It parallels the relationship I had with my father.
He was a tough, hardworking blue-collar man. I started out blue-collar but left it behind as fast as I could. I respect the heck out of the blue-collar working community. They’re indispensable. They keep this country going. However, it wasn't for me. I wanted to do other things.
Although my Dad was an avid reader, he never saw the point in pursuing any sort of creative endeavor for a living.
We were not close for most of my life., as we had little in common other than he was my Dad, and I his son. It was only after I became a father myself that we grew a little closer.
Never comfortable with displaying emotion, Dad never hugged me or told me he loved me after the age of 10, but in his own way, he always showed he cared.
I learned from Dad. With my own kids, now in their 30s, I keep in touch with them, hug them and tell them I love them – always.
In 2015, I got the call that my Dad lay in a hospice bed, on pain meds for cancer. Things were happening fast. I dropped everything. My son and I hopped in my car that same day and drove from New Hampshire to Florida non-stop.
We met my Mom and my sister at the hospice. They took me to Dad’s room. He couldn’t move, couldn’t open his eyes. I took hold of his once calloused and powerful, now soft and limp, hand and held it firmly. I leaned in and told Dad I was there. He squeezed my hand to let me know he heard me.
Before I took my mother home so she could rest for a bit, I again took my father’s hand, leaned in and told him, “I love you Dad, and I am damn proud to be your son.”
It surprised me how hard he squeezed my hand, and then I noticed tears streaming from his closed eyes. I kissed his forehead and said goodbye.
At 2AM my sister called to tell us Dad was gone. It was my birthday, four days before Christmas. Dad told me he loved me in his own way.
As a boy who lost his “real dad” when I was 8 & he was 32(sudden heart attack), and then had a step dad for a few years who was an angry raging alcoholic who beat my sister and was abusive to my mom & I, this really resonated with me. My “real dad” was perfect in my memory. Fishing trips at 3 am, camping and being terrified as the bear sniffed around our camper. Watching him die and running to get a glass of water to splash in his face so he would wake up. Graduating a week after my 16th birthday and a week later telling my stepdad I didn’t appreciate him showing up drunk. Never saw him again. My mom said “we are moving to Canada to live with Grama and Grampa”. And me replying “maybe you are, but I’m not”. And suddenly facing life on life’s terms at 17. It was a sharp learning curve but I am a better man for it. My sons have grown up knowing and loving one dad, & one mom all their lives and living in the same town for all their education. My youngest son is now a great dad to three daughters(“dad, what do I do now, I’m living with four woman and I don’t know anything about women”. Relax son, no one else does either”).
Thanks so much for sharing part of your life that is reflected in your writing by the strong love relationships your protagonists have.
Thank you for sharing this portion of your life's story. There is so much that shapes us into who we are at the current time. Some of which doesn't occur to us until we travel down memory lane.
Kevin, I know Uncle was proud of you, just like all of you guys. I spoke to him infrequently, being in Florida, but when I did and when I asked about everyone, he would tell tales. I have read your books and have loved every second of them. I hope you continue what you are doing with all the joy and passion that I can feel in your writing! I am proud of you!
Thank you for sharing this, Kevin.
It parallels the relationship I had with my father.
He was a tough, hardworking blue-collar man. I started out blue-collar but left it behind as fast as I could. I respect the heck out of the blue-collar working community. They’re indispensable. They keep this country going. However, it wasn't for me. I wanted to do other things.
Although my Dad was an avid reader, he never saw the point in pursuing any sort of creative endeavor for a living.
We were not close for most of my life., as we had little in common other than he was my Dad, and I his son. It was only after I became a father myself that we grew a little closer.
Never comfortable with displaying emotion, Dad never hugged me or told me he loved me after the age of 10, but in his own way, he always showed he cared.
I learned from Dad. With my own kids, now in their 30s, I keep in touch with them, hug them and tell them I love them – always.
In 2015, I got the call that my Dad lay in a hospice bed, on pain meds for cancer. Things were happening fast. I dropped everything. My son and I hopped in my car that same day and drove from New Hampshire to Florida non-stop.
We met my Mom and my sister at the hospice. They took me to Dad’s room. He couldn’t move, couldn’t open his eyes. I took hold of his once calloused and powerful, now soft and limp, hand and held it firmly. I leaned in and told Dad I was there. He squeezed my hand to let me know he heard me.
Before I took my mother home so she could rest for a bit, I again took my father’s hand, leaned in and told him, “I love you Dad, and I am damn proud to be your son.”
It surprised me how hard he squeezed my hand, and then I noticed tears streaming from his closed eyes. I kissed his forehead and said goodbye.
At 2AM my sister called to tell us Dad was gone. It was my birthday, four days before Christmas. Dad told me he loved me in his own way.
As a boy who lost his “real dad” when I was 8 & he was 32(sudden heart attack), and then had a step dad for a few years who was an angry raging alcoholic who beat my sister and was abusive to my mom & I, this really resonated with me. My “real dad” was perfect in my memory. Fishing trips at 3 am, camping and being terrified as the bear sniffed around our camper. Watching him die and running to get a glass of water to splash in his face so he would wake up. Graduating a week after my 16th birthday and a week later telling my stepdad I didn’t appreciate him showing up drunk. Never saw him again. My mom said “we are moving to Canada to live with Grama and Grampa”. And me replying “maybe you are, but I’m not”. And suddenly facing life on life’s terms at 17. It was a sharp learning curve but I am a better man for it. My sons have grown up knowing and loving one dad, & one mom all their lives and living in the same town for all their education. My youngest son is now a great dad to three daughters(“dad, what do I do now, I’m living with four woman and I don’t know anything about women”. Relax son, no one else does either”).
Thanks so much for sharing part of your life that is reflected in your writing by the strong love relationships your protagonists have.
Great story.
Thank you for sharing this portion of your life's story. There is so much that shapes us into who we are at the current time. Some of which doesn't occur to us until we travel down memory lane.
A very touching story that shows how kids just accept situations without analyzing them like adults.
Kevin, I know Uncle was proud of you, just like all of you guys. I spoke to him infrequently, being in Florida, but when I did and when I asked about everyone, he would tell tales. I have read your books and have loved every second of them. I hope you continue what you are doing with all the joy and passion that I can feel in your writing! I am proud of you!
A touching story. I think a lot of us would wish to have had as close of a relationship with our father.
And when it's too late anymore, ALL of us would have wished to have more time.
❤️‼️