The nursery rhyme goes, “sugar and spice, and everything nice. That’s what little girls are made of.” This is one of many rhymes and lullabies my daughters heard from me when they were younger. There are still buzz words and phrases they hear from me, that remind them, I have not forgotten their childhood memories they have given me. Of course, that often more likely results in the teenage “eye roll”. I don’t care.
Those days are so long ago now, and Easter dresses and other holiday outfits, are now prom gowns and other formal dance dresses.
But this moment is more than just about inevitability. It is yet another milestone that I have been able to reach in my cancer survivorship, and with all the health issues I have faced because of that survivorship. In the past, many of my caregivers often accused me of understating and undervaluing the events that I have gone through, just because I keep on “keepin’ on.” It is all I know.
The reality is, and words I will never forget hearing from my cardiologist, I was dying back in 2008. It was “not a matter of ‘if’, but ‘when’ from a fatal heart condition.” Not my cancer, but an issue related to the radiation therapy I received for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma back in 1988. That therapy has cause many issues, just to my heart alone.
My daughters now old enough, did not witness my cancer journey, and were just toddlers when I had my life saving open heart surgery (the first of three eventual heart surgeries), so they really do not have many memories of that. As time has gone on, they have seen more of the issues I struggle with, but now they are older and can understand why.
They understand it goes beyond a Dad being all sappy and mushy as I cling to pictures with the Easter Bunny and playground games, and then look at them now, and lose it.
My doctors now know, I do not underestimate or undervalue the medical challenges I have faced. But boy do I celebrate each new milestone and event, I otherwise would never have seen had it not been for the medical experts and the science that found the cures and surgeries to help me heal.
I warned my older daughter that with this being her last semester of high school, these next few months were going to fly by. We are already through two months, and prom season is around the corner. Another milestone by all rights, I know I am more than lucky to be able to see.
Though I see this daughter all of the time, fortunately, the “look” is not something frequently seen. She is normally a very happy young lady, with a smile and a giggle that melts my heart. This particular look has one more level, that of which is referred to as the “stink eye.” For those unprepared, she can make you feel quite uncomfortable. For those who know her well enough like I do, it is all show.
I have been on the receiving end of this look occasionally, I think I can count less than necessary of my ten fingers. But one particular incident took me off guard.
It was a Valentine’s Day and I had just come home from work. I needed to get changed for dinner as we were all going out. My cell phone rang. I was currently in a cycle of receiving phone calls for my first ex-wife (wife in this story is ex-wife #2). They were bill collectors trying to reach her, and by using “guilt by association” data bases (I had not been married to her over a decade by this time), when they cannot get ahold of the person they are trying to reach, they will contact everyone in their data base.
Typically, I ignore these calls. Once you answer them, they will keep calling, even when you explain that you have not seen or talked to them in over ten years. But I was in a good mood. And that meant, I was up for a little fun.
I let the caller go through their talking points, asking for my 1st ex-wife. And then I unloaded on them.
“How many times do I have to tell you, I have not seen her, heard from her, in over 10 years! What else do I have to do to get through to you people, I have no way to reach her?
The caller interrupted, “I am sorry for the inconvenience…”
Then I interrupted him. “You’re sorry! It’s freaking Valentine’s Day. I am planning to take my wife (now ex-wife) out to a romantic dinner, and she hears you asking for my ex wife? You have ruined this day for both of us. I hope you are satisfied.” And then I hung up.
As this call was occurring, I was pacing the floor, so that my voice sounded as if I was excited and upset. I saw my ex standing in front of me, and she had an odd look on her face, which did not appear related to the call. After I disconnected the call, I asked her, “what?” She nodded at me to turn around.
At just about waste height, I had not looked lower from eye level, to not realize my older daughter had been standing there.
My daughter had a stern look on her face, like the picture above, pointed a finger at me, and said, “you had another wife?”
Throughout my parenthood, I had always played out scenarios of situations where my daughters might just ask me questions about my youth, to perhaps help gauge a decision about to be made. It did not matter if it was about dating, smoking pot, underage drinking, or whatever else. They were going to get honesty from me, at an age appropriate level.
But there was one part of my life that I had not given any thought to, because it really had no bearing on my daughters. Their mother and I are the only parents that they know. So I did not feel it was imperative at their young age to know that I had been married previously. Sure, it might come up for discussion perhaps in their adulthood. However, I had no ties to my first ex-wife, especially children.
I stuck my own foot in my mouth though. The topic, it was not a secret, was out. I had a short conversation, lasting five minutes or less, my prior marriage, again, keeping it at age appropriate level. And then, my daughter moved on.
My daughters are still teenagers, one of adult age now, and my resolve is still the same, to be open and transparent with my daughters about my past. Right now, my focus is on school, and after graduation, and making sure my daughters have the right ideals and morals, when it comes to dating. Dating is one concern that I do have as a father, because I remember how I was as a teenager. I am fortunate that my daughters had a great role model as their baby sitter, because they remember her. And when I tell them how focused a student she was, that when she was not at school, she concentrated on her work, which included babysitting, and of course her family. Dating and boyfriends came after those.
I do not talk to my daughters about my divorce from their mother, except when something is mis-stated and needs to be corrected. I also do not want them to think I am sour against marriage though I have no interest in that again. As they approach their adulthood, I just feel it is important to be one of the two most important people in their lives to set an example for them, and to support and encourage them.
My health has been challenging since my late effects from my cancer treatments caught up with me. I had no guarantee that I would be here to see this day, yet, here I am. That means I am going to have more conversations with them, including about my past. Hopefully, and there is no rush, this will include parental advice.
I wrote recently about how this time of year, “Super Bowl Sunday” has special meaning to me. It would mean more to me this year if my Seattle Seahawks were playing, but, oh well. They are not.
As for the game itself, unless your team was playing in the Super Bowl, you do not remember who wins or loses most likely. And I am sure that will be the case today. Even the much anticipated television commercials fade away into memory soon after the final tick of the game clock. The half-time show will create debate, just as every year on who should have played instead, or how underestimated the show was going to be.
Like I mentioned previously. I was flying to China while the Super Bowl was being played. No, I cannot forget because my team was playing, the Seattle Seahawks versus the Pittsburgh Steelers. Of course I want to clarify it was more of the Seahawks versus superstar running back Jerome Bettis (who was playing in his final game) and the referees (more on that in just a moment).
Just as the picture shows, I put my older daughter in one of her several Seahawk outfits, this one a cheerleader. I had my jersey and a hat on. The Seahawks were represented. The rest of the flight over to China, a sea of black and yellow, Steelers colors. I had already checked with the airlines in advance, they would not be carrying the game on their television signal. We would all get off the plane, not knowing who won the Super Bowl.
The plane landed, pulled up to the gate. The jet way was attached to the plane, and the door was opened for us to exit. As my daughter and I exited the plane, the pilot said to me, “sorry about your Seahawks. Maybe next year.” I was stunned. How would the pilot know what was going on? He should have been occupied with something more important. Still, focused on my newest family member about to be placed in my arms, I was a bit distracted, as I now heard the chatter in the sea of black and yellow, how “great” it was for Jerome Bettis to finally win a Super Bowl.
My Seahawks had lost. Oh well. I had bigger and more important things to deal with at the moment, so, maybe it was a good thing they lost. I did not miss anything.
After I checked into the hotel, it was time to make a very brief phone call back to the United States to let our families know that we had landed. I do not remember the rates for calling internationally. Before leaving, just as I did before, I bought a calling card to use. I believe the rate may have been something close to $5 per minute. The calls home would be a simple and rapid “welandedinHongKongallisgoodwegetomeetemmaliesoon.” I learned that from a famous Geico commercial and making collect calls (kids, that’s when we had to call from a payphone, and did not have money, and the person getting the call had to accept that they would pay for it instead. What’s a payphone you ask? Aw forget it.)
The first two calls went exactly to plan. But when it came to calling my Dad, it was a different story.
Me: He Dad. We’re in Hong Kong. We fly early in the morning and meet Emmalie soon after we land in the provincial capital city.
Dad: Good. I’m glad. You know, your Seahawks, in particular that guy, Stephens, he kept dropping balls. They really played bad. Be glad you didn’t get to see the game.
Honestly, my father confused me with what he was saying. You see, I can make the joke, I would not even know if my Dad knew what color or shape a football was, let alone, explain strategies and statistics. Yet, he was doing it. Far from the sport he really enjoyed, NASCAR, my Dad began to rattle off plays and stats like he was an announcer. Then it hit me. He was repeating the announcers. But, I give my Dad credit. He had my back when it came to watching possibly his only Super Bowl, because I could not.
What actually happened with the game, has never mattered to me, though I do acknowledge, I do remember who the Seahawks lost to, the Steelers, and yes, the referees did blow some calls which did turn momentum of the game.
But forever, I will have this Super Cool memory of my Father, who I miss so much, almost eight years later. I wish I could see his expression at how his granddaughters have grown and who they are becoming. I know he would be just as proud as I am of them.
I would get to see the Seahawks in another Super Bowl, versus Peyton Manning and the Denver Broncos, and won their first Super Bowl. See how easy it is to remember? Sadly, and frustratingly, though the Seahawks would return to the Super Bowl the next year, their hopes of repeat, were given away to the stinkin’ Patriots on a questionable play call.
But the most memorable Super Bowl moment that I will always have, was that phone call with my Dad.
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Internet support from peers, caregivers, survivors, and professionals in several hundred types of cancers and related issues
Paul's Heart 