By Andrew Leheny
I often wish my father had the opportunity to meet our son, Noah.
Three years after my Dad’s death in 1996, Becky and I became parents through our adoption of a three-month-old baby impacted by spina bifida. Considering all the medical challenges Noah would go on to face, I wish his Grandpa Andy was around to share a childhood of humor and hugs with him.
You see, the legacy I received from my Dad was an affinity for a life filled with friendliness and laughter.
My father loved to tell jokes. Although my Dad worked in a steel mill, I am certain his dream was likely to become an entertainer. He wrote a monthly humor column for the local union newspaper. I recall so many nights in our living room when he shared jokes with his growing family. (He and my Mom would become parents of five boys and two girls.) Often accompanying the jokes would be a display of his other love, singing. He had a good singing voice, and it was common for us to hear our father sit in his armchair and suddenly perform his rendition of Harry Belafonte’s latest hit, or of a western standard like “Town of El Paso.”
Those are good memories. It’s now been 24 years since my father’s passing and Noah is 21 years old. I often wish my Dad had lived long enough to have met Noah when he was a child.
Which may explain that clear dream from the other evening.
In the dream I saw my father, not at 68-years old just before his passing, but as a young man in his early 20s. My father was wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket, like Marlon Brando in the film “The Wild Ones.” I had once seen a photo of him as a young man wearing this jacket.
I walked over to him and we shared a firm handshake.
“You look good, Andy,” said my Dad.
“You look even better,” I answered. “Especially for someone who died in 1996.”
My Dad smiled.
“Well, it has been awhile,” he said..”Heard any good ones lately?” .
During my father’s life telling one another jokes had been our way of saying hello for decades, before his body succumbed and he lay 40 days in a coma before dying. Although I could not recall a joke to share, he told one that was surprisingly risque.
“Somehow I only expected clean jokes in the after-life,” I said.
“Well, it really wasn’t a dirty joke,” said my Dad. “It was ‘earthy’ and up here ‘earthy’ is okay.”
I seemed realize then that he and I were in the kitchen from my childhood. He invited me to join him sitting at that old small table. My father, looking so younger than I had ever known him, just stared at me for a few moments.
“You know, I missed you Andy.,” he said. “I missed your Mom. I missed all of you.”
Before I could say we missed him too, Noah wheeled into the kitchen. A young man now. A college student. It was so hard for me to believe that the years have past by so fast.
“Dad”, I said, “this is your grandson, Noah.”
“Noah, this is my father. This is your grandfather.”
Noah looked at both of us and smiled.
Although my father was not of the generation known for hugs, he walked over to Noah’s wheelchair and bend down, giving Noah the warm hug of a grandfather to his beloved grandson.
“Hello Noah,” said my father.
“Hello Grandpa,” Noah answered.
Now Noah’s grandfather smiled.
“Well grandson,” said my Dad
“I have just the joke for you.”
And as I wake up one of my favorite song lyrics comes to me, by the late Harry Nilsson.
“Dreams are nothing more than wishes
And a wish is just a dream
You wish to come true.”
The Focus 