That Time

That time I landed flat on my face in the parking lot splitting my chin open scaring you something fierce.

That time I thought it was a good idea to hang a picture in my room but ended up putting a hole in the wall and then decided it was an even better idea to just start again and “hang the picture over the hole and he’ll never know.” And it worked, right up until the day I moved out.

That time I had just “learned” how to drive a stick shift and brought my Subaru over to clean it, but forgot it was in first when I went to roll the windows up and didn’t have the clutch pushed in causing it to jump forward right through your garage door.

That time I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do after high school and mentioned the military to you and you shot it down almost as fast as it came out of my mouth but followed it up with “How about being a Secretary? You’ll always have work and you can take your time and figure out what you want to do as you make a living.”

That time I was in business school and decided to skip class and come home early only to see you walk in the door 10 minutes behind me because you had gotten word your Dad had just had a massive heart attack and didn’t make it. How I didn’t know what to say, how we cried together and you were actually glad I ended up being home that day and I was too.

That time I called you looking for guidance because I thought I had to break up with him. How I loved him deeply, but was worried drinking, staying out all night, and friends would continue to always come first wondering what kind of life that would be for me? For us? Did I want that kind of life? That I was afraid he was going to die from it and I was also afraid I wasn’t strong enough to handle a loss like that. How I wanted him to change but knew he couldn’t because he wasn’t. How the words you spoke to me that day I carried everyday since, “This is how you learn courage. Just have courage is all I can tell you.” And then that godawful day less then four months later you called and bravely choked out probably the hardest words you’ve ever spoken to me “Connie, Michael was killed in a car accident last night. I’m so sorry.” How when I saw you at his wake, the hug I can still feel to this day, and how we cried as you whispered “I’m so so sorry, I’m so sorry but I’m so grateful you weren’t in the car with him, I’m so sorry.”

That time I finally decided to go back to school to become an Esthetician and you seemed genuinely happy for me. 

That time you found out your son was going to be a father and you were going to be a grandfather and then 9 months later we all finally got to meet her. How excited you were. How cool it was to see you, to watch you as her “Pop” in this new role. 

That time we both got choked up the night I bowled my first 600 series and how grateful I was you were there to see it finally happen.

That time I overheard you say to Chris “I wouldn’t mind having you as a son–in–law.” And how shocked I was you ever said anything to him. How I smiled inside a little when I heard it. How you never pushed or said anything through all our years together after that. How you were just happy I had someone who loved me to share my life with, married or not.

That time I called you 14 years later and told you and Mom to sit down because I had news. “Chris asked me to marry him last night.” And how your reaction will be with me forever. “What?! Well, I’ll be! Oh boy, oh boy, oh wow.” 

That time, that time, that time, that time….

So many times Dad. So many moments I’m grateful for and memories to cherish. To share. To share so fathers maybe reading this, will put themselves out there emotionally and be invested. Even if you didn’t agree with me, you let go and watched me figure it out. You let me have a voice, you let me openly show my emotions and most importantly, you could stand in the emotion with me and not pull back.

Small words, small actions, small sentences scattered about here and there. They all added up to something big. You nudged me just enough and maybe not enough in other areas, but I think you somehow knew when to and when not to. 

To have a Father emotionally available to his daughter? Or his son? 

It’s nothing short of a pure gift from God. 

To me, it separates the men of the world, from the boys of the world. 

You were just a 24 year old boy when you became a father and what a good, kind, caring man, Father, you became.

Happy Father’s Day Dad.

Side Note: This picture is so heartwarming to me because Dad was on the phone with my brother at the time and the smile I wanted to capture, was even bigger, but it took me a tenth of a second to snap this shot and well, I’ll always hear myself saying “I wish Scott could see how happy he is right now just talking with him.”

Special Remembrance Note:

Michael James Mancuso  12/4/1968 – 3/28/1992

The heartache that never truly heals, the memories, my memories, no one can ever steal. How my Dads shoulders I cried on more times then I can remember over such a tragic loss. How just because we weren’t together at the time of his death didn’t make that grief any less, if anything it made it worse. How I felt “stuck” inside my own disturbed world for years. How I’m crying right now trying to wrap this blog up wondering if I shared too much. But if each piece I write isn’t authentic, then why do any of this to begin with?! #authenticity#itsnotalwayspretty#butitsreal