Today’s tale begins sadly, but stay with me dear reader(s), as it is brief, and will have a happy ending. Mostly. Well, for me anyway.
My dad passed away in September of 2006, and as my dad subscribes to the religion of theater, my step-mother coordinated a memorial service that was more secular, but in the best way possible. I spoke briefly, my brother and sister sang, and it was send-off that was more representative of my father than I could have hoped.
It was an emotional day for obvious reasons, and I found myself really jumping between elation and sadness at a high speed. Overall though, I had grieved earlier and knowing my dad, I really felt that he would have preferred we make less of a fuss over him, so I kept my sadness to myself (and to my lovely future wife).
As I said earlier, the service consisted of essentially a show, followed by refreshments and greetings afterwards. So at the end of the performance segment, as people were billowing out of the auditorium (my father’s church), a few folks came over to me to share condolences and stories.
There were some familiar faces I hadn’t seen in a while, and was happy to. There were some familiar faces that I hadn’t seen in a while and was not happy to (but I put on a good front anyway, as my dad would have were he in the same position). And then there was Mike.
Now, I’m not sure that his name was Mike, but he looked like a Mike. He was 40ish or 50ish, and he had the air of a reformed biker, both in appearance (he had donned a faded sweater-vest and black t-shirt) and speech (excessive use of the word “You’s” and “damn”). Behind him was a doting and silent woman, who I assumed was his wife, as they both had similar body types and similar appearance of a couple who has been together for multiple decades.
I mock Mike not because I am a mean-spirited person, and what he was trying to convey to me was his appreciation for the help my father had given him in his time of need, so I feel a little bit of guilt in painting this picture of Mike. But I do so because this is the anecdote he shared with me:
“Hey, I’m [Mike]. This is my wife [Mrs. Mike]. (No response from Mrs. Mike). I just wanted to tell you that your dad was a great man. There were so many times I just didn’t know what to do in my life, or with my marriage, and he just sat and listened and gave me such great advice that I just wanted to say thanks.
I mean, he really saved my marriage. Not sure it was the best thing looking back, but he did (No response or reaction from Mrs. Mike).”
I was a little taken aback. I thought that maybe I hadn’t heard him correctly, because why would anyone share with a total stranger (within seconds of meeting) that his marriage was a profound disappointment in his life. But, then I realized I probably misheard him. Until,
“So yeah, your dad was so great. Like I said, he really saved my marriage. Which again, probably isn’t the best thing looking back.”
Nope, I fucking heard correctly. This guy was in a loveless marriage, all thanks to my dad, and he was grateful for the advice to stick it out! I was silently in shock, but I didn’t want to make the situation more awkward (especially for the mute Mrs. Mike), so I simply responded the way I thought my dad might.
“Well, thank you very much for the kind words. And thank you for coming.”
Mike thanked me and he and Mrs. Mike huddled off. As they walked away, I wanted to laugh a little, but instead I smiled. I smiled because this brief glimpse into the lives of two interesting characters was a wonderful, if short, scene in a bigger play. And my dad would have loved to know that he helped put on one last great show.