Written yesterday, posted a day late…

An Email to Dad: Happy Memorial Day, Pop. You died partway in Korea, never really ever fully right again after they shipped you to Hawaii with scars too much like railroad tracks across your stomach & chest and an arterial hemorrhage waiting just a few years away to finally kill the boy inside the man. Then sent you home without permission to take your spider monkey & motorcycle (which had been your plan) when it was your spider monkey who made you laugh and your bike, the boy inside the man. Then after your brain surgery when I was two, as you began to gradually regain your memories, you lived until I was 21 and loved & hated us with equal verve, sometimes the drama was terrifying---the love being real, no doubt, the hate being long-lasting & memorable to a fault. It helped me figure-out what kind of father I wanted to be. Then you died the rest o the way (having served your country well and we turned-out ...okay) while I was too godamned far away & living my own brand o youth on Okinawan rocks & star sand & barstools & booze … two weeks after sending me a little note, proclaiming love for your son---included was a coupl'a fins with the request to go out to the Ville & have a few cold ones on your ol' pop. You were always cool that way. You & Digs, my 2 favorite Jarheads, are missed, loved, remembered. Bring the Boys (& Girls) Home.