My father was a tiger of a human. He would always be found prowling the halls wherever he may have been. His voice sounded like a growl when he spoke; even his laugh had a rough edge to it. Dad was fierce, strong, quiet, funny, caring, and kind. His mind was always moving lightning fast even as his body was still. I always say that I look like my mother, but I think like my father.

You always hear the expression that this person or that person are “salt of the earth types”, but my old man wasn’t one of those. I would say he is more of a “gravel of the road type”: tough, rough, occasionally annoying, will burn your ass in a hurry, meant to last, low maintenance, may cause some friction, and could pop up and sting you hard with his humor or his wisdom.

Dad was not a perfect human, especially not in the time before his motorcycle accident. Rough and ready to have a go with anyone who crossed him, including my mother. This is not for shock value, this is an honest look at a real man. Heavy drinking, heavy partying, heavy working, heavy womanizing. My guess is all that was to deal with PTSD from Vietnam. I don’t know for sure, but that’s what it sounded like to me when my mother described it to me and what I remember from the time before.

That motorcycle accident imploded our family. My mother shut everyone in the extended family out after. She was working her ass off without the benefit of outside support. Bob and I were left with Dad, who was functioning, but due to his extensive brain damage needed help to learn to read and do math again. You know who taught him? Me. Shoe lace tying? Me. Mom had us play Follow the Leader in the yard so Dad would learn coordination. In exchange he managed my waist long hair, drying and brushing it every night.

The accident is why Bob has worked in restaurants his whole life, I swear. Dad once burned the hell out of beef stew Hamburger Helper and told us it just had “a little of that hokey smokey flavor”. And we STILL joke about it, 40 years later. I can still taste that acrid nastiness if I think about it hard enough. The accident is probably how I ended up a nurse as well. I have the need to be needed and to be extraordinarily helpful. I also feel entirely too comfortable in hospitals and one of my favorite treats is hospital chocolate pudding (the kind that they put on the trays). Seriously.

The Tiger became our friend more than a traditional father. He is why I love old country music, especially “Ode to Billy Joe” by Bobby Gentry, The Bellamy Brothers’ pick up songs, and have a Ronnie Milsap obsession. When he was at the end, I had music on the whole time, it kept his heartrate down. Dad is why I love classic cars; he taught me to drive in his 1963 Ford Fairlane…THAT’S a story I’ll tell y’all later. It deserves it own whole blog. Anyway, my classic car knowledge was enough to turn the head of the guy that eventually became my first husband. Not many girls would know where the battery in a 1969 Boss 429 Mustang is, and that’s what hooked the poor fella. Dad is why I eat slow and have a wicked sweet tooth. At Christmas I miss buying him a big box of fancy chocolates and I miss his delight upon receiving them.

When my parents figured out that I was pregnant on my 17th birthday I thought my mother was going to come unglued. Not Dad though. He was disappointed, but accepting. Mom got so mad that Dad wouldn’t help her come down on me. That child transformed our family but changed the Tiger most of all.

Dad and Brian were a match made in Heaven from the first moment I handed the baby to Dad. “You caught yourself a good looking one, Mrs. Gopher.” Is what he said as he gazed at my son. I still remember what he was wearing, a khaki button up shirt and faded blue jeans. He had his mustache then still. The Tiger was the most handsome man I had ever seen then.

My parents raised Brian for me until my Mom passed. I was in their home too, and the plan had always been for them to give him back when I was ready to be out on my own, which is what happened. I got married and mom died six weeks later.

My father was an incredible guiding force in Brian’s life. Brian would not be the man he is without that stabilizing love in his life. I have not been altogether reliable, that’s for sure. When you look at him now, he is the man my father raised. Period. I will never claim any of that as my doing. That’s not my work, that’s all the Tiger. I mean, we did the homework, and paid for band, and sent him to camp, and all that, but Dad is the one. He really really was. Brian was Dad’s Magnum Opus…his greatest work.

In the end, it was Son who cared for Dad. Brian was there for the event that truly was the end of a Tiger, the choking incident that sent him to the ICU. I was holding the old man’s hand in mine in his last minutes as we listened to Kameron Marlowe’s “I’m Giving You Up (acoustic version)”. And I fell apart. My heart broke open wide that morning. I bawled and cried. I called Brian to report and he came to the small hospital room where Dad slipped out the window as the sun came up.

The Tiger was laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetery in October of 2022. I swear he was watching that day. He was supposed to have a military fly over as part of his service (due to his Silver Star), but the cloud deck was too low. He would’ve HATED that flyover. You have no idea. By the time the service was over the sun had come back out for a very lovely day. Dad hated too much pomp and circumstance, especially when it was for him. Arlington lets families have a simple line of text under the military stats and his reads, “Beloved Tiger”, and I can tell you he truly was.