Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Independence Day

My father has been dead for 27 years. Twenty-seven years. Dang near half my life. And it only took one song by Bruce Springsteen to remind me of what we were to each other when he was living.

The Boss wrote, "Well Papa go to bed now it's getting late
Nothing we can say is gonna change anything now
I'll be leaving in the morning from St. Mary's Gate
We wouldn't change this thing even if we could somehow
'Cause the darkness of this house has got the best of us
There's a darkness in this town that's got us too
But they can't touch me now
And you can't touch me now
They ain't gonna do to me
What I watched them do to you."


Conversation afterwards with Springsteen said this song came from one late night conversation with his father, who didn't approve of his choice of profession.

My father was an iron worker, hot and heavy work that I could not have done. He quit school in the eighth grade. He was a hard man, big, tough, a drinker who changed when he drank. The toughest kind.

Dinner table discussions were the worst. He and I never agreed -- on anything, I reckon. We couldn't get to that point where we could even consider finding a way of compromising. On anything, I reckon.

I was pondering all this a couple days back, it being Father's Day and all, and what I remembered the most was the evening at a baseball game where I was catching and he was sitting in the stands right behind home plate. And talking. And talking. And talking. At me.

Eventually, which didn't take all that time, I had had enough. I turned around and offered him my mitt and said, "If you can do better, come on and take it. Otherwise, shut up."

I was 15.

Once, he threatened to kill me. I broke two of his ribs. Once, he swung at me, and I ducked. He broke his hand on a wooden wall. We were salt and pepper. We were day and night. We were what we were.

Still, I can't believe he's been gone 27 years this past April. I wonder what life would have been like if he had lived longer, mellowed more, learned to let his grandchildren love on him, and maybe, just maybe learned to talk with me.

"Now I don't know what it always was with us
We chose the words, and yeah, we drew the lines
There was just no way this house could hold the two of us
I guess that we were just too much of the same kind
Well say goodbye it's Independence Day
It's Independence Day all boys must run away
So say goodbye it's Independence Day
All men must make their way come Independence Day"



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