On August 13, 2009 my father passed away from a rare cancer. Here is a memoir that I wrote for school, about him.
Whitney Pierpoint Blair. Also known as; the Chai Tea Master, the Tai Chi not quite Master, the Saturday Morning Pancake Chef, Piano Teacher, and even Driving Instructor, but most importantly, Dad. My dad was one the best men I’ve ever met. Granted, I never got to know him very well, but from what I’ve heard, and experienced, he was an amazing person.
Sometimes people ask me what my dad was like, what kind of a person he was. I often say to that “Oh, well where do I start.” But really, I don’t know him well enough to talk about what he was like for more than three minutes. In all honesty, I only knew my dad for ten years. Ten years, minus my early years that I don’t remember. Which leaves roughly five or six years of memories of my dad. Because of this, I may be spreading my content thin. But honestly, my dad is my inspiration to keep writing. He’s my inspiration to keep living, and is possibly one of the most important plot twists in my otherwise boring life. His plot twist is what I always write about, and why I think my writing improved over the past few years. There is always something new to say about him, and there probably always will be.
Ever since I was young my dad was always the fun one out of my parents. He was the one who would wrestle with me, and buy me toys. He would often let my siblings and me get disgustingly unhealthy junk food from chain restaurants, and even sometimes let me get coffee. He was the one who would always be playing with us, or making us yummy foods if he wasn’t working or sleeping. Our family was always his priority.
I remember that he always took good care of me. I’ve always been incredibly sensitive, and he honored that. He rarely raised his voice, and was always up for a big hug. Up until I was about eight or nine, I always had to fall asleep next to my mom. My dad would be the one who would carry me to my bed once I was asleep, and then back to my parents bed when I woke up in the middle of the night and called for him. Even when he was feeling weaker, before we knew about his cancer, he would still walk me to and from my bed. Looking back on it I feel really bad, at the time I never thought about the lack of sleep he was getting.
On top of waking up in the middle of the night, and carrying a heavy child, he would wake up extra early to meditate. Sometimes, I would wake up early too, and go sit with him. Some of my favorite memories with him are just of us sitting there in the early silence. The most impressive thing, was that I usually was silent. Unless I was incredibly hungry, I would love to watch my father meditate as I sat in his lap. I always felt so relaxed, and safe. Sitting there with him, it felt like nothing bad could ever happen to us.
Along with meditating in the morning, my father would often practice Tai Chi out on our deck. I would also enjoy watching him practice Tai Chi, although I often got more bored watching him do that, than meditate. Sometimes he would teach me certain moves (unfortunately I only remember one now), and then he would speed it up and make it funny. There is this one move, I believe it was called the crane, where he would slowly move his hand upwards, and to the side. Whenever I was watching, he would do it normally at the beginning, and then when it came time to lift his hand, he would do it really fast, and make a noise like a stereotypical Kung Fu character. Whenever he did that, I would laugh so hard it hurt.
The strangest thing, to me, is that my siblings and I all have different memories of my dad. My siblings got to see more sides of him than I did. They know more about his serious side, and parenting skills. But when I think of my dad, I think of this knight in shining armor, who protected our family. But that’s probably how a lot of little girls see their daddies, and I only knew him while I was little girl. If you were to ask my older sisters I’m sure their answers would be completely different. Everyone saw him differently, from a different perspective. Although, I think anyone could agree that he was a wonderful person to be around.
In fact, when my dad first passed away many people would often tell me what a great person he was. As I get older, I unlock more stories and secrets I never knew about him. I get to learn more about his witty humor, terrible dad jokes, and unbearable love for puns. The more I learn about him, the more I realize how much I’m like him, both in personality, and mannerisms. For example, when I’m not paying attention to my speech patterns, I say chocolate with a half New York accent, the same way he did. We also have a very similar sense of humor: that sense of humor where the person telling the joke is the only one who thinks it’s funny (the best sense of humor in my opinion).
I almost didn’t write about this part of him, just to avoid offending anyone with the stereotype. But honestly, it played a pretty big part into his personality, and peoples misconceptions of him. Close family friends have often said that my dad was, and I quote, “the gayest straight man” they’ve ever met. Now to be honest, my father was kind of a flamboyant man. He loved theatre, music, and even dance. I always found that quite hilarious, and incredibly accurate.
Because of his theatrical background, my dad was never afraid to embarrass himself, or his kids. As a matter of fact, he’s probably the most embarrassing dad I’ve met. I’m sure all teenage girls say this about their parents, but I mean it. Luckily for me, I never had to deal with his embarrassment in my teen years, but elementary school made up for everything. At the elementary school I went to, we would have a Halloween carnival every year. All the kids would get to dress up, and so would the parents. We would play games, and have booths set up for us to win prizes. At one point, my dad was contemplating dressing up as a woman for the carnival, which I immediately responded to with a solid no. Apparently, at the time dad didn’t know what “no” meant. I remember one of classmates saying “Oh, Rane I think your dad’s here.”
I looked around and didn’t see him anywhere, so i asked my classmate, “Where?”
“At the darts booth.” I go to the darts booth, my father nowhere in sight, when suddenly this woman with long curly white hair turns around. Lo and behold, it was not a woman but my father. I don’t exactly remember how I responded to that, but I’m sure it was neither pretty, nor ladylike. I’m sure there are many embarrassing things that he’s done, that I’ve blocked from my memory, but that was possibly one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.
Towards the end of his life, I became more regretful for lashing out at him for doing embarrassing things. I regretted not spending time with him, when he had asked me if I wanted to go do things. I started to feel bad for not spending enough time with him, so within the last year of his life we became a lot closer. In a way this was hard, but also quite healing for me. I would often draw him pictures, or make get well cards for him. I would read books to him, that I’m sure he didn’t care about, but I felt like I was being kind. I would sit on his lap, and let him smell my food that he couldn’t eat because of his sickness. I was always closer with my dad than with my mom, which made it that much harder when he passed. I remember sitting with my mom when my dad was sick. I asked her if she thought he was going to die, she wasn’t sure, but she asked me what I thought, and I said that he would.
She later told me, that I was the first of my siblings to say he was going to die, which I think is interesting because I cried the least at his memorial. Maybe because I was surrounded by my friends and family, or maybe because I knew he wanted me to be laughing instead. Either way, losing him has been the hardest thing I’ve ever faced, and after reading this, I hope that you can understand why.
