Getting to know my Dad

Joseph M. Dougherty (March 18th, 1938 - February 7th, 2007)

Some of my earliest memories.

There would be a chair that he would sit in every night and watch tv. He would drink his beer and watch tv. He made up a game. Who could get him his next beer faster, me or my brother? He would time us. We would have to run out to the kitchen, throughout the done can out, and bring him a new beer. We loved this game and the competition. It wasn't until many years later that I realized that it was his clever way of getting his beer as fast as possible. Smart man.
I also remember we would slap hands before going to bed. It wasn't exactly a high five. His hand would be at his lap palm up. I would raise my hand and slap his and then turn mine over so he could slap mine. And then off to bed.

Saying goodnight was something he always made sure he did, even up until his last days. A few weeks ago, I was half asleep on my parents couch. My brother was upstairs in his room with the music blasting. Before my dad went to bed, I could hear him knock on Joes door and say goodnight. Joe couldn't hear him because of the music. My dad did this a few times in his half delirious state: "Joe,(knock knock knock), Goodnight. Joe,(knock knock knock), Goodnight." Then my mom chimes in from her bed down the hall: "Hon, just come to bed. Don't worry about it"

Dad: Huh
Mom: Just come to bed
Dad: (knock knock) Joe
Dad: Joe
Mom: Dont worry about it.
Dad: Huh?Dad: (knock knock)
Mom: c'mon. Dont bother.
Dad: What?
Mom: Come to bed
Dad: Huh?
Dad: Joe. Joe. (knock knock)
Mom: Hon.
Dad: Joe. Goodnight.(knock knock)
Mom: come to bed.
Dad: Huh?
Dad (knock knock)
Joe: Yeah?
Dad: Goodnight.
Joe: alright.

This when on like this for longer than I recorded above. It was hilarious. But my dad accomplished his mission. Something he's been doing since we were little, saying goodnight to his two sons.

I remember deep sea fishing. I was upset because he and my bro used to go. Dad said I was too young. When I was finally old enough, I noticed kids on the boat who were younger than me. Tricked me again. It didn't matter. Fishing with my Dad are some of my sweetest memories. He was always spending more time untangling our lines than worrying about his own rod.

Sports. My dad was always involved with our lives. In little league baseball, he became a coach. When playing street football with friends, he was the steady quarterback. I distinctly remember the moment he was unable to do it. I guess he was getting old but it seemed like his gut was sticking too far out, preventing him from getting good follow through on the football.

Pool is one of my passions. My dad was my first teacher. Since I was 15, we played together. When I turned 21, we all joined a pool team. He was on it with us for 10 years.
Thinking back, he didn't do all this stuff because he was bored. He would have been content sitting on his chair watching tv. But he did all this stuff because he wanted to be as involved with me and my bro as he could.

I was raised catholic. I remember the day I told my dad I was no longer catholic. He took it hard but got used to the idea. In fact, one day I invited my parents to my new church and they came. My dad didn't want to come. He even said afterwards that it wasn't something he liked. So why did he come? Because he knew it was important to me.

Now I know I'm making my dad sound perfect. I'm only saying the good stuff. But he just died so that's ok. And in fact, there isn't much bad. We didn't see eye to eye on alot of things. But in those moments, he didn't reject me. He just thought I was strange.

Some of my friends that knew him well are deeply affected by his death. I think that says alot about him. Even a few friends of mine who only knew him casually have said passing comments like " I liked your dad." He made that kind of impression. He was likeable.

Not only was he a good father, but apparently he was a good husband as well. :)My bro, mom, and I spent a good deal of time the last week in the hospital. The last two days, before my dad officially died, he was brain dead.
During that time, my mom kept saying to him over and over again:"I love you so much. You are the best husband in the world. You know that. I love you. You are the best."
It seems like alot to ask but I wish for that more than anything: To be on my deathbed and my wife to say to me: You're the best ever.

He had a mug that says "Best Dad Ever." It was something from Joe and I but I'm sure my Mom bought it for us to give to him. I'm glad she found that mug. I'm sure it was tough. There can be only one right?