My Abba
It has almost been a year since my father, Paul M. Lake, passed away. This
picture of him on his couch in Portland Oregon is how I remember him most.
He got Hepatitis C at about the age of 18 or 19 while in the US Navy, most
probably from getting a tattoo. The tattoo on his right upper arm tells the
branch of the armed forces he was in, the year he got the tattoo, and the girl
he left behind. Her name was Trudy Johnson. My Abba, as I called him, told
me that she was the only other lady he had ever loved besides my mother. I
always wondered if my mother ever asked him to get the tattoo covered up or
removed; that is one of the many questions I wish I could have asked him.
In this picture his arm is flexed as in the "male beach pose." My father
was a handsome man who was also extremely clean from head to toe. He always
carried with him a pack of Dentine gum, to chew immediately after he smoked a
cigarette, and a handkerchief in his back pocket like his father had done
before him. It was those little things of style, like the handkerchief he
carried and always opening a door for a lady that made my father a man to be
modeled after. He was a true man of the old school. When he would get home to
relax, he would always sit down in the same spot, as seen in this photo, on the
couch and empty his pockets of all he was carrying.
He worked as a fare inspector for the trains in Portland, OR. If one lived
in Portland and rode the trains, he/she has most likely seen my Abba. As I
looked through my father's house after his passing, I found a letter from
China addressed to my father. It was from a teacher that had gone to Portland
for class with about seven other teachers. The letter had two photos each of
seven Chinese women and a very tall American man dressed in a dark blue
uniform with a funny little smile. The man in the photo was my Abba, wearing the
exact same smile that I remember him most by; the same smile that is seen in
the photo of him on the couch. This is the smile I have seen most of my life,
from the very first time that I opened my eyes. Through his smile, my
father showed the world who he was and what he was made of. Throughout my entire
life, people have always told me much they liked and respected my Abba; it
makes me proud when people say such things of him.
His smile always reminds me of how proud I am of him. In this picture, I
feel as though he’s looking at me in a way like we can really see each other.
Those blue eyes of his can bring joy and pain to my heart. The pain in my
soul because I know he will never see me through those eyes again and the joy of
being lucky enough to have been his, son, friend and student, even if it may
have only been for a short time.
He has left his mark on me and the rest of my family as well. I see it in
the hand that types these words to the bounce in my step as I walk. My father
had very large feet, as is seen in this photograph in front of me. When I
was young, I would walk around the house in his enormous shoes, laughing and
taking high steps so not to catch the tips of his huge shoes onto the carpet.
He would smile at me and say, "You look like a huge letter 'L' on its side."
My Abba’s smile was warm. It made babies coo and angry people ask, "What's
so funny?" I enjoyed making him laugh, like when I put on his big shoes,
just so I could see his soothing smile of love and pride.
After he found out that he was sick, he never got angry or even upset
people. He would just smile that very same smile that is shown in this photograph
and tell them about what he thought of anger. He would tell people how much
time anger can take up and how life can always be taken away from a person;
he would say that after life is taken away, all a person has left are
memories, like photos. He would go on to tell them of a friend of his who got sick
and was told he only had six years to live. My father would say that this man
did not waste one minute of his life getting upset. Instead, he smiled for
still being alive and that is exactly what I believe my father is portraying
in this photograph. He was showing the world to live each day to the
fullest, because you never know what’s going to happen tomorrow.
