None of us had a “perfect” upbringing and we’ve all experienced some pain in our family relationships, but I was my imperfect father’s biggest fan.

It’s my opinion that Dad wasn’t meant to marry and have children, but he stuck it out without complaint. Having family meant financial commitment. To provide, he worked hard on the midnight shift at GM’s Fleetwood Plant. His lunch always consisted of a pair of clean socks, a whole tomato, bread, a hunk of kielbasa or ham wrapped in tin foil and a pint of vodka to get him through his shift.

Even at a young age, it broke my heart to see him leave for work at a time when most of us were getting ready for bed. Sandy and I would say goodbye and without acknowledgment, he would silently leave for the plant. Dad never spoke to us. If we needed attention, he would tell Mom to wipe a nose, take one of us to the restroom or tie a shoe. He never laid a hand on me. He just gave a nod to Mama Capo and she did the punishing. Then, one day, when I was about 12-years-old, he said “good-bye” before leaving for work! This was a game changer! We could (finally) talk to each other.

My father wasn’t the kind to paint our toenails. He didn’t participate in his little girls’ tea parties. Our “quality” time was going to Detroit’s Eastern Market where there were fruits, vegetables, live poultry, pigs and, wait for it, a chilidog at 7:00 am. This farmers’ market was not in a good neighborhood. Constant announcements of “Beware of pickpockets!” blared over the PA system reminding us that we were in a crime-ridden neighborhood, but I always felt safe.

We pulled worms from our backyard for the next morning’s fishing trip to Belle Isle or Kensington Metro Park. After fishing, we would forage for hazelnuts. These often became overnight fishing trips. In the morning, our family would wake up scattered on the grass, a lawn chair or a picnic table with part of the weekend still in front of us. What an adventure!

He took us to his favored neighborhood bar where we were treated to table shuffleboard, French burnt peanuts and an open, little blue/green glass bottle of Coke with an upturned glass on top. He allowed us to “drink” the foam off his beer  (not for selfish reasons).

Today, he may have been thought to have OCD, but I remember it as being meticulous. He sharpened our pencils with a knife. He precisely chopped vegetables as tiny as humanly possible and cooked everything oh, so slowly.  He once stuffed a fish so on-point, it looked like it was just pulled out of the water and was napping. Dad never drank water from the faucet and always used cutlery, including on fruit and sandwiches. This he most certainly passed on to me.

Tradition. Are you kidding me? He ruled in this area. Christmas Eve involved 12 exquisite, non-meat dishes. Next, Midnight Mass even though he believed to have been excommunicated for marrying my non-Catholic mother.

For Easter, Dad made kielbasa and horseradish. He dipped the head of a straight pin into wax and applied designs to the eggs before he dyed them in water colored with the skins of onions. The best designs were placed in a museum of sorts. The eggs rested in shot glasses lining the top shelf of our pantry so we could enjoy them for years to come.

Coming from Lithuania he was in unfamiliar territory so he and our mother took on what now would be considered traditional roles. Today, fathers have taken on more housework and child care duties. Dad didn’t do housework, but he could cook. He concocted a breakfast that we called “Eggs Adolfas”. It was a slice of bread with a hole in the middle where an egg was placed to cook. Topped with green onions, it was living art.

Childcare duties were demonstrated when he arrived home from work. Unquestionably hungry, he usually made himself a grand breakfast. Sacrificing his meal, he fed two little birdies (my sister and I), one forkful at a time.

We were not pampered or showered with affection, which, I believe, led us to become independent and resourceful adults.

My father was entertaining (He could “play” a tune with his nose), smart, tenacious, strong and stoic. He never waved a white flag until cancer took his life. I hope when he died he knew the impact he had on the capable, hardworking, smart and funny young adults he left behind.

You can read more about our Dad at A Good Man