surrogate fathers

Reflecting back to my fatherless childhood, I was one when my father died, I probably pined for a male figure to parent me alongside my mom. But I don’t remember obsessing about it, although there were times when certain individuals were present in my life who I wished were my father.

My earliest recognition of just such a man was Uncle Lot. I adored him even though he was not really an uncle; “calabash” relatives were commonplace in extended Hawaiian families. Bronzed by the sun, silver white hair framing a handsome face, I imagined he loved me like a precious daughter. He and our Aunt Miriam, spinster brother and sister,  lived next door to the first home I ever knew, conveniently located across the road from the beach. When not frolicking on the sand or swimming in the warm waters, we’d be playing with Melabee, a German Shepherd belonging to auntie and uncle. We were always invited into their antique-filled home where we snacked on little sandwiches or small, scrumptious desserts. I always loved curling up in Uncle Lot’s lap, burrowing my sleepy head into his chest heavily scented with cologne. I’d rest there while he, auntie and my mom chatted amiably among themselves. I never wanted to leave when it was time to return to our house.  Their home was so much grander, filled with beautiful things, and food more delicious than was our usual fare. As a child I never understood aunty and uncle’s relationship. They were related, but they seemed so comfortable in each other’s shadow, like husband and wife. But they weren’t married, so I wanted Uncle Lot to marry my mom. Of course it was a child’s fantasy, and there it remained.

As a kindergartener I remember we were in a different home, one that I would live in until I moved away to college. Our Chinese landlord lived next door. At first it was “Popo” (grandmother) to whom we paid rent, but upon her death, her son Ah Sing assumed the responsibility. I became long-lasting, best friends with his daughter, an only child for many years. A brother was born into the family when my friend was in high school.

Ah Sing took pity upon my situation, a fatherless child with a mother struggling to support her young family. He would include me on outings with his daughter. One vivid memory is of a visit onboard a navy submarine docked  in the harbor. I still have a small, black and white photograph somewhere, of me perched on a metal seat on an outer deck, long, black hair caught up in the breeze, a furtive smile on my lips, a shy glance directed at the camera. My girlfriend’s mom was not as receptive toward me however, perhaps because I wasn’t a fit companion, being poor. No matter, I became a fixture at their home because I was like a sibling my friend wanted, and another daughter Ah Sing cherished.

The only physician I recall visiting as a child was Dr. James Fleming. His shoulders seemed broad, as though he could carry the weight of the world on them, well… at least that of the sick who visited his office. His hair was a sandy blonde, he wore spectacles and he always had a smile on his face. His bedside manner was comforting, especially to a child who rarely saw a doctor because it was an expense my mom couldn’t regularly afford. But like other generous people in our lives, Dr. Fleming discounted  our fees and never pressured my mom for payment. Receiving a lollipop or large, orange gumdrop was one reason I behaved during an appointment, but more importantly, Dr. Fleming felt like a father if only for the time I spent with him. When I was much older, my mom told me that he had offered to adopt me since he had no daughters, only 3 sons. You can imagine how elated I felt, and disappointed, that I never got to live the fairy-tale life of the Lahaina Flemings. But more than anything, I would have liked to have felt the love of a father like Dr. Fleming wash over me.

My father-in-law, now deceased some 20 years or so, treated me like a daughter. When I first spent time with my husband’s family, I thought my father-in-law didn’t like me. I always seemed the butt of his ribbing. Teasing was something I grew up with as the youngest, and I wasn’t particularly fond of it. I never had the wherewithal to fight back, and felt I must not be loved, or liked. Increasingly, as I was around him more, it became obvious that I was a favorite of my father-in-law’s. I guess I was a combination, pretty Hawaiian girl like his wife, Catholic raised and educated, attending college, with lofty ambitions that might rub off on his eldest son. But best of all I could out-talk the “Portugees,” as he would love to tell me, himself being Portuguese. We could banter back and forth endlessly. My father-in-law, looking much like and behaving very much like my husband, was the closest I ever came to having a father. So it saddened me to see his body, and spirit, deteriorate through the 8 years he survived after a massive heart attack which destroyed 50% of his heart.

And then there’s my husband. A Catholic seminarian a week prior to our first meeting, he had changed his mind about being called to the priesthood. Having left home after completion of 8th grade, he had spent the next 4 1/2 years studying theology. I’ve often joked that God was preparing him for an even greater task than leading the faithful, and that was keeping me on the “straight and narrow,” which he has successfully done for 40 years.

Because I was fatherless as a child, it was imminent that my daughter bond with her dad immediately. So I didn’t look to either my mom or mother-in-law for help when our baby was born. I wanted my husband, myself and our daughter to forge a strong and loving union which would survive the ups and downs of whatever lay ahead. And to this day, our strength as a family continues to thrive upon the foundation upon which it was built. We enable one another to follow our passions, knowing that our love and support is always available 24/7.

So while I may not have had a father of my own to nurture and guide me, there were those to whom I could look for the wonderful qualities that I would one day find in a husband. So I thank my “fathers”, of whom only Ah Sing survives, on my lovely, island, childhood home of Maui.

 very fortunate to have had surrogate fathers, love me…hugmamma.

Advertisements

10 thoughts on “surrogate fathers

  1. Hi Millie, I love reading your blogs. It warms my heart to read about your childhood, and life with your mom. Your mom was such a special person with a quiet yet strong presence. I also love reading your recollection of the times spent with our dad (and mom). Thank you for honoring our parents through your writings. Much love and aloha, Cindy
    PS. I read your blogs to Jimmy and he loves them too! He said, “I hope she doesn’t write about me, that wouldn’t be good! Hahaha” 🙂

    Like

    • So happy you wrote, Cindy! In my estimation, you are the product of a beautiful marriage. You and your siblings, my husband, sisters-in-law and brothers-in-law, are the greatest gift with which I could ever have been graced, along with my daughter, of course. I love my siblings, but wasn’t fortunate to know them as I know you all.

      While I honor your parents with my words, they honored me by making me feel a part of a very special family. I think the “outlaws” will agree, including Jimmy, that we’re very lucky to have found joy with our spouses, and by extension, with the rest of the “ohana.” God bless you all and keep you in his loving embrace.

      hug your hubby for me…tell him i love him too…hugmamma.

      Like

  2. Hopefully my memories will continue to stir up good ones in the minds of my readers. Life is short, and gets shorter. Writing down these reflections may prove even more valuable if Alzheimer’s begins to take its toll. But we have today.

    that’s what matters…hugmamma.

    Like

  3. Re-reading Ed’s memories of time spent with auntie and uncle, then uncle and dad, and those about uncle alone, really refreshes my memory.

    In my mind’s eye I see uncle pounding the taro in a wooden bowl. I can remember using my middle and index fingers to scoop the freshly made poi into my mouth, carefully licking all the goop from in between my fingers.

    I can also picture mom and auntie in her living room, talking and laughing. I don’t remember ever seeing auntie sad. Maybe only once. Much of the time, she loved to fool us, telling us stories which made our eyes widen like saucers in disbelief. Winking at mom, auntie would smile broadly, and wrinkles would appear at the corners of her twinkling eyes. Only then did we realize that she was “pulling our legs.” Now that I think about it, both she and uncle would always catch us off guard with their make-believe stories.

    I’m not sure if they moved away before, or after, we did. They had another beautiful home in Manoa Valley on Oahu. I think 2 other spinster brothers lived there, Uncle Dickie and Uncle Clarence. I’d met them a couple of times. They seemed as sweet as their siblings.

    How our family became so close to the Lanes, I’m not certain. Probably because we were neighbors in Waiehu, Maui.

    great memories, fun “relatives”…hugmamma.

    Like

  4. Wow, Millie . . .
    I really enjoy these stories. I feel like I’m actually getting to know my family. I first met Bud when you guys were living in Waiehu. At that time, I had no idea that he was my brother!

    Keep these stories coming . . . .
    Ben

    Like

  5. Appreciate your input, Ed. Have only bits and pieces of memories. Had a hunch I might have been wrong about Melebee. But my recollection of the 2 dogs was fuzzy. Thanks for clearing that up for me. Love that you knew the English translations of the names. I didn’t realize they were Hawaiian, beautiful.

    Like putting a puzzle together, it’s exciting when more and more of it is revealed. Feel free to share any further memories on this post. Word Press always alerts me when a comment is left. We can keep a running conversation going about family memories. Maybe other members will contribute.

    hugs, Ed …hugmamma.

    Like

  6. Let me add to your memory lists:

    Uncle and Auntie last name was Lane, I believe they were of German ancestry; Uncle Lot was a World War II veteran his dog was also a war vet and the dog’s name was Mele (happy) he sired a few puppies and we were given one of them which we named him Melebee for the happy bee.
    Uncle was an avid golfer he had trophies displayed in their humungous livening room.
    Auntie was fluent in the Hawaiian language and culture; she always spoke to mom in Hawaiian. Our Dad and Uncle Lot were very good at cooking kalua pig under ground. I still have a picture of them preparing the pig on the table. I used to watch uncle pound the taro root to make poi for the family. I don’t know if you remember but he also collected glass balls of all different sizes and colors right up too the size of a basketball and had it displayed in their livening room.

    Like

  7. Thanks for the comment, Brad. Dad would’ve loved you, especially having married his youngest daughter. I think there’s something special about the last, not that I’m biased. ha, ha.

    All’s well. Finally got summer…in August. Yard’s like a jungle with all the rain we’ve had the earlier part of the year.

    Considering your being really busy, appreciate your subscription to my blog and being one of my readers. It means a lot, as does the time all my readers take to visit.

    big hugs to start your day…hugmamma.

    Like

  8. Hi Millie,

    Enjoyed reading your story. When Pat and I first met, her father had already passed…so never got to know him. So it’s just through what I’ve heard from others, that I’ve learned what he was like.

    Hope all is well in Seattle. September is a beautiful time there.

    Brad

    Like

Leave a Reply to Ed Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s