number of happy marriages around me.

Though I haven't mentioned her much in this blog about my dad's visits, my mom is the invisible force that makes all of his travel possible. She goes about the business of purchasing his tickets, prepping his pills and suitcase, and even goes as far as taking him to the airport. I'd gamble to say most women don't put themselves out this much, if at all, for their former husbands.

My parents didn't have a messy divorce. There were no custody disputes or alimony arguments; we didn't even have to juggle visitation schedules since dad didn't move out. My mom sacrificed a lot to keep our family under one roof, and dad lived in the spare bedroom of our rented home. Just as in marriage, my parents may not have always gotten along in divorce; there was, however, always a shared thread of loving respect between them.

Irrespective of that fact, it was a scary time for my adolescent self; it was hard to wrap my brain around the "D" word and what that would really mean for all of us. I remember thinking, "Why did they even get married!?" and being angry with them for breaking that promise to be together forever. Even in my youth it was clear to me that my parents were opposites, shouldn't they have known it wouldn't last? Does real love even exist?

My mom's commitment to my father in sickness teaches me repeatedly, though, that the simple truth of the matter is that true love does exist; it often means more hard work and sacrifice than most people are willing to realize. It transcends romantic love, and even divorce. You can't just take someone out of your heart once you've given it to them. This fact reminds me to be cautious and to give my heart to friends and partners with care, because like my mother- when I love, it is forever. It's not a love that scares me, but it's a love that people should be worthy of. Giving all that you can is not only rewarding, it can be exhausting.

Dad says every day that I'm just like my mother; I know that the subtext of this statement is that I'm a pain in his ass (it often comes when I try to stop him from doing something I feel is bad for his health). My mom loves fiercely and unconditionally. This isn't a blind love; sometimes the people that mean the most to us will let us down or will need to hear some hard truths. But we keep them in our hearts nonetheless. If I'm capable of giving love like my mother, then growing up to be more and more like her is fine by me! I can only hope that at my wedding ceremony, when I say "... for better or for worse" I'll live up to that part of the bargain as well as she has.

Thank you, mom!

Wordless Wednesday: A Warm Up

Donald's recent illness left me wordless. Not speechless, mind you. I've had plenty of talks with friends, family and my oh so patient therapist; but, I've been unable to write. So, trying out this Wordless Wednesday business seems a poignant way to ease back into writing/blogging about my dad and his winter in RI.

Donald Does RI: Winter Addition

As 2010 comes to a close, Donald has made an unprecedented second visit to Rhode Island. In October, he suffered some major health complications that had us questioning whether he'd even see another Halloween. He's made a slow and steady recovery over the last month and a half, while focused on the one goal of cooking Christmas dinner for his girls. Though we offered to fly to Bermuda, hoping to save his body the stress of travel to the frigid cold of New England in the winter, he insisted on making the trek to us.

Much has changed in the last six months, perhaps not least of which includes my moving out of the house on Vineland Avenue. Donald is having to make himself at home in my cozy one bedroom apartment in Riverside. I do fear that he'll find the solitude of this little life I'm building dull compared to the buzz of my old home. But, two days into his visit we're settling into a happy new routine. I must admit that the looming prospect of sleeping on my couch for three weeks makes me miss Vineland's guest room!

The faint sound of Donald's snoring is drifting down the hallway as snow gathers on the windowsill. Sipping on a glass of eggnog and enjoying the soft glow of white twinkle lights on the Christmas tree, I'm feeling truly blessed this holiday season.

One Week To Go

Dad's month-long stay always seems like this massive amount of time looming in the distance when we're preparing for his arrival. We've all lived on our own for so long that a month with a parent in the house now seems an alien concept. The time always passes much faster than we anticipate, though, and we're now entering dad's last week here.

Tonight he made a large dinner, but retired to his room with a plate of pasta and garlic bread. He can't miss his favorite show while he's here, "'cause it comes on for a full hour- [he doesn't] get that at home!" We listened to him roar with laughter from behind his closed door as he watched "Two and a Half Men" from 7:00- 8:00 pm.

When he eventually emerged from his room, he was pleased to see that the dishes were done and hobbled into the living room to check on the score of the Celtics game. Watching sports reminded him that he hadn't yet placed his bets on this week's golf tournaments and he told me to fetch the laptop and look up who would be playing. Unfortunately for dad, I was in no mood to search the Internet for golf odds and player line ups. I'd been frantically searching through boxes of remnants from my upended apartment looking for my missing USB drives.

Dad doesn't quite understand how the Internet works- he thinks that you can type in "PGA" and find exactly what he wants instantly. Also, his eyesight is poor so as he strains his eyes trying to see what I'm looking at he asks for constant updates on what I've found. Today was my first day back in the office after an extended weekend, so I was already a little moody, and this mood just grew worse as I tried to find what he was looking for.

"See! You got what I wanted and it wasn't that hard," he said after we bounced around between golf websites for half an hour and as I continued to search every drawer for my missing drive.

As he was going to bed I was going through boxes in his room, testing every random drive hoping to find the files I am missing. As I left his room, frustrated beyond belief and heading out for my fifth cigarette on the porch, he said softly, "I really hope you find it, baby doll," and my mood momentarily softened as I kissed him on the forehead before closing the door.

"Ain't that somethin'?"

Dinner with Tracy is something my dad likes to fit in at least once during his visits. She nannied for my sister and I while we were young, and catching up with her always provides dad with yet another chance for deep belly laughter and reminiscing. He spends the evening re-telling stories of the old days, and we all hang on every word.

On Tuesday night Tracy and Steve had Danielle, dad and I over for a ham dinner, and we spent hours chatting around the dining room table. We feasted on each others' stories and positive energies as we enjoyed second and third helpings of a delicious meal (there's no dieting with Donald in town). Somehow sexuality made its way into the conversation. From his prominent seat at the head of the table Donald said, "Well my grandfather always told me you can never have any love for a woman that loves other women." After a few uncomfortable moments of silence and awkward glances across the table, dad continued, "But my daughter showed me different, 'cuz I have to love her... Ain't that somethin'?"

It really was "somethin'" to hear my dad declare a reserved acceptance of homosexuality. (Short lived though it was, since he told me this afternoon that I need to "find [myself] a man and straighten up.") I can't count the number of disparaging remarks I grew up hearing my dad spew about "faggots", "sissies" and "dykes". I have guardedly accepted his homophobia as something so deeply ingrained in his 70-year-old island consciousness that, at this point, it is too late to expect much to change.

I've come out at least a dozen times to my dad over the last five years. Three years ago, Donald was at the first "Swizzle In, Swagger Out" birthday party at Vineland. He enjoyed the afternoon of BBQ and dominoes without reserve. As Luke and I took him home in the early evening, dad decided he was going to ask "that lady" to go to the movies with him.

"Which lady?!" I asked, leaning into the front seats of the car.

"The older one," he declared.

"Oh! Well, dad, she has a girlfriend. Actually, she's dating my ex-girlfriend," Luke turned his i-Pod mix down. "Most of those women there today were lesbians."

"Oh, Lord! What's wrong with you girls? You need Jesus, we're going to church in the mornin'," Donald cried out from the front seat. And that was that. I joined him at church, hungover, that Sunday.

He's been staying at Heather and Tawn's house for the last two visits. I've often wondered if he realizes he's living with two happily coupled women- they share one room and one bed. As Ashley pointed out during one of our porch sessions this week, "Donald is sharp... He knows." How hard is that for him to conceive of? Over a half century of blaming the gays for the world's ills must be chipping away as his love for these beautiful women continues to grow. Does he consider himself lucky, as I think he should, for witnessing a love he has always considered not only foreign, but morally wrong? Is he proud of us?

The gift of unconditional understanding is a hard promise to make a day out, but I was enveloped in warmth by my dad's momentary acceptance on Tuesday evening whilst dining with old friends. Parents want the easiest and best possible life for their children. My parents are still coming to terms with the fact that for me, that best possible life involves finding the woman with whom I want to build a future with. That’s my path to happiness. I guess I'll take fleeting parental acceptance where I can.

Bermuda Shorts #2

Dad and I went shopping today. He's been to the grocery store almost every day since he arrived- we can only think of one day that no one was able to take him. Low American prices and motorized shopping carts make the normally banal chore a daily adventure for Donald. I have a few days off from work to compensate for last weekend's killer hours, and when I finally rolled out of bed this morning and asked him what he wanted to do today he said, "Let's go to Shaws, I gotta get stuff for the party!"

This weekend I'll be celebrating my birthday with a small party at the house. The original plan was to have a cookout and drinks on the porch, but the forecast calls for showers so we might be forced to move the festivities inside. This will be my third annual birthday bash at Vineland, and the crowning feature each year is Donald's rum swizzle. It's a delicious, and deceivingly lethal, combination of juices, Gosling's dark rum, Meyers light rum and apricot brandy. In his thirties Donald was a chef and a self proclaimed professional partier (half his stories end with, "I used to love a drink!"), so he's all kinds of excited to entertain people at the house on Saturday; he doesn't talk about much else, and at random times throughout our day of shopping he'd yell out, "They're gonna LOVE my swizzle!"

We've now been to three liquor stores and made two special trips to the grocery market picking up his desired ingredients... Swizzle in, swagger out!

It Takes a Vineland Village

I've had little reason to blog over the last few days because, frankly, I've spent very little time with my dad. Before Donald decided to visit, I warned him that I had a large conference to work during his proposed stay. "Don't worry 'bout me," came his booming response over the phone. In truth, I wasn't worried about him so much as my roommates and the friends that he'd be troubling for daily rides to Stop and Shop (he's somewhat obsessed with grocery shopping); Donald doesn't drive and hates to be housebound for too long, so if I'm not around that means it falls to someone else to keep him entertained.

In the nights leading up to Friday's plenary session I spent a lot of time (and Institute money) preparing for the worst case conference scenario. My evenings were consumed with running errands between the occasional dinner at home. On top of a 45 hour Monday to Friday work week, I spent an additional 35 hours this past weekend running around with a walkie talkie between buildings on campus trying to ensure that sessions were executed flawlessly: "Come in Fine Whine, what's the status of the A/V in Wilson?" Dad could have endured a terribly boring week, but my sister, roommates and friends were fantastic. "What's she named? The little one? She took me church!" Heather earned extra brownie points with Donald for that one, especially considering I got him to church as the final hymn was being sung the week before. Everyone stepped in and picked up the slack.

Sounds like they had some fun with him, too. Tawn halfheartedly complained that Donald got her wasted by making them add more rum to the piña colada mix on Saturday afternoon as they enjoyed cocktails on the sun-soaked porch. They did some party planning for my upcoming birthday celebrations- rum swizzles will be served by the gallon. And, of course, they went grocery shopping. Besides sneaking in one or two quick phone calls, my contact with dad consisted of brief, sleepy conversations when I'd wake him up before leaving for work and when I got home. When the conference ended tonight, I was pleased to get home to sit around the porch table and ease into lazy conversation with four smiling faces as they talked about their weekend.

Thank you to those that kept Donald smiling over the last week; and please forgive the tired ramblings above. I'm still trying to catch up on some sleep.