In real life I always wanted to spend more time with my father, always wanted to do more free time things with him. When I was a boy I asked many times to teach me to play the drums but that never happened (he and mom did pay for drum lessons for me). Dad played the drums in various wedding bands (with his father at first) throughout his life, he always had that ability, it made him special in my young eyes. I always just wanted to sit down with dad and get his instruction, get him to teach me, not some stranger. Maybe he did not feel comfortable teaching as he was self taught himself, maybe he thought he would not do a good job for me. The drum lessons from my father never happened. I feel bad about that.
We did do many work related things together but it was never enough. We never seemed to have enough time in the day. Some of my favorite memories of dad was when we would work together. I would sometimes help him with his baking, cleaning the house or garage, snow shoveling, or we did his or my home yard work together. Dad worked with mom at a farmers market for over 20 years. I would often help him carry many, many market trays (loaded with baked goods) from the house to his truck, or from the truck to the farmers market. My father cooked all kinds of home made foods, he worked his own stall at the market called "Eddy's Ukrainian Foods".
I always worried that my father was working too hard. Whenever I would help him he would always give me a bit of money (usually too much for the work I did) , he would always do that, he would never forget. My main concern was not the dollars I received. I would often try to refuse the money, but he would insist "You need it more than I do" he would say. My main worry was that I did not want my father to have to do everything himself. I worried he would work himself to death. He kept working hard everyday until he was almost 80 years old. I worried it was all too much for him, so tried to do my best as a son to help out. I would often go to his house or to the market after work to help out for an hour or two. We would talk as we worked. I miss those times very much now. I wish thou we could have just done more none work fun things together like the "hiking" in my dream.
Damn tearing up again, whenever I write these dad dream blog things, whenever I think back to dad, it is difficult, my eyes always fill up with tears and I have to blow my nose 2 or 3 times.
Dad was always such a hard worker, the hardest working person I ever knew. I remember when he was finally forced to quit working at 79 and half years old, how much he hated it. Dad felt very bad about it, he told me "I feel like a useless tit!" Work gave my father purpose, when he lost that he lost who he was. He died a few years later at 82 from pancreatic cancer. You all have seen those photos on this blog. He was so strong from all those years of work that the cancer which often kills younger men in a few months took 13 months to kill him.
Sometimes I wonder if my father had kept working, would he have kept living?