There are songs...and then there are songs...

There are songs…and then there are songs.  
“When I was seventeen…” I see my father, sitting in the dark, cigarette glow brighter with each pull, one arm over his eyes. I often wondered what he was thinking as he listened to it. I’d sit on my windowsill staring at the stars, listening along with him. Instinct said don’t make a sound, don’t put on a light. He sat with his thoughts, me with mine. Not yet seventeen, I wondered what my lyric would be. Wondered what his was. I stood up on the fire escape and leaned over the railing. Prospect Ave on a summer night was filled with the sounds of whirring fans, leaking air conditioners and laughter from far away beach chairs. Ahead was the sound of rustling leaves as the warm wind blew through the Zoo, bringing with it that musky scent that a friend once called “Eau de Buffalo”. And yet, it was quiet. “When I was twenty one…” When my father was 21 he was engaged to my mother and was living on Hoffman St. How far was he was from Hoffman St, I wondered. Where did he think he would be now? Where would I be at 21? I thought the answer to both would be “not here”. I sat and listened to a cappella versions of Beach Boy songs drifting up from the corner of Prospect and 187th. When they listen to this song in years to come how far from Prospect Ave. would they be? And as the song fades into the autumn of the singer’s years, I realize that is where my father is. And I know he has regrets. And what-ifs. And resentment. But I can’t yet process it into something I can analyze and forgive. I just know. And feel helpless. And afraid for my eventual regrets. A light goes on in the bedroom next door and casts a glow over the fire escape. The song changes to another, my father coughs and the spell is broken.
I am my father. I have his creativity, his humor and compassion, and I also have his self destructive streak. But he was so much more than that. When you are young, you can’t see beyond what is presented to you. Happy Birthday Daddy. You did the best with what you had, with what you knew. I know that now. I can only hope that you know that.