Today is the anniversary of my dad’s death from lung cancer. He’d been diagnosed just several months before; he’d been a heavy smoker1 for most of his life, so coughing fits and the like were pretty common for him, and he didn’t take their increasing persistence seriously.
When Dad finally saw a doctor, tests revealed it had already metastasized to his liver, so the best chemotherapy could do was improve his quality of life for whatever time remained. In large part because I’d worked in health care, he turned to me for information and support. I became his chemo buddy: I’d keep him company at his appointments, and we’d go out to eat at whatever restaurant he wanted afterward, my treat. (Chemo never seemed to diminish his appetite.)
Our last Christmas with him was hard. He was having increasing trouble breathing, and the meds weren’t helping much. But we went on an epic shopping trip to Jungle Jim’s International Market, and he loaded up on things he loved: chocolate covered cherries; a cheese ball; and kumquats were among them. Pretty much anything he seemed interested in was acquired by my siblings and me.
I don’t think he ate any of it come Christmas; it took too much energy for him to just be upright. My then-partner and I spent several hours with him in the ER, where they tried to improve his pulmonary function … but there wasn’t much that could be done.
When we returned to my sister’s house, I made the decision to announce that I was newly pregnant with what would be my first child. I just wanted my dad to know; I was pretty sure he wouldn’t last until August. And obviously, I was right.
In some ways, I grieved his death less than my mom’s—he knew the risks of smoking and steadfastly ignored my recitations of them throughout my teenage years, in a vain effort to get either of my parents to quit. Even after his diagnosis, when his doctor told him he didn’t need to quit smoking,2 he continued to smoke his pipe, always on the lookout for different tobacco flavors to try. Plus, I’d already been through Mom’s death, so it was somewhat familiar ground.
My grudge has faded over the years. Dad faced a lot of difficulties over all I saw of his life, and he did the best he could with them. I was somewhat scared of him as a child; as I matured, I saw and understood him better, and especially after Mom’s illness and death, we became closer.
Even though he didn’t listen to music like I did even as a child, Dad shaped my musical tastes in some ways that I didn’t really grok until I started thinking about creating this tribute to him. My parents had a pretty wide variety of albums and 45s, but it was Dad who adored comedy and novelty songs. “The Purple People Eater” may have been the first of these I heard, but he had many, including a comedy bit by Andy Griffith. Ray Stevens was a favorite of his, too. It was rare for Dad to play these on the hi-fi, but if I was there when he did, I’d be beside him, giggling along with him.
I had at least one album of this nature too: it was a compilation of songs for kids that included the Royal Guardsmen’s “Snoopy vs. the Red Baron”3 and at least one song by Rolf Harris. I don’t remember any other songs and the album is long gone; internet searches have yet to turn up something that matches my faded memories. I wonder if Dad gave me that album …
When I started thinking about how to honor my dad today, a line from a different song is what the radio station in my mind started looping. It’s a sendup of a big band radio broadcast from a hotel ballroom, in which the band plays a medley of songs.
This was Guy Marks’ only big hit, but he released two full albums, one of which was his impersonations of Hollywood actors singing, including Humphrey Bogart, Bela Lugosi, and Cary Grant. Marks is best described as an entertainer: he was a talented mimic, comedian, actor, and singer.
I don’t remember if Dad had either of Marks’ albums or just the 45 of “Loving You Has Made Me Bananas.” I also don’t know what became of my parents’ albums and 45s, which is a pity. I have a couple of other lyric snippets in this vein that loop through my mind on occasion, and the internet has yielded no information on them.
Here’s to you, Dad. While it’s been kinda weird being named after you, I still fully embrace your wide-ranging, weird music taste, and appreciate you sharing it with me over the years.
He used to brag about starting smoking when he was five years old, soooooo …. yeah. He did switch from cigarettes to a pipe when the price of cigs got too high for my parents to afford both his and my mom’s preferred brands, but it was almost certainly way too little way too late.
because it was too fucking late to matter!
Although it may have been a cover version; having listened to it just now, their performance doesn’t quite match what I remember
I think I got something in my eyes...
Apropos for the story... Another Canadian that just rocks my world.
https://youtu.be/CCvalE8SClU?si=obkitOtepgSNoIDM