A Goodbye to My Pops.

My parents are rad. They are two insanely interesting people who could both pen autobiographies that would make cult classics. All the necessary ingredients are there,  pickers, grinners, lovers, sinners, jokers, smokers, midnight tokers too. Not forgetting, crime, drama, suspense, motorcycles, near death experiences…

hero’s…                                                                  villains…

My father is the dude that taught me how to be cool, actually- that’s assuming I am cool, which is has yet to be determined by a jury of my peers. So I’ll say that he played a major role in shaping what I consider cool. Old leather jackets worn by dudes with beards and long hair. Motorcycles, middle fingers. My dad’s stories include things like Hell’s Angels, the carni (yup, the traveling carnival), Iron work, the unions, love, as well as –CAH says it best– “some really fucked up shit” I am pretty sure all my cool comes from my dad’s side. You can ask any of my (20+) cousins who their favorite uncle is and they will say Uncle Rein. Even his name is cool.

My dad lived life. Like fuckin LIVED it! Back in his hay day he had some epic adventures, and I have always LOVED his stories. Most of his stories I have heard hundreds of times, but they never get old. I will always love his stories. It wasn’t until a couple of years ago when my dad came out to visit me here in CO- where the weed is legal, and he smoked with my *then* husband. I didn’t smoke at the time, so I just listened. To the stories he had never told me before, the stories that, he later told me he had never had the intention of sharing with his daughter. But I am so overwhelmingly grateful for that experience, for that precious memory.

My dad taught me that being a parent means lots of things. He taught me that parents are people. They are sometimes broken. They make mistakes. Sometimes they are leaving more than they are coming. He taught me that everyone has tramas… breaks. Some are deeper than others, and you hear a lot about fight or flight, but rarely do you hear about the third response, FREEZE (and then proceed to build a wall in a circle around yourself to protect yourself from all the things, and then just paint yourself on the front.) He was alway *kind of* available, but never actually there. Because he couldn’t be. He didn’t know how to be.

….. I wrote the previous part of this several months ago. Before my dad lost his long battle with Lung Cancer. And as I read it now, for the first time since he passed. I am so grateful to have it here to read. I loved my dad so much. And I miss his voice. I miss his advice. I didn’t always take it, but it was always good advice.

I love you dad. And I am missing the fuck out of you. But I am so comforted in the knowledge that you aren’t in pain anymore. Rest In Peace Dad.