Greg
"Greg was born a rascal," his sister told me, "His charm could melt buttercream icing off an ice cream cake. But because of his lifestyle, he had chosen Hell for all eternity." she added. My Aunt was a little on the religious side. She also embraced Native Americanism. A couple of things I remember about her were her prayers, and that she liked to judge people. Both her and my Uncle were quick to snub when call for. Personally, I always thought the Bible explained human frailty and the necessity of human grace pretty well. Every one of us is broken. That's one of the reasons God created humor, and time.
My Grandma told me Greg was a smuck. "He was no good from the start," she said.
My Mom didn't really talk about him unless I brought it up.
"How'd you two meet?" I asked one day.
"We met at a military dance while your Dad was in the service. He was a good looking guy and I was flattered that he took notice of me." she said. Who wouldn't want an athletic, ambitious, hard working valedictorian for a wife in the 1950s? Especially if you were a free spirit like my Dad.
When I visited Greg in November of 2006, he told me he worked for my Grandpa at his gas station. He said my Grandpa set him up with my Mom and that he was happy to marry her. "Your Mom is a smart woman," he said, "she always had it together. It was impressive." He also told me my Grandpa was a hard man. That when he drank he got mean and verbally abusive. My Dad told me my Grandpa treated women like shit too. I knew this about my Grandpa. What I didn't know, was that my Dad and my Grandpa were drinking buddies.
Both my parent's stories agree on one fact, soon after my Mom and Dad met they got married.
1957
In 1961 we were a family
In 1962 My Mom and Dad were divorced. I once found papers in my Grandma's basement that reveled court proceedings of when my Dad tried to sue my Mom for money. He was supposed to pay child support but never did, so, to get out of trouble he sued my Mom claiming she made enough money for everyone and therefore didn't need help from him. Apparently he asked the court to award him alimony from her.
It was true my Mom had a good job and was making stable money for a woman and single Mother of two in the 1960s. My mom is smart, hardworking and dedicated to being an alpha female, and when the courts decided in her favor my Dad moved on with his own life. He never paid child support and my Mom never took him to court for it. They just let each other go.
Within the next few years my Dad remarried and divorced again. He had two more kids, another boy, and another girl. The first time I met them was at the reunion for our Dad's side of the family (See: 1993-94: Costa Rica #2 & Personal Stepping Stones, April 27, 2011). My half siblings lived in Washington State. My Mom moved us to sunny California. Only Oregon was between our geography, but it might have well been a universe.
One day in 1970, while we lived in Mountain View, my Dad called my Mom saying he was in town and wanted to spend the day with my brother and me. When he showed up at the house he had a girl with long red hair hanging from his arm. We (except my Mom) went to my religious Aunt's house for the day. I don't remember much about the visit, but I do remember hopping up on my Dad's lap and asking him, "What do I call you?" "Call me Greg." he replied. My 10 year old giddiness turned into confusion. "Okay Dad," I said, and I jumped from his lap and went outside to play with my cousins. From then on I considered him a novelty. Like a Christmas toy in a locked wooden case. One that can't be played with because it's valuable and might break.
1975
When I contacted my Dad back in the early 90s he was happy to hear from me. For a while we exchanged simple letters and Christmas cards. The letters eventually tapered off, yet the Christmas cards kept coming. My Dad's Common Law wife Dee was sending my family the season greetings. She'd often write a personal note in them telling me how good Greg was doing. Sometimes there was even a few words from him attached. He'd ask a question and/or relay a broad bush-stroke of information about himself. I knew he would never come out to see me and going out to see him wasn't high on my priority list in the 90s. I was seeing the rest of the world instead. But the man had entered my conscience and over the years I wouldn't let him go completely.
Lil'C & Greg
Life moved on after the letters stopped and thoughts about my Dad would fade in and out of my mind like whimsical happenstances. Then in 2006 my half brother called to tell me Greg was dying of lung cancer. "His time is short. If you ever want to meet him it's now. I can pick you up at the Seattle airport if you'd like and drive you out to his place. Then I'll come get you and take you back to the airport." I was there within the week, grateful my half brother was looking out for me.
The drive out to Spokane from Seattle was fascinating. I found out that my half brother worked in the ER at W. Seattle General Hospital. We talked about my half sister and how she's got a kid and is doing hair in a small shop on the outskirts of Seattle. The two don't see each other often. Then we talked about Dad. He told me that Dad doesn't get out of Spokane much and hasn't been to Seattle to see relatives in a long time. My half brother told me about the years of drug use too, "He's been doing all kinds of stuff for a long time. I haven't seen him in awhile so I'm not sure how things stand now. Try not to get your hopes up too high for anything."
"I have no expectations." I confirmed. When we pulled into the driveway butterflies started flittering in my belly.
We knocked on the door of the old house with a strange damp smell. The weather was cold and there was a light layer of snow on the ground. Dee opened the door and welcomed us in as the long lost relatives we were. Hugs all around. The inside of their place was like a old mountain cabin. Everything was made of wood. I walked through the small kitchen, past the log stove with a warm fire glowing from it, and into the living room there Greg was. I saw this old frail man, made of nothing but skin and bones, struggling to stand up from his personal recliner. "Hi. Tammy!" he said with a big smile. I loved him immediately.
Dee & Greg
Dee cooked us dinner and we chatted about the weather and Greg's bees which he factors out to farmers for pollination and sells their honey. "Dee and I eat two tablespoons of their pure honey everyday." he told me, "It's good for the digestive system." During the meal I couldn't take my eyes off of the man who held some visible keys to my nature. I watched his eye expressions and hand movements to see if they were like mine. I watched his mouth under his beard to see if we had the same smile. I also wanted to see if we walked the same, but he was so weak he didn't move far from his chair.
young Greg
young me
After dinner my half brother left leaving me alone in my Dad's house with the couple I had only known through letters.
"Do you smoke?" Dad asked.
"Sometimes." By now I had cut my cigarettes down to maybe two a day. They were more for relaxing on the deck or socializing then anything else. Greg and Dee had been smoking non stop.
"Do you smoke weed?" Greg asked.
"Sometimes."
"Would you like to?"
"Absolutely." I replied.
While he rolled a joint from one of his selections of weed, (he had three yummy types in a Teflon container), we chatted about his drug years. He told me he took lots of trips down the West Coast delivering and picking up all types of drugs. "I was using them too." he said matter-of-factly. "When I saw you in Mountain View I was bringing down a bunch of weed to sell on the coast. When I got to Mexico I picked up Peyote and sold it on the ride back to Washington. One of the major reasons I never saw you and your brother was because there was always a possibility the heat was on. I didn't want to bring them around you guys."
I wasn't sure I believed that excuse, but the truth was I had forgiven him long ago and didn't really care about any excuse. I was 46 and had been through enough life experiences to realize that some relationships are best left alone. It was obvious that my Mom and Greg were two totally different people from the start, and that the union would have been a bumpy roller-coaster at best anyway, especially with all the drinking and drugs Greg did over his lifetime.
"Did you ever get busted?" I asked.
"Once I got pulled over while on my way to the East Coast with a van full of weed and Acid. I was high on the Acid and had just smoked a joint. The officer could smell it. He wanted to search the van but I somehow talked him out of it. That was the closes I ever came to being arrested in over 30 years of running drugs." ("His charm could melt buttercream icing off an ice cream cake.") There were many other traveling and drug experimenting stories he told me. Those will be in the book Lil'C and I collaborate on later if we ever get the chance.
Lil'C & Greg
I couldn't help think at some point, that while I was in high school doing lots of drugs myself, that my Dad could have been the one who brought some of them into the So. Cal. area from Canada, Washington, Mexico and beyond. My Dad told me he hung out with surfers in the 70s. "I had a good friend in Encinitas who surfed." he said. We even reminisced about the different types of weed that was around in the 70s. I had always heard that if you are to connect with someone you do not really know, you should always start with any point of commonness, ironically illegal substances was it between my Dad and me.
I spent the next few days enjoying our visit and walking around his land. I saw the bees he was so excited about and all the equipment he owned for working on cars and trucks, which was another hobby he had. I also met his long-time friends. They all treated me like I was their own blood. "We're having a living wake party for your Dad next month. Can you come out?" Lil'C asked me. "Absolutely," I confirmed. Lil'C had worked with my Dad for a long long time putting his bee's honey into jars and selling it. She also had a beautiful vegetable garden (still does) and buys and sells classic cars. We became instant friends and writing companions.
When the week was over my half brother came to pick me up and take me to the airport. During the drive we talked about what I experienced. While I told him about my new relationships he didn't hide his disdain for our Dad, much like my brother did when I asked him to come out to Washington with me. It was interesting how both of Greg's sons didn't want anything to do with him, but his daughters found it easy to let bygones be bygones. My half sister is very independent and charismatic. We hit it off at the reunion, and again when she drove over from Seattle to spend a night with me while I was around Spokane. Even though both of Greg's marriages ended in multi-dimensional feuds it was evident his little girls still loved their Dad, while his boys thought Greg was an ass.
At the airport I gave my half brother a heartfelt hug and thanked him for all he did. "I know you took time out for me and I'm extreemly grateful for it." I said to him, "You changed my life forever. I wish we lived closer so we all could do more together."
"Me too." he said, "I'll see you when you come out next month for the wake."
"Cool." I replied, and we tightly hugged our goodbyes.
Trip #2
When I returned to Seattle I brought C with me and Shaun flew in from Chicago with his guitar. I rented a car and the three of us did the beautiful drive down I90 through Snoqualmie Pass to Spokane. From the moment my Dad looked into Shaun's eyes the granddad/grandson connection was clear. My Dad was a classic hippie and Shaun resembles one two generations hence, slightly more modern in style.
Before the living wake the three of us hung out with Greg smoking weed (except C) and chatted about the lives we lead and lead. We also chatted about conceptual ideas like instigators, motivators, and agitators. Then I had to ask a question that was on my mind since my first visit. "Dad, I have to tell you, your front door smells like marijuana plants. Why is that?" He broke out in a big grin, "Weed is growing under the house."
"What?"
"Yeah, it keeps things cheeper when all I have to do is go out and pick from the garden." he said.
"I guess so. Hey, um, can we see them?" I asked cautiously.
"Sure." he said proudly.
With Dee under his arm holding him up he walked us outside through the wintry snow to his basement around the back of the house. When he opened the heavy wooden door we saw inside, literally under his house, about 100 marijuana plants of all sizes under a complex system of lights. There were starter plants lined up in small plastic pots in the middle of the large room and bigger plants closer to the walls. The more mature plants had bright red hairs on big round buds almost too weighty for the plant to hold up. The aroma hit us instantly. I had never seen anything like it. Shaun, C and I, stood stunned and impressed. "Wow," was all we could say. Apparently my Dad was an expert weed grower, and had been for over 30 years!
The living wake was held at Lil'C's house. A few of Greg's friends and business partners were there, and a few relatives from Indiana which I hadn't seen since 1993. My half sister showed up but my half brother stayed in Seattle. There was live music going on and Shaun played some of his own songs for Greg which was magical. The moment Shaun started to sing tears began to flow from the man who never though he'd ever see his only grandson (Greg has three other granddaughters). Personally, I was excited that I was able to give both of them this time. It was a one of those small big things we can give to forgive, like Velveeda & Shells.
One of my Dad's favorite foods was Kraft Mac & Cheese. When I found this out I thought it was my duty to step up the cheese factor a notch.
"Have you ever tried Velveeda?" I asked him.
"Nooooo." He said with suspicion.
"Oh my gosh it's unbelievable! You gotta to have some. I'll be right back."
"Where you goin'?"
"To the store."
When I returned I fixed up two boxes of the creamy cheesy shells. With our full bowls in front of us I informed him that his taste buds are in for a party. He smelled his spoonful before sticking it in his mouth. Suddenly his eyes drifted into Velveeda heaven.
"Wow! This stuff is fantastic."
"I know right!"
"This is such fantastic stuff." he repeated. I smiled like a giddy 10 year old. We ate the rest of our meal in a delirious silence. I couldn't help but be proud.
When all the visiting was over Shaun, C and I loaded up the rental car bound for the Seattle airport. But I didn't leave empty handed. I made a new dearest friend and Sis, Lil'C. And through her I now get untainted honey for all the holidays. (Lil'C has her own company called Lil' Carol's Bee Products.) He gave C and me his blessings saying with a wink, "True love is a glorious madness." My Dad gave me a large art book he drew in during the 90s and the sweater my Mom had knitted him in the 1960s which had race cars on it. "I'd been saving it all these years hoping I could give it to you or your brother one day." he told me. "It's in the right hands considering what's on it." I said putting the sweater on. It fit.
Finally, slowly and methodically, Dad packed up some of his home grown weed, "For the trip home." he said. "Thanks." came the tears.
The goodbyes were sad knowing my Dad and I would never see each other again. But in my heart I was glad that I could even say goodbye to him at all. Somehow the two visits I had with the man connected some inner circle in my life, and I believe it was somewhat the same for him. My Dad was a man who asked questions about human thoughts, pondered the ways of earth rotations, and valued living with simplicity. He wasn't the master of the universe, but he was a very funny guy with lots of entertaining stories and a kind soul. And that's all I needed to know about him. When my Dad finally passed away I had no regrets, and I pray I healed some of his. After all, I wouldn't want him (or anyone) in Hell for all eternity.
Greg and my Aunt
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!"
-Jack Kerouac
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