Just A Thought As Father's Day Approaches
Saturday, June 1, 2024 at 12:05PM Today's post is from our friend HIM.
Like anyone else, I read other sites. But I don’t post on them. Thing is, most of them are filled with junk: robo-replies, negative nellies, knuckle-dragging miscreants, etc. But I do read them.
Metal Sludge is a legend of the online world. Stevie Rachelle cut his teeth on the almost-made-it Tuff and then went on to launch the site. I often find his site to be funny. I occasionally find it to be a bit twee. But it is his site. He is living his life. And he shares it as he sees it, warts and all.
His recent post, much like his lengthy (though sporadic) discussions of Tuff’s not quite rise and not quite fall, caught my attention. And, to be honest, it hit like a punch. He does that occasionally. Closing in on Father’s Day, he wrote something so obviously honest that it would be odd if it didn’t have an impact on you.
Stevie likes to poke at people. He likes to take digs at those who don’t like being reminded they are human. Occasionally, he crosses a line or two. But this post reminds me that, like BBG!, there are sites out there that occasionally speak to everyone.
I never experienced Rachelle’s loss. But I did lose my dad during the pandemic, after a slow slide into dementia, where he eventually forgot how to eat. Imagine that? You forget how to do one of the most basic things in the world?!?! I arrived home the day after he passed. But I had seen him pre-pandemic. And, on that visit, he acknowledged my presence by saying (after I had gone out of the veteran’s home to have a smoke), “that guy is back.” I took that as my goodbye. And it was.
On my pandemic visit, we went to pick up his remains (things move quickly in a small town). The heft of the box we got with his ashes in it amazed me. But then I thought: this is dad. This is what remains. And now his remains are secure in a vessel in my Mom’s room, underneath a tree on their property, and also wherever the tides take him after we placed some of his ashes in the ebbs and flows of the Tiber in Rome last summer.
My dad was far from perfect, like Rachelle’s. But he raised me. He provided me with some lessons I will never, ever, forget. I will miss him until I die. And I think we owe all of our imperfect parents a debt of thanks.
Stevie, I was luckier than you. But I hear you all the same. Thanks for sharing.
Tuff