Father's Day Archives - Page 3 of 3

Father’s Day: faith

I’m not trying to raise a Mini-Me, but a thinking, separate person. And, increasingly, she is.

One of the things I worried about when Lydia was born was whether I would be there when she grew up. After all, I was 51 when she was born, so I’ll be 70 when she’s 19.

What I had not seriously considered, beyond the normal concerns, is what if something happened to her. Her still mysterious illness in late February and much of March made me concerned because, as the doctors eliminated what it was NOT, I still did not know what it WAS.

It wasn’t until mid-May, though, that The Wife and I had a conversation with her about what she felt, I mean beyond the pain. She said that she figured that she’d eventually be OK because God had more plans for her.

This is interesting to me on a few levels. Certainly, we are raising her in the Christian tradition, but this specific narrative did not come from her mother or from me. I have been much more focused on the collective tradition of a Jesus for justice, and less on a God of healing, for while I have seen physical recoveries, I’ve also seen prayers answered in a way that was not what the people wanted.

100_0019 — **Lydia and Roger, Niagara Falls, NY, 2011**

This gets into the broader issues of parenting, teaching her stuff without saying, “Think as I think.” I work hard trying not to poison her with my… misgivings about United States’ oligarchies and residual racism and gun culture while letting her know, when appropriate, that it’s out there. I’m not trying to raise a Mini-Me, but a thinking, separate person. And, increasingly, she is.

She loves the overt signs of patriotism, flag-waving, and the like, while I’m less comfortable with it. But I can help her with the lyrics of The Star-Spangled Banner without sharing with her that fourth verse, which I know by heart and which REALLY makes me irritated.

I guess I’m doing OK as a dad.

Oh, and a variation on the usual: I wish my daughter had gotten a chance to know MY father. I have the sense that, had he been well enough, he would have visited often, as he had his other granddaughters.

Different M.O. for my father and me

I don’t think it was until I was an adult, that I realized, or that HE realized, or that he was willing to share the fact that he was proud of me for whatever intellectual prowess I had.

Another pair of pictures sent by my sister Marcia this year!

Les.Roger.backporch — Les and Roger Green, 1953

When I was born, we lived on 5 Gaines Street in Binghamton, NY, on the second floor, a property owned by my maternal grandmother. These pictures were taken on the back porch. At some point in the next year, my parents and I moved downstairs, perhaps when my mom was pregnant with my sister Leslie, or at the latest, just after she was born.

My paternal grandparents then moved upstairs. The second-floor had only one bedroom, while downstairs had two.

I’m struck by how relaxed my dad was in these pictures, just sitting on the porch with his eldest child, who was me. I certainly knew my father to be able to relax, and I knew him to spend time with me. We did have the music connection, which WAS huge; however, outside of singing, usually with sister Leslie, the hanging out with me, and the relaxing, tended not to coexist, at least in my childhood.

He was very clever with his hands, doing floral arrangements, painting (both artistic and signage), and the like. I was not so adept, and I often felt he was frustrated and even disappointed with me.

I don’t think it was until I was an adult, and he, my mother, and my sister Marcia were living in Charlotte, NC, that I realized, or that HE realized, or that he was willing to share the fact that he was proud of me for whatever intellectual prowess I had.

I was almost in shock when he mentioned that he always told his coworkers how great it was that, when I didn’t know something, I would look it up in the dictionary or encyclopedia or World Almanac; this was before Google. (He talked about me to his co-workers? Knock me over with a feather!) I never knew until my 30s that the skills I possessed he thought were useful, even though it wasn’t his mode of operation.

Les.Roger.backporch2 — **Les and Roger Green, 1953**

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Happy Father’s Day to all you dads, especially my father-in-law. Special shout out to my online buddies Greg and Scott, who’ve been great dads despite the travails.

The Unresolved Father Lineage Stuff

What I REALLY want to know is who was my father’s biological father.

The item I wanted to check the most is where my father lived, and just as important, how he is listed. This is the listing for my paternal grandmother’s household in the 1930 Census:

Samuel E Walker, 56, janitor in a public building (my great grandfather, who I remember from my childhood)
Eugene M Walker, 52 [Mary Eugean Patterson Walker, from other sources] – deceased by the time I was born
Agatha H Walker, 27, housekeeper, private family (my grandmother, who died in the mid 1960s)
Earl S Walker, 25, caterer, hotels
Stanley E Walker, 20
Vera C Walker, 17
Melissa C Walker, 15
Jessie G Walker, 13
Morris S Walker, 11
Wesley H Walker, 3 [3 6/12]

Samuel is listed as head of household, Eugene as his wife. Everyone else is listed as his sons or daughters. The oddity is the Wesley Walker record. From the time frame, that is clearly my father, Agatha’s son, but I knew him as Leslie H Green. This begs the obvious questions.

I’m looking to see when the guy I knew as my grandfather, McKinley Green, entered the picture. From the 1938 Binghamton city directory, I can tell my grandmother’s last name was Green, but she appeared to be living at 339 Court Street, whereas McKinley was at 135 Susquehanna Street. The 1940 Census continues to show the Walker clan together, but my grandmother as Agatha Greene (enumerator error) and my father as Leslie Greene. McKinley lived in a boarding house.

What I REALLY want to know is who was my father’s biological father. Rumor had it that my grandmother got pregnant by some minister. Of course, I never asked my father about this. Whatever info I got was from my mother, who got the info secondhand, and from his cousins, all of whom were younger than my father, and thus not present either.

My sisters have mused that, in retrospect, we should have brought this up to my father, but that wasn’t going to happen. NONE of the info I know, or think I know, originated from him, so it would have been mighty difficult to casually slide it into the conversation.

In the picture is my father (center) with his mother, Agatha (right). I have no idea who the others are, though the boy sure looks like a Walker.

Drug Money

It becomes clear to my sister and me that since my mother had the check in hand, and that who knows how long it would take A-Z to reissue a check – and they don’t relish the expense of doing this again…

The good news is that a check came to my parents’ house in North Carolina this week. It was a substantial amount, in the low four figures, in response to some class-action lawsuit settlement; not positive which drug was involved. The company issuing the check is a pharmaceutical company who I won’t name; we’ll just call it A-Z.

The slightly not-so-good news is that the check is made out to Leslie H. Green, my father, who is deceased, has been deceased for nearly ten years. This is quite annoying since my mother filled out paperwork back in April informing A-Z of this fact. At least the check came to my father c/o my mother, but it doesn’t make it any easier to cash.

At my sister’s request, I contacted A-Z. After going through a myriad of telephone menus, I reached a real person, who transferred me to another real person, who expressed her condolences at my father’s passing. “How long ago did he die?” “Ten years.”

I was then transferred to the nurse. This was not for MY benefit, but rather CYA for A-Z since the deceased (i.e., my father) died around the time he was taking their medication. The nurse wants to know when he died – “August 10, 2000” – and from what “prostate cancer”. After she was done, she too expressed her condolences at my father’s passing.

Then she transferred me to someone who was going to transfer me to the person who could address my question. She expressed her condolences at my father’s passing.

I was told I would be on hold for three minutes, then someone would pick up and help me. Instead, I was on hold for two minutes, then I was disconnected.

OK, so I call A-Z back. After eventually getting a real person again, I conveyed to her why I had called, and also that I had already spoken to the nurse. I was transferred to someone who was going to transfer me to someone else when I indicated that was the point I had gotten disconnected the LAST time I called. She stayed on the line the full three minutes (or more – I didn’t time it) that I was waiting, then made the transfer, after expressing her condolences at my father’s passing.

I explain the situation to this guy. He says my mom should deposit the check. I say my mom no longer has an account in my father’s name, so she cannot deposit the check. He said that she could mail back the check, but that she would need to write VOID on it, write a letter explaining the situation, provide his death certificate, provide proof that she is his primary heir, etc.

As I explained this to my sister, it becomes clear to us that since my mother had the check in hand, and that who knows how long it would take A-Z to reissue a check – and they don’t relish the expense of doing this again – they should try to deposit it. If that didn’t work, they (my mother and sister) would set up an estate account for my father and deposit the check; this might require setting up a DBA of some sort, but it would be worth it.

So I spent a half-hour during the week leading up to Father’s Day being reminded that this is the 10th Father’s Day I’ve spent without my father. I knew that already, of course, but I did want to thank A-Z, who COULD have, I’m thinking, written the check to my MOTHER, and keep me from all this rigamarole. Just saying.
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I state this every year, but it is no less true for that: I wish my father had had the opportunity to meet my daughter.