My father and I didn't...really connect. It was very clear throughout my whole life my dad didn't really want children. He struggled with me and my sisters. I truly think if he could have run off with my mother, he would have. I've talked about my father before. The Marcus who wrote that 20 years ago was lying to himself a bit and was anxiously waiting for the birth of his son, but that's not the point here. The point is that I was who my dad went to the movies with, for example, because he could see what he wanted, and I was quiet. This was usually our time together. We went to what he wanted to do, and I would quietly go along. Thus, the day before I was supposed to head back to Minnesota, my father woke me up early (this was very much not normal) and told me what we were doing.
"You're awake?"
"Yeah, I was going to go to Steep Rock with the kids today. What's up?"
"You're going to drive me to NYU today. Let's go."
" I'm sorry...what?"
"Come on. I have to be there in a couple hours. They're waiting for me."
After years of being this man's son, I knew better than to argue. It would just end with me being yelled at, so I got in the car and drove him to the Bobst Library at NYU. Normally, when I would drive my father, he would just...sleep. Not this day. Over the course of the two hour drive to the library, my father told me stories about his life I had never heard before. Stories about his parents, his extended family, and his time just before and with my mother. He also explained to me what we would be doing at the Bobst and that I was to, "Go along with it."
Bobst Library is a beautiful library. When we walked in, however, a man attempted to stop my father and ask what he was there for. My father just ignored him and kept walking. Before I could step in and try to explain, a person I had never met before yelled, "Dr. Leab!" He then turned to the man (who I've come to realize was security) and said, "That man is fine. I guess the one with him is too."
I wish I could remember this man's name. Ten years later, a few things get lost to time, but the man brought my father and me up to the 4th floor. He gushed at me about all of the things my father had done to help people learn about Communist history and labor history. This man would also be taking over for my father as the editor of the journals he worked on. At this point I learned the real point of why I was there.
You see, my father, as much as I loved him and as complicated as our relationship was, always had a hidden agenda. There was always another plan, and he didn't like to share it. This was the case here. As we were about head into the office, my father handed me a piece of paper.
"What's this?" I asked.
"Go to the second floor, to special collections. and get the books on this list. I've written down where I think they are. Don't talk to anyone."
"Um, what?"
"Get the books on the list. and bring them to me. Do it quietly."
"Dad, what the hell?"
"Why are you still here?" Then he turned and went to talk to the man who brought him upstairs.
This was annoying, but it was also nothing new. My father wanted me to do something and wanted it done his way. There was no way to discuss it. 2nd floor it was.
I walked down to special collections and was able to pull the books on his list. No one looked at me; no one stopped me. It was definitely a moment of real privilege. I had three books, and I walked back up to the 4th floor. When I got there, my father waved me over and this is where I realized what was happening. He opened his cloth bag that he had with him, took out two books, placed the books I brought him in the bag, then put the two books back on top of them.
There is a moment when you realize what someone is doing. For better or for worse, you recognize the choice they are making and why. That happened here. My father, the guy who was supposed to tell me what was right and wrong, the person who I was supposed to emulate, was stealing books from NYU. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but that's sure what it looked like.
My father finished his discussion with the guy who brought him in, left some files, and started walking out. "Let's go," he muttered. When we reached the second floor, I stopped him.
"Did you just have me steal books for you?"
"Hey... keep your voice down. We aren't stealing them. We're borrowing them for a little bit while I finish an article I'm writing."
"What's this 'WE' bullshit, Dad. I grabbed them. I'm the one who gets in trouble."
"I'll return them," and with that he just kept walking.
I was convinced someone was going to tackle him. These weren't just library books, they were from a special collection. However, nothing happened. My father walked back out to the car. In fact, seconds after we left the building, he pulled one of the books out of his bag and started reading through it while walking. This forced me to have to guide him to the car instead of walking into a lamppost or a wall, for example.
The ride home found my father dropping little notes again that he had never said to me before. I learned about a restaurant that used to exist he fondly remembered going to with my mother. There was where he enjoyed getting bagels when he was in college...when could afford them. It was a stark contrast between the guy who had just taken books and been mad about being questioned about it, and the guy who was reminiscing. It felt like he was letting it all go because he wasn't going to see it again. For two hours, he talked about people he knew, places he went, and more. I felt like the groom listening to the Ancient Mariner as he told his arduous journey. My father didn't share any of this while I was growing up. He wouldn't talk to any of us about what he experienced, yet here he was telling me about people I had never heard of or seen at anytime in my life.
When we arrived home, he got out of the car and didn't say anything. He just grabbed the books and went inside. The trip was over which meant the talking was done too. As I entered the house, however, my dad, who was walking up the steps stopped.
"Thanks for helping me today. I guess I never say that do, I?" Before I could say anything, he turned and continued up. He didn't want to hear the response.
The next day, The kids, my Ex, and I had to go back to Minnesota. Again, my Ex acted like everything was fine. As we prepared to get in the car and drive to the airport, my Ex told my dad, "I love you." He looked her dead in the eye and said, "No you don't. I don't love you either." He then went in the house. My mother had to grab him to come say goodbye to me. My Ex grumbled as she got in the car with the kids. My mother hugged me, and my father stood there. I went to hug him, and he actually hugged me back, and then he said, "Thank you for helping me yesterday." I shot back from the hug and asked him if he was ok. "I'm fine. You'll be fine too. You're a good man. I'm sorry I didn't do more to help you with that." He then turned around and went inside. Both my mother and I were shocked. "Maybe he just feels bad about the divorce."
This would be the last time I saw my father. His brain would get more scrambled over the next few months, and he would call and ask me how college was going, or if I was ready to get married. A couple months later he would go to the hospital for surgery. They couldn't do it. My father, being my father, scheduled the surgery for what he thought was my birthday. "I can't die on the day one of you was born," he said. Ironically, he picked the wrong day. A few weeks later, after not getting the surgery, he died. It was during my prep that my mother called me and told me his heart gave out. This would be the third of four terrible things that happened in 2016. Needing a new job, my marriage breaking up, and then my father dying. There would be one more.
I appreciate that my father opened up to me, and it was almost like the universe gave us a gift of being able to talk to each other, truly talk to each other, one time. I'm glad my father could unburden himself to me and let me see who he was once. I just wish it was earlier than the last time I saw him.
Thanks, Dad. Just don't steal any more books wherever you are.
