Happy Father's Day, Dad...

J.P. - July 5, 1933 - February 15, 2014

This is a weird Father's Day for me. For the first time, I have no one to call. I have no one to send a card to.

I'm left only with the memories of my father.

"J.P". was a special guy. In as much as I could be aware of such things as a kid, I never knew anyone to dislike him. He was universally liked. I simply didn't know anyone who didn't want to be his friend.

J.P. was, by all accounts, a good dude.

He'd had a long and full life. That really can't be argued. He joined the Navy during the Korean War, and spent four years an an Aviation Boatswain's Mate. I don't know how far up the promotional ladder he progressed, but I know he enjoyed his time in the service. After he passed away, my brother Greg and I were going through his things. So many of the items we found were from his Navy days; pictures, address books, note pads. It was wild trying to get a glimpse into how a 19 year old Jerry Parr approached his days on board a United States aircraft carrier

Dad, sitting on the wing of a Corsair on board the USS Oriskany (CV 34)...

Tryin' to look like a bad-ass on board the Oriskany...

Dad was probably all of 19 years old in this photo...

Some time after leaving the military, Dad became a New York State Trooper. I don't know how long that lasted, but I know he was stationed up near Buffalo, and he didn't dig it. The only way to get out of there was to leave the Troopers, so that's what he did.

And then everything changed.

Dad married Mom. They bought a house in Hauppauge, Long Island and, over the next couple of years, brought my brother and me into the world. Greg was born in 1959 and I followed in 1962.

Somewhere along the line, Dad became a truck driver, and a damn good one. Our next door neighbor, John Pellegrini, got Dad a job driving for Exxon (well, it was Esso back then). That job would last 28 years. And those 28 years were 28 "accident free" years. Dad was always immensely proud of that. In addition to driving for Exxon, he would drive dump trucks, buses; basically whatever needed to be driven. In all seriousness, I really don't think there was anything he couldn't drive. If it had at least four wheels and a steering wheel, he owned it.

When I was about 12 or 13, Dad would take me out on his Exxon route at night. We would leave the house around 6:00pm, and not get home until two or three in the morning. This is where I learned an appreciation for diners. We would always stop at the Bluebird Diner on Vets Highway. And I'd always get bacon and eggs.

Dad was the first person to teach me to be aware of my surroundings. When we'd be at a station, filling their gas tanks from Dad's 8,000 gallon tanker, he would squat down and look across the parking lot. Almost without exception, there was money to be found. Usually it was a quarter or a nickel that we would see reflected in the lights of the parking lot, but I remember him once finding a twenty dollar bill. At 12 years old, it was the equivalent of hitting the lottery.

Certainly the most lasting memories I will have of my father will be of him as a member of the Hauppauge Volunteer Fire Department. I don't know when he joined, but I remember the Fire Department always being a constant presence. Greg followed Dad into the Department in 1975; as soon as he could, as a 16 year old kid.

All of Mom & Dad's friends were associated, in one way or another, with the Department. Parades, barbeques, fairs; there was always something goin' on over on Route 111 in Hauppauge.

JP in his turnout gear. I have no idea what year this is, but that moustache was epic...

Dad and Greg in our living room on Townline Road in Hauppauge...

Dad and Greg at my going away party before I left for boot camp in 1981. Again with the moustache...

I think I got my love of the water from Dad. Long before I came along, Dad had a boat. He loved boats. While he didn't have one while we were growing up in Hauppauge, my Uncle Vinny did; a sailboat. Dad used to love taking the helm of that thing:

Dad on board Taurus, my Uncle Vinny's first sailboat...

J.P. at the helm of the "10-R-10", on the Long Island Sound. This was probably around 1976 or so...

Dad did buy a boat after moving to upstate New York...

J.P. the fisherman. That's something that didn't rub off on me...

At some point, Mom and Dad decided to split. It was difficult but, in hindsight, it was certainly for the best.  Dad moved upstate to Hopewell Junction, New York which is where my grandparents were living, and he was able to be there with them, and for them, as they edged into their 90's.

My grandfather's funeral, in 2003, was the only time I'd ever seen my father cry.

J.P. could be stubborn. I remember during his one visit to San Diego in 1994, I gave him a Samuel Adams Lager. You'd have thought I tried to give him toilet water. I'd stocked up on Sam Adams for his visit but, only one beer in, we were headed to the grocery store for a case of Budweiser.

He did, however, enjoy the margaritas:

Having lunch with Dad along Avenida Revolucion in Tijuana, Mexico...

Living on opposite coasts made spending time together difficult. Some years after retiring from the Navy, I went to work for Taylor Guitars, and started traveling regularly to Canada, including to Montreal, Quebec. Well, Hell, Montreal was only about a five hour drive from Dad's, so I started to fly into Newburgh, New York and drive up to Montreal. This allowed me to visit him two weekends in a row when I went to Montreal.

Dad loved to shoot pool, and he was good. He was frighteningly good. I remember, growing up, he was the Hauppauge Fire Department champ year after year. He could be beaten, but not very often. And, if you slipped up on your game. It was over. It just was. Get a beer and have a seat, because you're done.

If you were in a pool tournament with J.P., odds are the best you were going to do was 2nd place...

You know, they say everything happens for a reason. In 2012, I left the job that allowed me to travel to visit Dad, and my own marriage hit the rocks later that same year. I ended up taking a job in Portland, Oregon and, while I enjoyed the northwest for its photographic offerings, it just wasn't for me. After only six months, I took a summer job as a photographer in northeastern Pennsylvania. The small town of Poyntelle, Pennsylvania was a mere two hours from Dad's house in Wallkill, New York.

Greg and I had discussed going to Dad's for his birthday. It didn't take long for us to go  from deciding to get together with Dad and some of his friends for his 80th birthday in July to having a fully catered birthday bash for him. It cost us a Helluva lot more than we thought we would spend, and it was worth every single penny. 

It was heartwarming to watch him as he reconnected with my Uncle Vinny, who he'd known when they were kids. They hadn't seen each other in almost 30 years. Vinny cried all afternoon:

Dad and Uncle Vinny at Dad's 80th birthday party...

It was also good to see the two of them with another lifelong friend, Bobby Arendt. Bobby and my Dad would meet twice a week at Gail's Place, a local "gin mill" (which is what my Dad called every bar on the planet) to play Keno. They lost a whole lot more often than they would win, but it was the friendship which was the only thing that mattered.

Lifelong friends: Dad, Uncle Vinny and Bobby...

Dad and his companion of almost 30 years, Judy, at his 80th birthday party in July 2013...

This shot is special to me, as it's the last photograph ever taken of Greg, Dad and me. Of course, we had no way of knowing that at the time. This was at Dad's 80th birthday party in July of 2013...

And what could be a more fitting birthday present? Howsabout a bottle of Old Parr Scotch?

He was, after all, an "old Parr"...

Dad seemed rather healthy and hale at his 80th birthday party, so we never really considered that it would be the last birthday party he would ever have. Sometimes, you just don't want to think about those kinds of things, anyway.

Dad was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer in late December.

Greg and I drove straight through to New York from Florida; 18 hours to be with him, and we spent New Year's Eve with Dad's friends in Plattekill, New York. We stayed for about a week, and returned to Florida only after it had been determined that Dad would be going home from the hospital in a matter of days.

Dad's attitude, despite having this cancer that was destined to kill him, was admirable. "Hey", he would say, "It could be worse. I could have a toothache."

I think about that a lot. It can always be worse.

In February, Dad was back in the hospital, and things were not looking good. He had a host of issues which, each on their own, would've been manageable. But it simply got to be too much. Greg and I, once again, made the drive to New York to see him before the inevitable came to pass.

Dad died at 2:15pm on February 15.

Greg and I were on I-95 North, somewhere in Virginia.

Years ago, before he died, my grandfather (on Mom's side) told me that you can tell a lot about a man by who shows up to his funeral. Well, Dad's funeral certainly told a story of someone who'd touched numerous lives, either directly or indirectly. Different religions, races, creeds; everyone came out to pay their respects to Dad.

I guess it confirmed what I'd really known all along: Everyone loved J.P.

So, while it's with a heavy heart that I write this, it's also with a thankful one. J.P. wasn't perfect. In fact, he was far from it. But if he was perfect, he wouldn't have been the guy who everyone knew and loved. Greg and I are the men we are in no small part because of him.

So, if he's still with you, be sure to tell your Dad that you love him. But, if your Dad has passed on, do what I'll do. Raise your glass in a silent toast, and remember him fondly.

If you knew Dad, you know that you're a richer person for it. If you didn't know him, know that you wish you had.

Happy Father's Day, Dad...