21 June 2009


I MISS SPEAKING TO MY DAD. There were so many times, over a thirty-year period when I would call him just to hear the sound of his voice.

Of course, I never told him that, but it is true.

My dad was a Southern gentleman: raised Baptist; a convert to Catholicism; conservative to the core. He was, without a doubt, the most ethical man I’ve ever known. He would never associate with anyone or anything he deemed ‘shady’ or unethical. And if he caught wind of one of his children doing so, there would be Hell to pay.

As the second last of seven children, my relationship to my dad seemed different. As a writer, I often challenged his notions of how the world worked — and recall some short stories and articles I wrote in high school that must have put Dad in a terrible quandary — and made him uncertain how to react.

To his credit, he never once forbade me from writing about any subject, no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel. He could have done so — and I believe I would have honored his command.

But he did not interfere, sensing that this was who I was born to be: an artist, ‘agitator,’ of sorts, a mirror for society. . .a writer.

In February 2007, I was engulfed by Generation RX. The call came on a Sunday that he was lapsing in and out of consciousness and that it wouldn’t be long before he would die. It took me about 10-12 hours to process that, as I was rather numb upon hearing the news.

During my flight from Cleveland to Boise 36 hours later, however, I had plenty of time to sort through our many years of physical separation and replayed many of the events of my childhood. The nuggets I re-discovered have been applied — successfully or not — to my life as a single Dad.

AT 35,000 FEET, I thought a lot about how affectionate I had been with my father. I sat on his lap and watched TV — far beyond the point of being a young child. By the time I was 13, I think, he FINALLY threw me off his lap. I was already taller than Dad’s 5’9” frame — and I’m pretty sure that I already weighed more than him also.

It took him months to enforce his new law for good, however, and something tells me he realized that I was the end of the line of Miller boys — and that like me, he wanted to relish every moment before I, too, was grown up and gone.

Most of my elder siblings say that my incessant, outward expressions of love for my dad simply “broke him down” over the years, and stripped away any remaining veneer of what were “appropriate” displays of emotions.

I, on the other hand, have always asserted that my poor old Dad was just worn out after five children — and by the time he got to me, his personal “Berlin Wall” had fallen.

The truth probably lies somewhere in between, but one thing seems certain: Dad realized somewhere along the line that no two children are alike — and that there is no “formula” for success.

WHEN I ARRIVED IN BOISE, my Mom led me to their bedroom, and forewarned me that Dad had not opened his eyes for nearly 24 hours. He had suffered another stroke and was unable to speak.

I got down on my knees, at eye-level with my father, who was turned on his side.

“Dad,” I said softly. “It’s Kevin. . .I am here.”

And Dad opened one eye. . .a final ‘miracle,’ of sorts.

Tears filled his one opened eye. Mine too. The Prodigal Son had returned. . . in time to see him off to the next realm.

Over the next 24 hours, I whispered to my Dad and spoke to him for hours, even though he never again opened his eyes. I told him what a good father he was; how proud I was to be his son, and more. I thanked him for allowing me to be the creative spirit I had become — even when it threatened him — and I thanked him for being the best Dad on the planet.

I told him it was okay to let go — his shift was over. . .his time here well-spent — his impact undeniable — his suffering complete.

Within a few hours, he was gone.

There is so much more I’d like to tell you about my Dad: that he played minor league baseball with the Phillies before the war, that he adored my Mom for well over a half-century; that he lived a good and productive life. But those will have to wait for another day.

Because now, I’m going to breakfast with my own sons — to make new memories — ones I pray they recall with fondness at a ripe old age.

Happy Father’s Day.


Anonymous ZenMommy said...

you have me in tears. this is the power of a parent's love. to know and love your child...who they truly are, as your dad knew you. a powerful message about encouraging kids to be who they truly are and follow their bliss...even if and especially when it is differnet than your own.

your dad was/is an inspiring man. i can see the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree.

blessings to you DAD and happy father's day!!!

1:51 PM EDT  
Blogger Dave DiNardo said...

"The Bear" (as we referred to him back on Waterbury Road) was sort of an enigma to us kids growing up. Thanks for sharing these thoughts and Happy Father's Day to you.

9:21 PM EDT  
Anonymous Cathy Miller said...

It's going on 7:30 here on the west coast on this Father's Day. I went to evening Mass and Father Brian in his Irish brogue asked all the Fathers to stand. I ached in my soul that my father was not there to stand. I am the middle child of those seven Miller children and the one fortunate enough to inherit those beautiful blue eyes of Douglas Miller. I hope I inherited his heart as well.

I can see Kevin sitting on my Dad's lap. Here was this "tough kid" jock who put that all aside to sit on his Dad's lap. And I can see Dad's eyes light up each time Kevin sat on his lap, smile that little smile of his. You could see how much it really touched him.

I can't believe it's over two years since Dad passed. I miss him. But isn't it wonderful that despite his conservative ways that each one of his seven kids knew they were loved?

Happy Father's Day, Dad. I will love you always.

And I love you, Kevin. Thank you for helping to remember our special Dad in your special way.

Love, Cathy

10:55 PM EDT  
Blogger perpetuawhimsica said...

Oy the beauty! You're killin' me.

4:57 PM EDT  
Anonymous Roni Lipstein said...

tears, tears, tears......welling within my eyes, my heart, my BEingness......
ahhhhhhh, how the expression of life is so filled with such AMAZing experiences of vast emotion, of LOVE LOVE LOVE....
how BEautiFull to read from YOUr sister, and to KNOW ALL of YOUr siblings felt the LOVE and TRUE BEingness that is the Blessing of YOUr Dad!

It of course, surprises me NOT, to KNOW that ONE as AWEsomely LOVEly as are YOU, Sweet Angel Kevin, has BEen reared in a family and home of such LOVE's Light as to embrace YOUr BEingness through out ALL that is, ever was, or shall BE!

YOUr Father is smiling in warm embrace, KNOWing his children are such that they emanate his BEauty in their every expression of BEingness :O)

Blessedly BE Sweet Angel, thank YOU so very much for sharing this AWEsome Father's Day Honour with ME :O)

Radiate Soul Light/roni

9:15 AM EDT  
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