Sinatra Sings, Celebrating Dad & Doo-Bee-Doo-Bee-Doo  

“Weather wise, it’s such a lovely day
Just say the words and we’ll beat the birds down to Acapulco Bay
It’s perfect for a flying honeymoon, they say
Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away”

This was the soundtrack of his life. My dad reveled in listening to the Great American Songbook, in particular Frank Sinatra. Ol’ blue eyes would blare throughout the house growing up, and it soothed the soul.

“Like painted kites
Those days and nights they went flyin’ by
The world was new beneath a blue umbrella sky
Then softer than a piper man
One day it called to you
I lost you, I lost you to the summer wind”

This will be my first father’s day without one. Sounds odd, right, without one. Yet in fact, that is accurate. My pop is gone. He faded away on a warm afternoon last July.

I want to speak with him and catch up on what he is missing – so much has been happening these last 11 months. I need to fill him in because that is what we always did. We conversed, much of the time regarding the familiar. No one could take the ordinary and bring it to life with nostalgia and absurdity the way he could.

“For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught
To say the things he truly feels”

He was an impressive storyteller who could captivate his audience with wisdom. He possessed an eccentric charm that interested even those with different dispositions and principles. An unpretentious and nonconformist attitude was coupled with an almost beautiful minimalism concerning some of the most significant aspects of life. While this naivety fascinated me, it did not translate well to modern technology, and automation was not something he grasped or ever embraced. Longing for what he proudly proclaimed was the last illustrious generation to leave a path of glory, aged him. Celebrating the pageantry of his youth was his favorite pastime.

“Life is a beautiful thing, as long as I hold the string
I’d be a silly so and so, if I should ever let it go
I’ve got the world on a string, sittin’ on a rainbow
Got the string around my finger”

Poppi – as he was affectionately known by his grandchildren, and as time passed by everyone – more precisely held things by a frayed thread. While his historical knowledge was remarkable, as well as his incomparable comprehension of the Xs & Os of football, the man was the personification of insecurity much of the time. Unlike Sinatra’s cheerful interpretation of this song and most of his upbeat efforts, finding his groove was always arduous for Poppi. He was someone who despite his obvious intelligence and uncompromising assertions, was uneasy in his own skin. However …

“Doo-bee-doo-bee-doo
Doo-doo-dee-dah
Dah-dah-dah-dah-dah, ya-ya-ya”

… savoring the humor of life was a Poppi staple. He employed wit well. And the most pleasing part of his hilarity was when funniness ensued even when he did not realize, or care, it was transpiring. It illustrated one of the imperative traits a human should retain in their bag of tricks – the ability to laugh at oneself.

Quick dad anecdote which will highlight his confounding frivolity. A friend of mine ran into him while he was walking his dog – he adored his English Springer Spaniels and befriended three of them during his lifetime – on a swelteringly, sizzling summer Saturday.

**Sidebar if I may for a moment: my father abhorred the heat and often acted like it was a government conspiracy against him specifically when the weather forecast would predict five straight days of 90-plus degrees.

Ok back to the yarn about pops and his bag of “radioactive” dog poop. So, my buddy tells me he saw my dad and went over to say hey, receive general updates, etc. etc. etc. As pleasantries were exchanged, he tells me my dad proceeded to swing his arm up to wipe his profusely perspiring brow, when suddenly there appeared a clear bag, not the customary dark bags used to retrieve your dog’s droppings from the earth, but instead a plastic vessel normally reserved for placing produce in. The bag apparently was quite girthy and its contents neon in hue, and Poppi was in no way affected by the presence of the thing he carried. It was not important. The quick conversation and how-do-you-do interaction was far more meaningful.

Recounting this tale still brings delight, not for the shock value of its content. It generates joy because of the intoxicating uniqueness this man supplied. My father was extremely complex in his simplicity. His lack of worry at times was beyond frustrating but also immensely inspiring. He truly believed sometimes a doo-bee-doo-bee-doo at the end of ‘Strangers in the Night,’ was all that was needed to smile.

“That’s life (that’s life)
That’s life and I can’t deny it
Many times I thought of cutting out, but my heart won’t buy it
But if there’s nothing shaking, come this here July
I’m gonna roll myself up
In a big ball and die”

When we are on this side of death we emphasize the nonappearance of the ones we have loved once they have departed, yet everyday physical nonexistence is not absence. This can only occur when we wipe away the tears of loss before they fall; when we stop sharing ridiculously silly moments; when we cease to talk about the wonderment of crazy, lazy, hazy days spent barbecuing and laughing with family; and that which defined their life more than any shortcomings.

My concluding completely cognizant reminiscence was father’s day weekend, last June. Dad was in his home, in hospice. I sat with him for a definitive period. I placed my phone next to his shoulders, (they were still broad and still proud despite his state). Sinatra crooned out of some hidden sound source these smart devices supply. All the best selections were chosen. In hindsight, it was a fitting final recall of our relationship, and I am infinitely grateful for it.

Not long after the memorial service someone asked did you have resolution when it came to Poppi; I’m not even sure how I responded. Instead, I thought of one of his favorite songs and lyrics …

“And there used to be a ballpark
Where the field was warm and green.
And the people played their crazy game
With a joy I’d never seen.
And the air was such a wonder
From the hot-dogs and the beer.
Yes, there used to be a ballpark right here.”

… and I knew the only closure I ever needed was his hand around mine.

DID YOU KNOW? Our podcast was live 6.11, and in case you missed it, (https://dreamvisions7radio.com/surviving-the-human-experience/), it will be available permanently to hear and even download this Saturday. We will provide a link in next week’s newsletter!