Buhner Dot Com Est. 2000, which is like 1947 in Internet years.

Yeah – no real title here.

I don't really have a title, because this post isn't about anything inparticular.  I'm just trying to get the ball rolling.

I've got a few topics that I tend to forget (wordpress needs a little notepad or something that allows you to jot stuff on the main dashboard so you can come back to it without having to start a whole post), but they're all over the place (much like my brain, medication be damned.)

I've been doing a decent amount of thinking about my dad recently.  Ever since the move to NC, thoughts have been creeping in, usually when I'm attempting to fix something around the house or see my pile o'tools (new additions - electric drill, leaf blower, circuit tester) the thought turns to my dad and what he'd be thinking watching me do all this, owning a house and attempting to maintain the thing on my own (well, with the wife's help) without being able to turn to someone "more knowledgable" about mechanical things.

You see, my dad didn't think much of me when it came to "fixing" things - growing up I wasn't exactly a hammer and nail type of guy.  My dad was one of those old-schoolers who believed that if you couldn't fix it, you shouldn't use it.  I think at times the amount of knowledge he had when it came to things like mechanical and electrical work kind of blinded him to what the average person knew, so he couldn't understand how someone like me didn't know how to tap the electric in the house to install an outlet in a room, or to rebuild a transmission just because it didn't "sound right".  Repair people didn't come to our house unless all hope was lost, and even then it was with reluctance.

The thing was that it wasn't that I wasn't interested in learning how to fix things, it was just that I was interested in other things at the time (usually computers or sports) and the fact that I wasn't drawn to this I think annoyed him a bit.  We didn't end up having a lot in common on the surface, but we were eerily alike on the inside, and as any family psychologist will tell you it's similar personalities that have the most conflict.  So while we remained somewhat distant for various reasons, I ended up being closer to my mom who looked at me with confidence and restated on numerous occasions that I knew what I was doing and that I was smarter than her - not always true, but nice for the ego.  I would later learn that it wasn't necessarily an ego boost made for me, but a lack of confidence/self-image that my mom had/has that resulted in a positive indirectly.

He ended up passing away eight years ago, long before I ever considered moving to North Carolina or really had any plan as to where I'd go once I moved out of my parents' house.  I had just finished my second "return" year at Hofstra and would graduate two years later with my degree in a computer-related field - something he would in his later years learn to appreciate more and grow more supportive of - when he ended up going into the hospital on Memorial Day weekend in 1998.  My mom had actually yelled at him to either shut up or go to the hospital because he was moaning in his sleep.  You see, my dad wasn't big on doctors either, so you generally had to force him to see someone for his own good if he was going through any kind of medical situation.  This was a guy who would fall off the roof and just "lie down for a little bit", or leave me presents of dried blood and band-aid wrappers in the bathroom when he'd slice open his hand or finger working in the basement or garage.  I had seen some signs that something might have been wrong before - blood in the toilet was the number one thing - but I really didn't know where it came from or what was going on well enough to be able to say or know anything.  In hindsight, it was likely a result of cancer - perhaps prostate - but w didn't know anything.

After several hours of waiting after he was in the ER, watching hangover victims and those facing the aftereffects of the Memorial Day weekend file in and out, the doctors told us that not only was he not ok and not coming back out to see us, but he had a stroke while under their care (more than one, I believe) and that the doctor who was speaking to us couldn't understand how my father was alive at this point.  The cancer in his body was so built up that it shut down his kidneys - both of them - which made him jaundiced and led to sepsis.

He ended up living for a week or so in the hospital, clearing himself up enough to be able to speak to us before eventually taking a turn for the worse again.  We never did tell him he was dying - something I regret to this day - but we did part on good terms although admittedly one of the last things he said to me was "get a job".  It was the start of the summer, and being home on break I hadn't gotten a chance to get any summer employment yet.

So I end up wondering what he'd be thinking if he was around today.  He'd be upset knowing that we weren't nearby so that he'd be able to see his daughter-in-law and his grandsons, whom he'd spoil far greater and be a lot more leinent towards than he was with me.  He'd like the idea of North Carolina though, and remind me that North Carolina was of course the home state of Dale Earnhardt (whose death in 2001 he never saw).  He'd dig the fact that there's farmland nearby, but also stores just down the road that he wouldn't have to go too far to pick up something - although I'm sure he'd learn to hate Walmart.  He'd dig my wife - not just because she's got a nice rack, but because she keeps me in line.  And he'd laugh his ass off as I stuck my hand down a toilet in an attempt to get the various things my son attempted to flush down it and look on proudly as I fixed the drip in the sink, reinstalled the sprayer, replaced the microwave (mounting it above the stove), painted two bedrooms, came to the aid of my mother-in-law with a flat tire, and disassembled my dryer, if only just to look at it and say "yep, that's a dryer - call the repair guy."

And that's all I wanted, really.  And while he might not be here, the fact that a good number of my actions take place with the thought that he's looking over my shoulder, not necessarily to criticize but to make sure I do it right, is almost as good. 

Love ya dad.