Poppy

I was talking the other day about how much my blog has suffered with my new job. No longer having nine hours a day at work to spend on the computer and my evenings spent working, I don’t have the time to write much anymore, let alone read blogs. When I have posted, I no longer write, but merely post pictures… but it’s what I can do as of late.

This weekend was a typical Father’s Day, working in a restaurant, weekend. My time scheduled in for work on Sunday changed four times in a twenty-four hour period. This created problems as I also wanted to have the opportunity to celebrate the day with Poppy (my dad).

Originally, I was scheduled to come in at noon. It was planned that I would have Father’s Day breakfast with my step-dad and all of his kids and my sisters at 8am, go to work at noon, and then have a barbeque with my father for dinner.

I was then told that I was going to have to work a double, so I called my father and told him I would be getting off work later that evening, but would probably still be able to come over around eight or nine Sunday night. Then my manager told me Saturday night around ten o’clock that my time in was changed to five the following evening. This ruined my plans with my dad.

As people started arriving for brunch Sunday morning, my youngest sister had the audacity to have my father drop her off* for my stepfather’s breakfast, which was being held at my mother’s house. I went outside to say hello to him. He had brought my dog, Parker. I played with Parker and chatted with my dad for about fifteen minutes.

We planned for lunch later this week due to my shitty work schedule and I headed inside. As I was walking in, my father said that he had seen signs for Father’s Day brunches around and thought he would take himself out to breakfast.

Father’s Day morning and Poppy was going to have to resort to spending the morning by himself, while his children celebrated with his ex-wife’s new husband. He would sit alone in the corner of some restaurant while children adorned their father with the love deserved of a hard job, well done. I went into the house, lost trying to hold back the waterworks, and burst into tears.

I immediately called my father to see if he would go to breakfast with me. He didn’t answer. As always I delved into hyperbole. Roaming through my mind were pictures of my father crying as he drove away from my mom’s house, unable and unwilling to answer the phone so I wouldn’t know how upset he was.

Instead, apparently he had left his mobile at home and had stopped off at the store on the way there. So no tears were being shed, but instead dog biscuits were being purchased. Upon getting home he returned my numerous calls and we were able to go have breakfast together. It was wonderful to be able to spend time with him in on Father’s Day. It was the most I have seen him since I have returned home, and the longest conversation I have had with him in years.

While sitting there listening to my father discuss work and different things going on in his life, I looked at him for the first time as an aging man, not my dad. I was so incredibly glad to have these moments to spend with him. I pray I never take time with my Poppy for granted again. Sitting here today, I am sure had I not gone to breakfast it would have been one of the biggest regrets of my life.

I don’t know how long I plan on staying in Portland, but I do know that I will try and savor the time I have here with my family as much as I can.


* My youngest sister is a long story… perhaps I shall share the drama some day.