My Dad was an interesting character.

We are Irish decent. I think we are 5th or 6th generation Irish according to the Sullivan Book. My grandfather assembled it when he retired after he had a heart attack. It is a very interesting book. It is a genealogy book assembled before Ancestry.com or 23andme. My grandfather corresponded to people by snail mail and by telephone in Ireland and in the US to trace his family line as far back as he could go. It is a book that is passed on to the oldest living son in our family. This book did not get passed on to my dad or I. The book has rightly been passed to my brother. He has the book in his possession. He is also the last living male Sullivan of our family. Unless he has a son of his own. No pressure Brotha Man!!

My Uncle, my Dad's older brother, died in 2021. He made sure the Sullivan book made it into the hands of my brother. My Uncle and my Dad had a rocky relationship. My Dad tended to have rocky relationships with a lot of people. My uncle made sure I did not tell my dad his health was failing him. He also made sure he did not get his hands on the Sullivan Book.

It would be such a long story to get to the origin of the reasoning of why my uncle did not want my dad to be involved with anything. Maybe another time. For another St. Patrick's Dayish post.

My Dad died on St. Patrick's day 2 years ago. He was drama. He could be very funny. He could also be a lot to handle. Especially when he had to much to drink. Which was often, he like to blame that on being Irish. He was also so fucking lucky! I called him a cat because the man had 9 lives and then some (anyone remember the short cartoon "The Cat Came Back?"). I guess it was the luck of the Irish.

I don't talk about my dad because he and I were complicated. He was a good provider and I think in the end that is the best he could do. He was a good provider. We had a nice home, I never went without, and there was never a worry if we could have something or need something. It goes a long way and I am aware of that. My Dad was about success, money, appearance, and having it all. My mom, brother and I were a byproduct of that. I told you it was complicated. And another story for another time.

When I think of my Dad I think of all the stories where I thought he was dead or could have died. It was also interesting to learn at his funeral a childhood friend told similar stories about my dad escaping death. He was nearly scalped on a table riding something, I think it was a sled or a skateboard. I guess he nearly took his whole scalp off. My stories are very similar, but got more serious as he got older. But, he was still lucky things did not end badly for him.

One year when I was home from college during the summer, I came home from work and heard the car running in the garage. As I opened the garage door I was overcome with carbon monoxide smell. I thought my dad was in the car. I opened the garage door and ran out to the car and opened the door. He wasn't there. I turned off the car and searched the house for my dad. I found him passed out on the bed. Good thing his drunk ass was able to get out of the car.

Another time, some years later I was in Italy with my dad, his girlfriend at the time, and her daughter. We were in Positano on the Almafi Coast. My dad had chartered a boat (My dad goes big for everything). We stopped for lunch at the most quaint coastal restaurant, the food was delicious, and the wine was good. The wine was so good my dad drank 2 bottles to himself. After lunch, the charter boat took us to a large cove to swim. We all got into swim, including my dad. As we return to the boat my dad is nowhere to be seen. This cove is huge!!! My dad's girlfriend's daughter and I jump back into the water and swim to shore to see if that is where he went. The boat charter staff get on the radio to the Italian Coast Guard. When we get to shore, my dad's girlfriend's daughter, let's call her Ash. Ash has a doctorate in Spanish, she starts asking if the folks on the shore have seen a big guy in black swim trunks come ashore. The Italian men start to sort of make fun of us until the ladies on shore recognize our universal face of no, we are fucking serious. These fellas get a dingy boat and take Ash out to see if my dad is in another cove. I swim back to the boat. At this point I think my dad is dead, because, he can swim, but not great, he's drunk, and it's a huge cove!! I start scanning the bottom and trying to figure out how to get a body back to the states. 30 minutes later the Italian men and Ash return with my dad hanging on to a rope and they are dragging him behind the boat. They found him 2 coves over! Fucking floating and swimming! We get him back in the boat and my dad is mad at us! He said we embarrassed him and he wanted a glass of wine. There are many other stories from that trip. If you have ever been to Positano, Italy. There are stairs everywhere! Perfect for a guy who loves wine and likes to wander off. Another time, another story. The Positano trip with my dad is a story in itself. I took one more and final trip with my dad after Italy.

The last story I will leave you with about my dad's luck is when he fell in Mexico. My dad was an avid fisherman. He loved to fish in Mexico. He was in Mexico with some friends fishing. As he was getting out of the shower he slipped and fell. He broke his hip. He ended up at the hospital in Mexico where they kept him to stabilized him and he was flown home to the States for his hip repair. My dad had purchased travel insurance this trip (thank God) through his credit card and was able to be flown home. When he arrived home he was not initially cleared for surgery due to his heart. He was cleared for surgery the next day. After they administered the anesthesia he coded. Code blue was called from the OR. His friend was the surgeon. Scared the shit out of him rightly so. They got him back. He went to the light and came back. This was the day before Father's day. After he was discharged home, he got a surgical infection, how that went down was another fucking ordeal because my dad was like "Kate, it's healing so well, its got a nice gray color to it." Gray is never a healing color.

There are many other lucky stories my dad had. As I was growing up my dad traveled a lot for fun and for work. I remember hearing on several occasions of him getting mugged on the way home from being out. His life count was way more than 9; so he definitely was not a cat. How many lives to Leprechauns get? I am thinking its the luck of the Irish.

Funny thing is, I did complete an Ancestry.com DNA test, and I am more Scottish than Irish. Do Scott's have more luck than the Irish?

I also wanted to mention, the cover image is my dad taking photos at a drag race in the 70's. He loved photography at some point in his life. And I also wanted to say grief is weird, even if your relationship wasn't great or complicated. It just looks a little different when it is.