My MSD
I am number seven of seven.
Born in the mid '60s in the midst of Beatlemania and Bill Cosby, before it became known decades later that he... well, you know.
But I was a big fan of things like Johnny Cash's TV show, Ed Allen's Morning Workout ("...and don't forget your homework!"), The Six Million Dollar Man, Spiderman cartoons, Nutchos chocolates, a faux chocolate bar named Danish, chocolate peanut butter marshmallow squares, playing baseball with my friends in the Dud James Arena parking lot along with makeshift squash with a tennis racket and tennis ball against that building, chasing baseballs for two bucks a game which would buy me a pop, bar, comic book and chips, going to Dominion grocery store with Mom or Dad, riding my bike, watching kids play in Kiwanis Pool which I became deathly afraid of - but I still liked to see other kids having fun. I even gained an appreciation for Englebert Humperdinck, who was Mom's favorite. I think her listening to him and getting so much joy out of that made me happy to see Mom happy.
I memorized those early Bill Cosby records which sold in the millions in those days. I would actually do performances for family and neighbors, and they'd give me a quarter or a dollar or whatever. I just liked performing, even at that young age in single digits. I loved to make people laugh and smile. I still feel "the performer" in me to this day, and tried to carry it over into music, teaching myself how to play drums from a little kit that my brother Greg bought with his own money for me when I was 13. I did have some success with that, and I miss it. But who knows what may come tomorrow.
I'd much rather remember the happy times than the bad ones, but it wasn't all sunshine and lollipops, to be sure. I can remember as far back as my brother Greg still living at home, waking up one very early morning as he got sick and was throwing up blood, and he took himself to the hospital to be treated for a bleeding ulcer - the treatment for it back then was pretty archaic, but he got through it.
Dad was a kind, sweet man underneath his alcoholic exterior. The problem is, we hardly ever saw it. He was drunk six days a week, save for Sundays because the liquor store was closed that day. Perhaps he abstained because of it being church day. If you walked into Saint Augustine's Church and veered left toward the wall about ten or so pew rows in, you'd find Dad there with Mom and some of us with them, always wearing his Sunday Best suit and tie. I became an altar boy, like a few of us Cooks I think, but only after Dad passed in '78, regrettably. But I still wanted to make Mom proud.
There was much suffering in that Cook house at what was 136 Emmerson Street. Just a small war-time house that took in all seven of us and Mom and Dad. Dad's illness turned into rage at some times and he abused many of us, but oddly, not me. My family saw me as Dad's 'pet'. I have many fond memories with him. Dad was a World War II survivor, who clearly suffered mental illness as a result of what he experienced. I know he had issues in his personal life too that contributed to this.
My sisters were very much affected by Dad's behavior. Debbie left the province in the later 70's and, like the family patriarch Peter, landed in Ontario. Both left the house before their time, I think, to get away from Dad and find some peace in their lives, but in doing so left Mom behind. It's okay though, because there were still a bunch of us in town. No one ever blamed them for their choices. To do so would be rather ignorant.
There was a notorious pedophile in those days, not really known by many at the time, who would befriend young boys like me, and take them on little trips to the beach or whatever. I can somewhat remember them, but can't recall being a victim or anything. Perhaps because I didn't know what was going on. There may be something buried in my subconscious that my brain won't allow me to remember as a defensive mechanism. Looking back, I can see how my own behavior was affected, as the roots of those times still peek out today with fear and caution.
Despite all this, I don't really think I suffered as much as the others in the family did, however. My sister Cindy suffered greatly, and had to toughen up a lot to make it through. She became somewhat abrasive in those days because she had to in order to survive. When I think of it, she was the baby of the family getting all the attention, until I came along. That's just natural family stuff. Every large family has it. She evolved into quite a benevolent spirit as the years passed, especially after her husband George came into her life. I was actually quite a tyrant towards her! Breaking her things, arguing with her about dumb stuff, and really she had to deal with a lot of the brunt of my errant ways that I developed after all my TBIs. Cindy needs no forgiveness for anything, but I needed a lot of it. No one really knew what to make of how I was acting in the 80's, which was very strange behavior indeed. It became rather self destructive as time passed. I got no medical attention where I needed it; but back in those days, no one knew it was needed. Me included.
My brother Roy got married in the early 70's and had two kids, who turned out to be my makeshift brothers. They are my first nephews, and we were all young enough to be considered actual brothers. Roy had a rough time with Dad, and you could see that reflected in his own personality. He went into survival mode with Dad and did what he could to try to maintain some amount of normalcy. Despite his challenges, Roy became one of the best dads I know of. Actually, all my brothers are fantastic dads.
One of those fantastic dads is Rick, who we called Ricky in the old days (he dropped the 'y' in the 80's). Rick and me were pals a lot in the 70's. I would go so far as to say he was at least one of my best friends - more so now, if that's possible, because man, he endured a lot. A lot.
I document a lot of my life in these blogs because I like the idea of leaving it behind when I'm gone, that there'll be some kind of memory of it, from my perspective. But in this, the month of Rick's birthday, I wanted to give him something that you can't buy: Recognizance.
Rick was a very low-key, shy, super-quiet fellow outside of 136. He had image issues, like a lot of us, but I just feel like he suffered maybe the most of us in the family, not excusing what everyone else went through. But Rick was on the front lines of receiving cruelty in the 70's. Yet, he still had a heart big enough, resilient enough, to stand firm and patient while time brought him somewhere better.
I remember his long-standing relationship with a girl named Bonnie, who was an equally shy, plain-Jane kind of girl not unlike my Janice. I think they met shortly after Dad's passing. She came along at the right time for Rick. But I think she wanted more than he could give. And Rick could give a lot. Maybe too much sometimes.
February 28, 1978 is when Dad died in his bedroom. Mom began to sleep upstairs with Cindy in her room around five or so years earlier due to Dad's sickness. Rick was there living in the house with Cindy and me when Mom discovered Dad that morning, unable to wake up. I remember trying to wake him up too. It's an image in my head I can't erase.
But I think Rick may have dealt with it the hardest. Despite the abuse and alcoholism, Rick had a deep love for Dad that he didn't always outwardly show. But I saw it that morning after they wheeled Dad's lifeless body out of the house. Rick was crushed, sitting on Dad's bed, just thinking. I'm tearing up right now writing this remembering it. I was too young to process what happened at the time.
Finally now, I'm getting to my point: Rick became something else from that day forward. He became Dad. He at least became my Dad.
But something very distinct, in retrospect, clicked in his personality. It's almost as if he actually, really, became Dad, if Dad hadn't suffered through the war and his subsequent alcoholism. When I think of it, if you removed those traumatic incidents in his life, Dad would have become the way Rick is today. So, it came to me just recently, with all my deep diving into spirituality, that Dad is acting through Rick. To. This. Day. Because it is my firm belief that ego does not exist when we pass. I imagine Dad without ego...... and the picture I see is of Rick, who is an absolute doppelganger to Dad. And everyone says that. Thus, it's only logical to see that Rick actually is Dad.
Rick is one of the kindest, smartest, endearing souls anyone could ever meet. My MSD (makeshift Dad). That man has rescued me through my life more times than I could ever count - from saving me from a bully at Kiwanis Park when I was ball chasing (or as we say jokingly today, "chase balls"), coming to my rescue with my clunker cars, giving me a lift here or there, taking me on trips to the Island, making me laugh with his farting alarm clock, and look - when Rick laughs, everyone laughs! I think each of my siblings has their own unique one. My friend Steve (r.i.p., my sweet friend) used to love hearing my family laugh, and even wanted to record it, it made him so happy. But that's Rick's purpose in life, I think: To make people happy, to spread joy, and never be a burden. He never asked for help. The family had to come to his rescue at times because he was too proud to look for it. But Rick is always the first to show up when someone's in distress. Maybe all those years growing up without it hardwired him to make sure no one else has to endure that.
To make no mistake, there is lots and lots of Mom in Rick. The nurturing aspect of him is clearly that. But I just feel like the ego-less Dad peers through us through his eyes. Rick is a Dad himself of three brilliant boys -- and come to think of it, all my nieces and nephews are my extended siblings. With Rick's kids, they're amazing examples of how kindness carries on through their offspring. But Rick had an amazingly rough go of getting them to where they are today, as their mother suffered greatly with mental illness. Rick was the rock of that family of his. Now he's the rock of the whole Cook family.
Long ago when I started doing blogs, I was told that documenting things would be therapeutic. It is, but in the beginning of doing that I think there might be too much self-reflection. Today, I feel like I'm the lucky one of the whole family. Just because I documented my hard times doesn't mean they never had any. But I know me more than anyone else, right?
Still, I recognize more and more today what my siblings endured. Why they acted how they did. And how they overcame enormous adversity to stand tall today. Me included. We're a sold unit, us Cooks. We have each other's backs. Every now and then, like all large families, there's a tiff, but no tiff is stronger than the love we have for each other. And we all try to spread that love beyond our own families. We all try in our own ways to bring our own brand of joy to everyone. I'm pretty friggin' proud of them all for standing up every time they got knocked down. We are resilient. We are love.
But make no mistake either:
Rick is Dad.
Rick, if you're reading this (and I know he will), I love you, bro/Dad.
And may God bless you and your lovely May, and Brit, the daughter of your heart. May and Brit have this Cook spirit, too, with their own flairs.
Should this be read by anyone else, I hope you also have this same kind of light in your life.
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