Fathers and Sons.......
Fathers and sons.
What can you say?
For those of us who are “men of a certain age”, our fathers were often private, reserved men, who didn’t always show everything they felt. But, they looked out for us, and made certain what they wanted & expected of us, to make responsible adults out of their sons. Certainly, my Dad was no different. For everything I knew of him & about him, there were so many more I didn’t, subtle layers I didn’t see, though in the back of one’s mind, you had to know were, all the same.
My father was born in 1931, growing up in the era of the Great Depression, FDR, and WWII; and, like most men born in those pre-boom days, were influenced by the times they lived in as much as by their own fathers. What I know of him from those days is only that they molded him into a soldier, and thus into an Army officer who loved practicing law, as his early career with the Army’s JAG corps will attest. What life experiences made him so passionate about water conservation & how they shaped his career, I’ll never know. I only know that for all of my own life, his career spanned from the Army Corps of Engineers to the highest levels of the Department of Justice’s Emvironment & Natural Resources Division; one that while I knew was extensive, that I never knew was quite so influential, as the accolades that poured in at the end of his life attested to. What experiences first set him on the path he followed, he never spoke of. I
I was amused to read, in an article written for the National Archives & the Bureau of Reclamation on the Newlands Project in Nevada that he’d been both a defense attorney and a prosecutor while with Army JAG, and that he’d enjoyed being a prosecutor far more than working for the defense. He’d mentioned to me once, in a father/son disciplinary type discussion, that he’d sat on military court-martials; but I’d never known he’d done both, much less his preference. One would think this would be the typical attitude of an attorney; but, as I heard many times after his passing, my Dad was anything but a typical Washington lawyer. Certainly, one would only have to look to the tv show ‘JAG’ as an example in order to see that military lawyers would certainly work on both sides of the courtroom in their careers, but, I never did think to apply that to him, or that he did one, the other, or both, back & forth, or first just the one, & later the other. But, those were events that transpired long before I ever came into existence.
So, somewhere along the way, in a history that was never fully revealed (as is best with parents & children), he met our mother, and they married in April 1960. While I have put words & feelings about her down to be seen elsewhere, of her; here & now, I will only say that certainly they had their ups & downs, as their marriage was no different from so many other peoples’ throughout time. They got along, or they didn’t, but they brought two children into the world; first, my older sister, in the tumultuous days immediately following the assassination of John F. Kennedy, and later myself, 3 ½ years later.
Some of my earliest memories of him were when we first moved from Dallas to Washington DC in 1970, when he first left private practice to work for the Corps of Engineers as a civilian litigator, long after he’d gone into the Army Reserve, on my first plane ride at only 3 years of age, and moving into an apartment in Alexandria temporarily, not far from Landmark Center, while our house was being built several miles away. We stayed in that house from 1970 until 1976, after which we moved into another apartment at Skyline Towers; and shortly before Christmas of ’76, our parents separated. Information revealed in bits & pieces over the course of my life eventually pieced the whole picture together as to why they split up, but that’s not for here, other than that, as I’ve said elsewhere, my mother was certainly difficult to get along with. Thankfully, my father DID find his perfect match later on, a wonderful woman who completed him where my mother did not, & most certainly improved areas that needed improving, as his life w/ her compared against his life with my mother proved. Certainly, despite our mother’s attempts to poison our minds against him, our Dad always did what was best for us, & bore through it as we grew up, until my sister & I reached our teens & we were able to decide for ourselves just how we felt about him, always doing his best to actively influence our upbringing as much as he could despite our mother’s overbearing ways, and we came to find out just how much we could really rely on him, when he’d visit on weekends as we grew up; Suzanne & I would always look forward to weekends when he’d come to pick us up, & we’d spend the day together, often times we’d go to pick up some chicken & extras from Popeye’s & picnic along the Potomac near National airport, watching planes take off (a tradition we continued when we all lived together in his apartment in Washington in 1986, before Suzanne’s wedding & my enlistment), or we’d find various other things to do, or we might spend the weekend at his apartment, & he would always see to it that when we needed help or a firm hand, we’d have it; & even after Mom moved us from DC to Atlanta in the course of her own secretarial career (without telling him we were doing so beforehand); and doubtless some of his proudest days in those years were when, despite the tumultuous years we’d spent between their separation & the move to Atlanta, my sister & I graduated high school. Memory fails me if he was actually there or not when Suzanne marched to the strains of ‘Pomp & Circumstance’ in May of 1982; but, despite the acrimony that remained between Mom & Dad, I was so pleased to have him there when my turn came to march to the stage to those same airs & accept my diploma in May 1985, which was the first & only time he’d ever set foot on the grounds of Georgia Cumberland Academy during my studies there, in truth, it was only the third time I’d seen him since our move to Georgia in August 1981, right before my freshman year of high school; the other two times, once he’d been in Atlanta on business during the summer vacation between my freshman & sophomore years, and he and I then started our tradition of sitting down for a meal together when there was time for very little else, a tradition we followed whenever possible when business brought him to my hometown throughout the remainder of his life. I’d also been able to stay at his place in Washington during our Senior Trip to DC, weeks before graduation; and he’d been able to meet some of the boys & girls who were my classmates, & would be life-long friends. It was such an honor to have him there, on that Sunday in May of ’85.
After my sister & I reached adulthood, where others would have pushed their kids out of the nest, he stood by us & helped when we needed it, while teaching us to stand on our own two feet. When our mother didn’t support my sister’s marriage to her (now ex) husband, he did, & let her stay w/ him until the wedding. When Mom & I had a falling out over my college plans & later the military, he stood by me, so much so that Mom even accused him (to me) of putting me up to enlisting. Yah, right, Mom. Dad, an Army officer, putting me up to enlisting in the Navy? Now, yes, at first I’d planned to pursue programs that would take me through college and give me a commission; but, those plans fell through in the course of the enlistment process, and, the decision to enlist instead of pursue commissioning was one I never regretted. In the end, after she’d tried to prevent me from leaving our apartment to go to MEPS and then off to boot camp, he was willing to let me stay w/ him in his apartment in DC, already occupied by my sister as well as himself, in order for me to get away from Mom’s influence & allow me to continue my pursuit of a military career before her interference with my enlistment became a problem for the Navy as well as for me. If I thought he was proud of me on graduation day, I know that was nothing compared w/ the day when he had to go off on business travel in late October of ’86, as he knew that when he returned, I’d be in boot camp. Too bad the years after that weren’t anything to be anywhere quite so proud of; things hardly go like you plan them, nor are the decisions you make anywhere near all the right ones. There were high spots, but there were plenty of low spots to match. Still, I think (and I hope) he had enough times in the intervening 26 years between then & now to believe he hadn’t done a bad job where I was concerned, and that were some moments worth treasuring.
One I remember some of, which Lloyd Pike, Dad’s best friend, remarked on at his memorial service on Tuesday. I’d been on leave (actually, IIRC, it was actually over weekend liberty while I was in Basic Submarine School in Groton (CT), during late winter into spring of ’87), when it was still cold enough for a fire (or, ‘far’, as Lloyd recalled it, using the southern accent that could be heard when Dad used that word), when Dad moved from his apartment high on a hill in Shirlington into a condo at the bottom of that same hill, we were helping him move from the one to the other. I remember I was carrying a rather large load of clothing on hangers, some of which were Dad’s uniforms (which he hardly ever wore, since he was long since on reserve duty), and some slipped, and we joked about it, oops, the Seaman Apprentice son dropped some uniforms, sorry about that Colonel! Later during that same weekend liberty, we had the opportunity to go out for dinner & drinks (not the same night that Lloyd referred to when we got a roaring fire going, as Dad was wont to do, and did so so easily), that, believe it or not, was the first and only time when we actually sat down to drinks together, just Lloyd, Dad, & I, a father & son just having a casual drink together like men do. Some fathers & sons do that a lot, some hardly ever, some never. That was the only time we had the opportunity to actually drink together, & it was a privilege & pleasure to spend a little time with Dad that way, just socializing, so different from sitting down to visit over a meal together. I’m glad we had that, a moment when we were all just grown men out socializing together.
As my military career progressed, we’d visit when I was on leave, and we’d write or call, talk about things of no real import for a few minutes; that’s one thing I wish we’d had a little more of, was to be able to have ‘high-level’ discussions on things like work or politics, a sharing of opinions, or a meeting of minds, if you will. That’s something fathers and sons should have; but, in our case, that was just his way. Still, it’s just one of many ways I wish I could have known him that much better, the man behind my father, if you will. Still, it was always good to be able to keep with him & how things were going. During those years he finally married my stepmother, settled down in the home they made together in Mount Vernon’s backyard, and adopted my younger brother, starting another family now that his two other children were living their own lives, my sister pursuing her teaching career & degrees, and me trying to climb the Navy’s enlisted ladder, first as a budding sonar technician, and later as a Ship’s Serviceman when my lack of higher mathematical aptitude failed me in my chosen rating, serving first on a destroyer and later on an amphibious helicopter carrier during two wartime tours in the Persian Gulf, the former during Operation Earnest Will & the latter Desert Storm, attaining the rank of Petty Officer 3rd & then reaching for PO2 (though never actually making it). His military, legal, & leadership experience from his Army days proved helpful to me on occasions when I had my own disciplinary problems to deal with as one of Tarawa’s supervisory 3rd class P.O.s and needed advice on how to deal with the occasional problematic junior seaman when help from my First and Seconds was of no help. (But that’s another story). Still, it was good to have his ear and professional opinion as an objective viewpoint. Then, during my leave after Desert Storm, he had the opportunity to finally meet my (at the time) long-term girlfriend, Michelle, to whom I was seriously considering proposing to (hence the reason I wanted him to meet her). He soon realized just what kind of girl she really was (which I didn’t see then), an opinion which my sister (and mother) shared with him, and none hesitated to let me know it would be a mistake, for which it turned out I was thankful I DIDN’T make. (One of those few decisions I got right, for which I am forever grateful to them.) Then, towards the end of my naval career, on one of the first occasions when he came to San Diego for the annual water rights conference (and when my ship was inport while he was there), I was fortunate enough to have him come on the base to take a tour of my ship, & while it was certainly not an official visit, it was actually a pleasure (and an honor) for me to observe the deference observed him, even in civilian clothes, when he presented his retiree ID card, and everyone snapped to attention, be it at pass & decal, or the base gate sentries, or the quarterdeck watchstanders on my ship, and the honor it was for him to meet my superiors, & vice versa. Dad liked touring ships, old & new; and it was both a pleasure and an honor to have him walking the decks of the ship on which I served, & to see him take in the world in which I was building my career & professional reputation.
Too bad it didn’t last. There were days to come when I’d be more of an embarrassment than a source of pride. Like more than a few of us aboard Tarawa during ODS, PTSD issues brought me to a point where I disgraced myself in order to be released from service via NJP, which brought him nothing but discomfort when my service came up in discussion. Then, after my sister & I had a falling out in early 1994, Dad & I didn’t speak for nearly three years. Not because I was mad at him, or for any reason that made sense; only because I wanted to put the past two years out of mind & never discuss them again, nor did I wish to be pressured into speaking w/ her until she was ready to ‘meet me halfway’. Fortunately, we eventually worked through it, and before long we began (again?) our habit of visiting over a good meal when Dad was in San Diego, that first year even with both he & my stepmother, which was that much more a pleasure. And that renewal was none too soon, as less than a year after we’d all renewed our ties, Mom had the stroke that left her bedridden for the rest of her life. Times were becoming more difficult for me as well, as a career I’d begun in the computer field at Ziff Davis in San Diego was starting to pall after the company went public & immediately went in the tank, leaving the company ripe for sale & all that went with it; and I was in no position to take responsibility for Mom’s care, regardless. This only caused acrimony between my sister & myself, which Dad had to mediate on occasion. Then, when my job went under completely, and I spent close to a year fighting to find work, once again he was there, standing behind me, helping me replace (some) of the teeth I had lost, from the exposure to some never-to-be-known (much less confirmed) toxin on the SCUD missile that nearly took the Tarawa out on Feb. 16th of 1991, which leaked from the rocket’s remnants into Al-Jubayl harbor & into our shipboard seawater supply, to which many in S3 division were exposed (and of which tooth loss was the least of the problems of my division mates). A brand new (and not inexpensive) set of upper dentures, and my smile was once again an asset to me in my job hunt. The several weeks I spent with Dad & Diane while that was being done were probably the most time I’d spent with them (in one period) in all of my adult life, and it was good to have that time with them, which was good for him, too, as not long after I arrived he had to undergo surgery to remove his gallbladder, so my being able to just be there for him while he was in the hospital (he hated having to deal with doctors & being sick, much less have to spend time in the hospital) made his recovery that much easier.
But, all too soon, the dental work was done, and Dad was already well back to work, and it was time for me to leave for Dallas, so I could reside with my (now-ex) brother-in-law while I sought out a new job; and we had to say goodbye again. Despite the difficulties of the past year, he knew I would soon be carving my own path to success, and I could tell he was a little choked up when he & Diane put me on the Greyhound back to Texas in late May of ’00 (not that he’d ever admit to it, bless him). During my three year sojourn in Dallas, we’d talk & e-mail about many different things, but he was never able to make it down our way, nor I back there. However, after two years of working for Dell, the beginning of the off-shoring boom, & the year following the great outsourcing purges in the tech support sector when I fought to find & keep work, things developed where it was best for me to return to my old stomping grounds in San Diego in the summer of 2003, and from then on, the tradition of the annual get-together during the Water Rights Conference could be resumed. However, between the first recurrence in 2004 & the next in 2005, Mom died, shortly before Christmas of 2004, and misunderstandings on both sides caused the tension between my sister & I to flare, so much so that she & I didn’t speak to each other for another 3 ½ years. Dad tried to get us to bury the hatchet, to no avail. I was as stubborn as a mule, & I don’t know what Suzanne was feeling when he talked to her about it. When Dad & I talked or e-mailed, he’d ask if we’d talked to each other yet, & I’d make up some excuse. But he never gave up. When he’d come to town each February, he’d ask again. We had some extra time together, in 2007, when he & Diane came to town together, and we took an extra day just having fun together, the three of us, touring ‘round the San Diego Zoo (which none of us had ever been to before). We had fun, and it was good to have that extra time. When times were rough, he was there to help me, making sure I could keep my roof over my head while I looked for work, when unemployment wasn’t doing the job on it’s own while I struggled to find work, and heaven knows, the year following Mom’s death was a rough year for my career, nearly eight months out of work with nothing better than day labor assignments until the next temp job was grasped & won. He was a lifeline, one that while it was difficult for me to ask such a favor of, he did b/c I needed it, lovingly, & without reservation, as only a father can do. When I had work, and struggled to advance in a career field that was becoming increasingly stagnant as jobs were shipped overseas & competition became cutthroat, he stood by me, & helped me pay for the technical certification tests that would increase my marketability in the I.T. field, even as I fought to succeed in a field that was increasingly undervalued & being driven into a dead end. He never even had the chance to meet the girl I was dating through all of 2005 through early 2008, as she was always traveling herself when he came to town. I wish he’d had the chance to meet her; the only woman in my life he ever met was Michelle, the potential fiancée that no one in the family approved of. While Suzanne gave him a son in law & two grandchildren he could be proud of, I slogged away, trying to make a success of myself, something he’d be proud of, someone who could provide for the family I wanted him to see me have before he left this world, which I never gave Mom in her lifetime, either. When Dad came to town in ’08, he almost got Suzanne & I talking, but, she wasn’t in when he called, & the opportunity missed. It was the invitation(s) to Kathryn & Alex’s high school graduation that finally got me to break the silence between myself & Suzanne, as well as Adina’s prodding. But, at that, now Dad could be relieved that his two kids weren’t estranged anymore; which was increasingly important to him in his last few years, and it was better for all of us. We also had some extra opportunities to get together in ’08, when he had a case in Orange County involving San Onofre State Beach that enabled him to spend a little time south of the county line for a day or two. It was always good just to have the opportunity to spend a little time with him.
Then, the cancer hit. And, like the private man he was, he didn’t tell. When he missed his trip in February of 2011, I inferred that other work was interfering. I could live with that; that’s life, after all. We’d still e-mail, we’d talk (at least a couple of times a year, I’d make it a point to actually call on his birthday, Father’s Day, or Christmas). But, like men of a certain age, we wouldn’t have much to say; we’d small talk for a couple of minutes, say ‘I love you’, and say goodbye. That’s how some fathers and sons are. Then, I found out about the cancer, when I was starting to plan for his trip here in February of this year. It was almost like a slip-up, the way I found out. He hadn’t wanted to worry me with it. It was only first stage. I thought it was treatable. I thought I understood his situation. I thought he could beat it, with the treatments and live another 15-20 years, another 15-20 GOOD years, as men in our family are genetically predisposed to do. Sure, it would be rough going for him, it would be for anyone. Chemo & Radio therapy do that to someone undergoing cancer treatments. How little did we know just how rough it was on him. I told him of the plans I had, the things I still wanted to do that I wanted him to see me do. Ah, All those best laid plans of mice & men. All those missed opportunities. All those lost & wasted chances. Regrets? I have them, and now I always will. Even as we desperately planned for one last chance to see him while he still lived, he was slipping away more quickly than I knew, likely than anyone really knew. If I’d only gone a week earlier, I’d have been there the day he died. Two weeks earlier, and we’d have at least had that one last chance. But, fate wouldn’t allow it. I was supposed to fly out to see him a week ago today. Instead, I went out five days earlier. Countless days far too late. Ironic, isn’t it. In life’s final irony, once again, what should have been, what I wanted to be, simply wasn’t. No matter the amount of effort put in to make it happen, like some others in the past. All that’s left to me now is the memories of what we had as father & son, and the hope that, in the end, no matter what roads my life took me down, that in the end, he was proud of me, no matter what had befallen, no matter what trips & falls, what mistakes, that I’d made, that I was still someone he was proud to have raised, to have called his son.
So, now, he rests, his life’s work done. But, I believe, in my heart of hearts, there are still days yet ahead of us, when we’ll see each other again, in another time & another place, somewhere beyond this life. And in the meantime, I will do my utmost to continue to make him proud of me, and one day, he will know, and be that much happier.
Until then, he will be missed. Fare thee well, Dad, in whatever may befall, until we meet again. I love you.
In memoriam:
Fred Russell Disheroon
November 21, 1931-September 19, 2012.
Lest we forget.
What can you say?
For those of us who are “men of a certain age”, our fathers were often private, reserved men, who didn’t always show everything they felt. But, they looked out for us, and made certain what they wanted & expected of us, to make responsible adults out of their sons. Certainly, my Dad was no different. For everything I knew of him & about him, there were so many more I didn’t, subtle layers I didn’t see, though in the back of one’s mind, you had to know were, all the same.
My father was born in 1931, growing up in the era of the Great Depression, FDR, and WWII; and, like most men born in those pre-boom days, were influenced by the times they lived in as much as by their own fathers. What I know of him from those days is only that they molded him into a soldier, and thus into an Army officer who loved practicing law, as his early career with the Army’s JAG corps will attest. What life experiences made him so passionate about water conservation & how they shaped his career, I’ll never know. I only know that for all of my own life, his career spanned from the Army Corps of Engineers to the highest levels of the Department of Justice’s Emvironment & Natural Resources Division; one that while I knew was extensive, that I never knew was quite so influential, as the accolades that poured in at the end of his life attested to. What experiences first set him on the path he followed, he never spoke of. I
I was amused to read, in an article written for the National Archives & the Bureau of Reclamation on the Newlands Project in Nevada that he’d been both a defense attorney and a prosecutor while with Army JAG, and that he’d enjoyed being a prosecutor far more than working for the defense. He’d mentioned to me once, in a father/son disciplinary type discussion, that he’d sat on military court-martials; but I’d never known he’d done both, much less his preference. One would think this would be the typical attitude of an attorney; but, as I heard many times after his passing, my Dad was anything but a typical Washington lawyer. Certainly, one would only have to look to the tv show ‘JAG’ as an example in order to see that military lawyers would certainly work on both sides of the courtroom in their careers, but, I never did think to apply that to him, or that he did one, the other, or both, back & forth, or first just the one, & later the other. But, those were events that transpired long before I ever came into existence.
So, somewhere along the way, in a history that was never fully revealed (as is best with parents & children), he met our mother, and they married in April 1960. While I have put words & feelings about her down to be seen elsewhere, of her; here & now, I will only say that certainly they had their ups & downs, as their marriage was no different from so many other peoples’ throughout time. They got along, or they didn’t, but they brought two children into the world; first, my older sister, in the tumultuous days immediately following the assassination of John F. Kennedy, and later myself, 3 ½ years later.
Some of my earliest memories of him were when we first moved from Dallas to Washington DC in 1970, when he first left private practice to work for the Corps of Engineers as a civilian litigator, long after he’d gone into the Army Reserve, on my first plane ride at only 3 years of age, and moving into an apartment in Alexandria temporarily, not far from Landmark Center, while our house was being built several miles away. We stayed in that house from 1970 until 1976, after which we moved into another apartment at Skyline Towers; and shortly before Christmas of ’76, our parents separated. Information revealed in bits & pieces over the course of my life eventually pieced the whole picture together as to why they split up, but that’s not for here, other than that, as I’ve said elsewhere, my mother was certainly difficult to get along with. Thankfully, my father DID find his perfect match later on, a wonderful woman who completed him where my mother did not, & most certainly improved areas that needed improving, as his life w/ her compared against his life with my mother proved. Certainly, despite our mother’s attempts to poison our minds against him, our Dad always did what was best for us, & bore through it as we grew up, until my sister & I reached our teens & we were able to decide for ourselves just how we felt about him, always doing his best to actively influence our upbringing as much as he could despite our mother’s overbearing ways, and we came to find out just how much we could really rely on him, when he’d visit on weekends as we grew up; Suzanne & I would always look forward to weekends when he’d come to pick us up, & we’d spend the day together, often times we’d go to pick up some chicken & extras from Popeye’s & picnic along the Potomac near National airport, watching planes take off (a tradition we continued when we all lived together in his apartment in Washington in 1986, before Suzanne’s wedding & my enlistment), or we’d find various other things to do, or we might spend the weekend at his apartment, & he would always see to it that when we needed help or a firm hand, we’d have it; & even after Mom moved us from DC to Atlanta in the course of her own secretarial career (without telling him we were doing so beforehand); and doubtless some of his proudest days in those years were when, despite the tumultuous years we’d spent between their separation & the move to Atlanta, my sister & I graduated high school. Memory fails me if he was actually there or not when Suzanne marched to the strains of ‘Pomp & Circumstance’ in May of 1982; but, despite the acrimony that remained between Mom & Dad, I was so pleased to have him there when my turn came to march to the stage to those same airs & accept my diploma in May 1985, which was the first & only time he’d ever set foot on the grounds of Georgia Cumberland Academy during my studies there, in truth, it was only the third time I’d seen him since our move to Georgia in August 1981, right before my freshman year of high school; the other two times, once he’d been in Atlanta on business during the summer vacation between my freshman & sophomore years, and he and I then started our tradition of sitting down for a meal together when there was time for very little else, a tradition we followed whenever possible when business brought him to my hometown throughout the remainder of his life. I’d also been able to stay at his place in Washington during our Senior Trip to DC, weeks before graduation; and he’d been able to meet some of the boys & girls who were my classmates, & would be life-long friends. It was such an honor to have him there, on that Sunday in May of ’85.
After my sister & I reached adulthood, where others would have pushed their kids out of the nest, he stood by us & helped when we needed it, while teaching us to stand on our own two feet. When our mother didn’t support my sister’s marriage to her (now ex) husband, he did, & let her stay w/ him until the wedding. When Mom & I had a falling out over my college plans & later the military, he stood by me, so much so that Mom even accused him (to me) of putting me up to enlisting. Yah, right, Mom. Dad, an Army officer, putting me up to enlisting in the Navy? Now, yes, at first I’d planned to pursue programs that would take me through college and give me a commission; but, those plans fell through in the course of the enlistment process, and, the decision to enlist instead of pursue commissioning was one I never regretted. In the end, after she’d tried to prevent me from leaving our apartment to go to MEPS and then off to boot camp, he was willing to let me stay w/ him in his apartment in DC, already occupied by my sister as well as himself, in order for me to get away from Mom’s influence & allow me to continue my pursuit of a military career before her interference with my enlistment became a problem for the Navy as well as for me. If I thought he was proud of me on graduation day, I know that was nothing compared w/ the day when he had to go off on business travel in late October of ’86, as he knew that when he returned, I’d be in boot camp. Too bad the years after that weren’t anything to be anywhere quite so proud of; things hardly go like you plan them, nor are the decisions you make anywhere near all the right ones. There were high spots, but there were plenty of low spots to match. Still, I think (and I hope) he had enough times in the intervening 26 years between then & now to believe he hadn’t done a bad job where I was concerned, and that were some moments worth treasuring.
One I remember some of, which Lloyd Pike, Dad’s best friend, remarked on at his memorial service on Tuesday. I’d been on leave (actually, IIRC, it was actually over weekend liberty while I was in Basic Submarine School in Groton (CT), during late winter into spring of ’87), when it was still cold enough for a fire (or, ‘far’, as Lloyd recalled it, using the southern accent that could be heard when Dad used that word), when Dad moved from his apartment high on a hill in Shirlington into a condo at the bottom of that same hill, we were helping him move from the one to the other. I remember I was carrying a rather large load of clothing on hangers, some of which were Dad’s uniforms (which he hardly ever wore, since he was long since on reserve duty), and some slipped, and we joked about it, oops, the Seaman Apprentice son dropped some uniforms, sorry about that Colonel! Later during that same weekend liberty, we had the opportunity to go out for dinner & drinks (not the same night that Lloyd referred to when we got a roaring fire going, as Dad was wont to do, and did so so easily), that, believe it or not, was the first and only time when we actually sat down to drinks together, just Lloyd, Dad, & I, a father & son just having a casual drink together like men do. Some fathers & sons do that a lot, some hardly ever, some never. That was the only time we had the opportunity to actually drink together, & it was a privilege & pleasure to spend a little time with Dad that way, just socializing, so different from sitting down to visit over a meal together. I’m glad we had that, a moment when we were all just grown men out socializing together.
As my military career progressed, we’d visit when I was on leave, and we’d write or call, talk about things of no real import for a few minutes; that’s one thing I wish we’d had a little more of, was to be able to have ‘high-level’ discussions on things like work or politics, a sharing of opinions, or a meeting of minds, if you will. That’s something fathers and sons should have; but, in our case, that was just his way. Still, it’s just one of many ways I wish I could have known him that much better, the man behind my father, if you will. Still, it was always good to be able to keep with him & how things were going. During those years he finally married my stepmother, settled down in the home they made together in Mount Vernon’s backyard, and adopted my younger brother, starting another family now that his two other children were living their own lives, my sister pursuing her teaching career & degrees, and me trying to climb the Navy’s enlisted ladder, first as a budding sonar technician, and later as a Ship’s Serviceman when my lack of higher mathematical aptitude failed me in my chosen rating, serving first on a destroyer and later on an amphibious helicopter carrier during two wartime tours in the Persian Gulf, the former during Operation Earnest Will & the latter Desert Storm, attaining the rank of Petty Officer 3rd & then reaching for PO2 (though never actually making it). His military, legal, & leadership experience from his Army days proved helpful to me on occasions when I had my own disciplinary problems to deal with as one of Tarawa’s supervisory 3rd class P.O.s and needed advice on how to deal with the occasional problematic junior seaman when help from my First and Seconds was of no help. (But that’s another story). Still, it was good to have his ear and professional opinion as an objective viewpoint. Then, during my leave after Desert Storm, he had the opportunity to finally meet my (at the time) long-term girlfriend, Michelle, to whom I was seriously considering proposing to (hence the reason I wanted him to meet her). He soon realized just what kind of girl she really was (which I didn’t see then), an opinion which my sister (and mother) shared with him, and none hesitated to let me know it would be a mistake, for which it turned out I was thankful I DIDN’T make. (One of those few decisions I got right, for which I am forever grateful to them.) Then, towards the end of my naval career, on one of the first occasions when he came to San Diego for the annual water rights conference (and when my ship was inport while he was there), I was fortunate enough to have him come on the base to take a tour of my ship, & while it was certainly not an official visit, it was actually a pleasure (and an honor) for me to observe the deference observed him, even in civilian clothes, when he presented his retiree ID card, and everyone snapped to attention, be it at pass & decal, or the base gate sentries, or the quarterdeck watchstanders on my ship, and the honor it was for him to meet my superiors, & vice versa. Dad liked touring ships, old & new; and it was both a pleasure and an honor to have him walking the decks of the ship on which I served, & to see him take in the world in which I was building my career & professional reputation.
Too bad it didn’t last. There were days to come when I’d be more of an embarrassment than a source of pride. Like more than a few of us aboard Tarawa during ODS, PTSD issues brought me to a point where I disgraced myself in order to be released from service via NJP, which brought him nothing but discomfort when my service came up in discussion. Then, after my sister & I had a falling out in early 1994, Dad & I didn’t speak for nearly three years. Not because I was mad at him, or for any reason that made sense; only because I wanted to put the past two years out of mind & never discuss them again, nor did I wish to be pressured into speaking w/ her until she was ready to ‘meet me halfway’. Fortunately, we eventually worked through it, and before long we began (again?) our habit of visiting over a good meal when Dad was in San Diego, that first year even with both he & my stepmother, which was that much more a pleasure. And that renewal was none too soon, as less than a year after we’d all renewed our ties, Mom had the stroke that left her bedridden for the rest of her life. Times were becoming more difficult for me as well, as a career I’d begun in the computer field at Ziff Davis in San Diego was starting to pall after the company went public & immediately went in the tank, leaving the company ripe for sale & all that went with it; and I was in no position to take responsibility for Mom’s care, regardless. This only caused acrimony between my sister & myself, which Dad had to mediate on occasion. Then, when my job went under completely, and I spent close to a year fighting to find work, once again he was there, standing behind me, helping me replace (some) of the teeth I had lost, from the exposure to some never-to-be-known (much less confirmed) toxin on the SCUD missile that nearly took the Tarawa out on Feb. 16th of 1991, which leaked from the rocket’s remnants into Al-Jubayl harbor & into our shipboard seawater supply, to which many in S3 division were exposed (and of which tooth loss was the least of the problems of my division mates). A brand new (and not inexpensive) set of upper dentures, and my smile was once again an asset to me in my job hunt. The several weeks I spent with Dad & Diane while that was being done were probably the most time I’d spent with them (in one period) in all of my adult life, and it was good to have that time with them, which was good for him, too, as not long after I arrived he had to undergo surgery to remove his gallbladder, so my being able to just be there for him while he was in the hospital (he hated having to deal with doctors & being sick, much less have to spend time in the hospital) made his recovery that much easier.
But, all too soon, the dental work was done, and Dad was already well back to work, and it was time for me to leave for Dallas, so I could reside with my (now-ex) brother-in-law while I sought out a new job; and we had to say goodbye again. Despite the difficulties of the past year, he knew I would soon be carving my own path to success, and I could tell he was a little choked up when he & Diane put me on the Greyhound back to Texas in late May of ’00 (not that he’d ever admit to it, bless him). During my three year sojourn in Dallas, we’d talk & e-mail about many different things, but he was never able to make it down our way, nor I back there. However, after two years of working for Dell, the beginning of the off-shoring boom, & the year following the great outsourcing purges in the tech support sector when I fought to find & keep work, things developed where it was best for me to return to my old stomping grounds in San Diego in the summer of 2003, and from then on, the tradition of the annual get-together during the Water Rights Conference could be resumed. However, between the first recurrence in 2004 & the next in 2005, Mom died, shortly before Christmas of 2004, and misunderstandings on both sides caused the tension between my sister & I to flare, so much so that she & I didn’t speak to each other for another 3 ½ years. Dad tried to get us to bury the hatchet, to no avail. I was as stubborn as a mule, & I don’t know what Suzanne was feeling when he talked to her about it. When Dad & I talked or e-mailed, he’d ask if we’d talked to each other yet, & I’d make up some excuse. But he never gave up. When he’d come to town each February, he’d ask again. We had some extra time together, in 2007, when he & Diane came to town together, and we took an extra day just having fun together, the three of us, touring ‘round the San Diego Zoo (which none of us had ever been to before). We had fun, and it was good to have that extra time. When times were rough, he was there to help me, making sure I could keep my roof over my head while I looked for work, when unemployment wasn’t doing the job on it’s own while I struggled to find work, and heaven knows, the year following Mom’s death was a rough year for my career, nearly eight months out of work with nothing better than day labor assignments until the next temp job was grasped & won. He was a lifeline, one that while it was difficult for me to ask such a favor of, he did b/c I needed it, lovingly, & without reservation, as only a father can do. When I had work, and struggled to advance in a career field that was becoming increasingly stagnant as jobs were shipped overseas & competition became cutthroat, he stood by me, & helped me pay for the technical certification tests that would increase my marketability in the I.T. field, even as I fought to succeed in a field that was increasingly undervalued & being driven into a dead end. He never even had the chance to meet the girl I was dating through all of 2005 through early 2008, as she was always traveling herself when he came to town. I wish he’d had the chance to meet her; the only woman in my life he ever met was Michelle, the potential fiancée that no one in the family approved of. While Suzanne gave him a son in law & two grandchildren he could be proud of, I slogged away, trying to make a success of myself, something he’d be proud of, someone who could provide for the family I wanted him to see me have before he left this world, which I never gave Mom in her lifetime, either. When Dad came to town in ’08, he almost got Suzanne & I talking, but, she wasn’t in when he called, & the opportunity missed. It was the invitation(s) to Kathryn & Alex’s high school graduation that finally got me to break the silence between myself & Suzanne, as well as Adina’s prodding. But, at that, now Dad could be relieved that his two kids weren’t estranged anymore; which was increasingly important to him in his last few years, and it was better for all of us. We also had some extra opportunities to get together in ’08, when he had a case in Orange County involving San Onofre State Beach that enabled him to spend a little time south of the county line for a day or two. It was always good just to have the opportunity to spend a little time with him.
Then, the cancer hit. And, like the private man he was, he didn’t tell. When he missed his trip in February of 2011, I inferred that other work was interfering. I could live with that; that’s life, after all. We’d still e-mail, we’d talk (at least a couple of times a year, I’d make it a point to actually call on his birthday, Father’s Day, or Christmas). But, like men of a certain age, we wouldn’t have much to say; we’d small talk for a couple of minutes, say ‘I love you’, and say goodbye. That’s how some fathers and sons are. Then, I found out about the cancer, when I was starting to plan for his trip here in February of this year. It was almost like a slip-up, the way I found out. He hadn’t wanted to worry me with it. It was only first stage. I thought it was treatable. I thought I understood his situation. I thought he could beat it, with the treatments and live another 15-20 years, another 15-20 GOOD years, as men in our family are genetically predisposed to do. Sure, it would be rough going for him, it would be for anyone. Chemo & Radio therapy do that to someone undergoing cancer treatments. How little did we know just how rough it was on him. I told him of the plans I had, the things I still wanted to do that I wanted him to see me do. Ah, All those best laid plans of mice & men. All those missed opportunities. All those lost & wasted chances. Regrets? I have them, and now I always will. Even as we desperately planned for one last chance to see him while he still lived, he was slipping away more quickly than I knew, likely than anyone really knew. If I’d only gone a week earlier, I’d have been there the day he died. Two weeks earlier, and we’d have at least had that one last chance. But, fate wouldn’t allow it. I was supposed to fly out to see him a week ago today. Instead, I went out five days earlier. Countless days far too late. Ironic, isn’t it. In life’s final irony, once again, what should have been, what I wanted to be, simply wasn’t. No matter the amount of effort put in to make it happen, like some others in the past. All that’s left to me now is the memories of what we had as father & son, and the hope that, in the end, no matter what roads my life took me down, that in the end, he was proud of me, no matter what had befallen, no matter what trips & falls, what mistakes, that I’d made, that I was still someone he was proud to have raised, to have called his son.
So, now, he rests, his life’s work done. But, I believe, in my heart of hearts, there are still days yet ahead of us, when we’ll see each other again, in another time & another place, somewhere beyond this life. And in the meantime, I will do my utmost to continue to make him proud of me, and one day, he will know, and be that much happier.
Until then, he will be missed. Fare thee well, Dad, in whatever may befall, until we meet again. I love you.
In memoriam:
Fred Russell Disheroon
November 21, 1931-September 19, 2012.
Lest we forget.