One tough son-of-a-gun

My dad has cancer. Words I never thought I’d say. When I think of my dad, I think of this being immune from the reality of things as nasty as cancer. He’s the one constant in my life which has never changed. My mentor and consigliare, always available for advice and counsel.

He had surgery last Wednesday to remove his prostate. And as I’ve always known him, he’s been a rock through the whole ordeal. He never whined about having to faceoff with his ailment. Not once has he uttered a word about being scared or worried. He’s a rock you see.

He’s always been like that. I can’t think of one time in my life when I’ve ever seen him to be scared of anything. He’s been pretty matter of fact with this latest test, which scares me. I’ve lost loved ones before who didn’t seem to openly fret about their illnesses, even though they would eventually succumb to the diseases that seemingly snuck up on them.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying he’s being cavalier about his illness. In fact it’s exactly the opposite. My dad doesn’t take anything lightly. It’s just that he has this attitude that he will get past this and he get on with his life.

For that attitude, I’m eternally optimistic. It’s hard not to be when the person in the middle of the fight is that strong. He can’t wait to get the clear from his doctor, so he can spend Christmas in Hawaii, like he’s done every year for the past 15 years.

He’s a tough son-of-a-gun. It’s a trait I wish I had inherited more of. Perhaps it’s the way he’s carried himself over the years. When I was a kid, he smashed his thumb while he was assembling a drafting table in our old house. Rather than writhing in pain (like I would have been doing), I found him laying on his back with his mangled thumb stretched out over his head.

“It won’t bleed as much if I keep it elevated over my heart,” he said to me. “Do me a favor and go get Lilliana (our neighbor who lived across the street) and see if she can drive me to the hospital…I don’t think I can drive.”

To this day, I still can’t believe he didn’t scream when that spring loaded table arm nearly severed that thumb off. Did I mention that he’s one tough son-of-a-gun?

When we checked into the hospital last week, he was just as matter of fact. He’s made it very clear that Thanksgiving dinner at his house will go on as planned and nothing will change. Six days after having major surgery, he’s more concerned that the cranberry sauce is the same as it’s always been.

I can’t wait to look back on this in a few years and reminisce with him about the time he reminded me of just how damn tough he is.