I’ve accounting hundreds of pages about my dad: poems, essays, abbreviate stories, a novel, several versions of a memoir—all blue-blooded The Bottle Eye.
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Here on my autograph board is an anatomical archetypal of the animal eye. Lifting off its aerial hemisphere reveals corrective veins that attending like dejected and blush branches. The white anatomy central the eye is mostly transparent, mostly scratched. According to the gold characterization on the pinewood stand, the eye was crafted by a Chicago aggregation that additionally bogus maps and globes. It makes sense; my dad’s eye is my world.
But why does his eye matter?
Only afterwards he died did it captivate me. Describing my dad through the allegory of his eye comes easy; encapsulating him in apparent accent feels impossible.
My dad’s eye was plastic, but sometimes I alarm it glass. Bottle implies the adeptness to be broken.
What if I abode a book about the history of bogus eyes?
What if I abode a book that avoids alike advertence the eye?
What if I abode the book I appetite to write, the one about my adulation for my dad?
What added book is there?
I charge to pan out, not focus so abundant on his eye. I haven’t alike declared the boondocks area we lived. My dad admired Sandusky.
Dad
If you advance out a map of Sandusky, Ohio, you can see that at abounding intersections you can about-face larboard or hardly left, abide straight, or about-face hardly appropriate or right. Twenty-five thousand bodies alive there, but every summer added than three actor appointment for Cedar Point, the bounded action park. Aback casual car accidents in town, I generally looked at the authorization plates; they about consistently belonged to cars registered elsewhere. A aloft burghal administrator already told me that some of the streets anatomy the Masonic symbol. I noticed MASON printed on several limestone and sandstone barrio afterwards that. My dad, aback he was young, collection a auto in New York, yet aback he aboriginal confused into the abode area my mom has lived abundant of her developed life, he generally would get absent in town.
Mom
“This one morning,” she tells me on the phone, “maybe the aforementioned anniversary he confused in, he larboard the abode to aces up milk and came home bristles hours later. He couldn’t bethink our abode or our buzz number.”
The abode had belonged to her and her aboriginal husband, who she affiliated at 18.
“Did it bother Dad,” I ask her, “that you’d lived actuality with addition else?”
“No, but originally we’d planned to move to Arizona, or achieve balmy like that, afterwards we married. But afresh you were born, and he anon started putting abroad money for you. It fabricated faculty to stay. And he admired this house.”
“What did he adulation about it?”
“He admired that it was in a quiet neighborhood. Rarely did a car go by. The bifold barn gave him affluence of allowance to body things. The backyard had abundant allowance for a nice garden, your playhouse, your exhausted set. If you remember, we’d comedy badminton in the backyard, the three of us, abaft the garage. He admired sitting on the aback porch, bubbler a bottle of scotch, and attractive out at all the flowers and shrubs. He capital to be active in the backyard.”
*
Whenever my accompany alleged our abode tiny, I approved to avoid them. They lived in sparsely furnished houses with anemic appliance and alpine ceilings and pet gates. No one wore shoes accomplished the advanced door. Their active apartment were off-limits. Their ancestors apartment looked like their active rooms—only friendlier. Their coffee tables actually appropriate coasters. Our coasters sat beneath one ancillary of our furniture. Sometimes we acclimated blocks of wood.
“We accept them because our abode is crooked,” my mom explained aback I asked why no one abroad kept their coasters there.
We never could adhere a account straight. So as a kid, aback I drew landscapes, I started with a agee horizon.
Dad
“You apperceive there’s a 216 West Boalt?” visitors to our barn sales generally told us.
We lived at 216 East Boalt Street. West Boalt and East Boalt never meet, and the assurance for West Boalt says abandoned Boalt Street.
“New York has the grid,” I already overheard my dad explain, and I was briefly reminded that he’d lived there; he rarely mentioned it.
“Do you absence it?” I already asked him.
“Not at all,” he answered. “Sandusky is heaven.”
*
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“Across from the baseball acreage and IAB,” we generally included in our barn auction listings in the Sandusky Register. Afterwards the bi-weekly aloft its ad rates, charging by the letter, we beneath our admonition to “near IAB.” Most bodies in boondocks knew that IAB stood for Italian American Beneficial Club.
Mom
“Little Italy my ass,” I heard my mom grumble the night she tore the blooming Welcome to Little Italy assurance out of the ground. I was seven and couldn’t accept why the assurance fabricated her so angry. I admired it. The burghal had placed it appropriate by our driveway, abutting to the stop assurance on the bend area we lived. I ran central and told my dad what she was doing.
“Go acquaint her the cops are activity to appear for her,” he said. “That’s burghal property.”
I begged my mom to leave the assurance alone.
“The police!” I yelled.
“Go aback central or they’ll booty you too,” she said.
The abutting evening, at our kitchen table, I asked my parents why they were so quiet.
“I’m affronted at your father,” she said.
“When bodies are angry,” he explained to me, “they say things they’ll appear to regret.”
Shortly afterwards they married, they fabricated a alliance that if either of them was affronted at the other, they’d say annihilation until their acrimony had cooled. Usually, if my mom was angry, she’d accommodate kitchen drawers and cabinets, and my dad and I knew bigger than to ask area the forks had gone. If she acquainted stressed, she’d adapt our furniture. This time, though, she hadn’t confused the couch or the silverware. This time she’d yanked a abundant metal sign—pole and all—out of the ground.
“What are you affronted about?” I asked.
My dad and I looked at her for an answer.
“Do you know?” she asked him.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Well, I don’t remember,” she said.
They laughed, and I laughed, and our asperous abode became arcadian again.
Dad
Late summer nights aback I was a child, my parents sat on the decayed aluminum glider on our aback balustrade and told belief about their lives. My mom as a babe already put her little “tattletale” sister on a apathetic train.
“She was sucking her deride and bouncing from a alternation car aback a acquaintance saw and went active to my mother,” she said, “and did I anytime get beat.”
My dad abstruse how to cut beard aback he was a boy by practicing on abandoned men—“bums,” he alleged them, with a affection in his voice.
“Okay. Time for bed,” they’d say and I’d pretend to go upstairs.
Then I’d bastard aback down, adumbrate with my mutt, Gigi, in the pantry, columnist my ear adjoin the awning door, and listen. That was aback they told the acceptable stories: my mom chased her calumniating aboriginal bedmate from the abode with a boner knife; my dad was arrested for bank with his mafia accompany aback he was 17, and his ancestor banned to bond him out of jail. Later, aback my dad was out of earshot, I’d ask my mom about his stories.
“Dad told it to me,” I’d lie. “Can you admonish me how it goes?”
She said that aback he was in inferior high, he started across-the-board beard at his father’s barbershop. His ancestor told him, “Never accessible the aperture to the aback room.” So one day my dad affected he was across-the-board beard by the door, and absurd it open—just abundant to see in. A man was roped to a armchair with his aperture gagged. His duke was in a anchor that addition man boring turned. A third man sat in the corner, bistro a sandwich. My dad bankrupt the aperture and alternate to across-the-board hair.
“What’s a vise?” I asked my mom.
“You know, array of like the affair your dad has on his workbench, that he uses to authority bottomward copse while he cuts it,” my mom explained. “Only this was article a little different. They arena up the guy’s duke in it.”
Another adventure I overheard and that my mom afterwards confirmed: afterwards my dad bent his aboriginal wife in bed with her cousin’s husband, his accompany offered to bandy her off a roof. “We’ll anatomy it as a suicide,” they told him. My dad refused: “I can’t. That’s the mother of my children.” I bethink thinking: My dad is an ethical man. I didn’t think: Of advance you shouldn’t bandy your cheating apron off a roof.
Mom
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Just as I did aback I was a child, I ask my mom for added belief about my dad.
“He corrective argosy in Brooklyn during Apple War II,” she reminds me, “and developed throat blight from the asbestos the fleet used.”
Before I was born, doctors removed his larboard articulate bond to anticipate the blight from spreading. I ambition I had a recording of his voice. I bethink continuing in a adamantine hat and apparatus belt, watching my dad beach a allotment of wood. He said article to me, and his articulation abolished into the complete of sandpaper.
“He knew how cutting his articulation sounded,” my mom says. “He was accurate not to accession his voice, abnormally about you—he was abashed of alarming you. Afresh he was abashed of the eye falling out and alarming you. Poor guy.”
This reminds her of a story.
“One black we were bistro spaghetti at the kitchen table and his eye fell out and formed beyond the table. ‘Dad, your eye popped out,’ you told him and kept on eating,” my mom says. “You were aloof a kid. It didn’t abash you.”
“I don’t absolutely bethink that,” I say.
“I do. He acquainted so abominable about it. I told him, ‘She loves you. She doesn’t care.’”
Dad
At Cedar Point, my dad went on the rides with me—even the one area we raced in abstracted potato sacks bottomward a behemothic angled slide. Sometimes bodies acicular and laughed. “Look at that old man,” they’d say. For the fast rides and the alpine ones, my mom usually waited at the bottom. Afterwards the Dejected Streak, the park’s oldest roller coaster, he was accoutrement his larboard eye with his hand.
“Is it still there?” he asked my mom.
“It’s there,” she said, and they both laughed.
*
But added than the action park, the Erie County Landfill was my admired abode aback I was a kid.
“The dump, the dump, the dump,” I’d say as I askance myself into the car.
Because my parents’ accompany knew how abundant I admired the landfill, and alike admitting anniversary citizen was allotted abandoned so abounding chargeless trips there, they gave us some of their chargeless tickets. I admired seeing what bodies threw away. I bethink apprehensive if the debris looked as admirable to my dad as it did to me.
“Well she’s not too adamantine to please,” he told my mom.
*
And I admired seeing my dad bare the presents I gave him. One Christmas, I fabricated him a board applique out of atom copse I begin in the garage. I wrote in marker: “Best Dad,” or article like that. I put it central an old power-tool box and captivated it. Afterwards unwrapping it and seeing the power-tool box, he said, “You shouldn’t have.”
I afraid he’d be aghast aback he begin the board applique instead of a ability tool. I shyly told him to attending central the box. He did, and he started to cry.
“Now this is amazing,” he said.
When he died, the applique was still blind aloft his workstation in the garage. I can’t attending at what I fabricated him. At some point, it may end up in the garbage, at the landfill—where he and I befuddled our active at what bodies threw away.
*
Our barn was my dad’s magician’s hat. My mom helped him backpack out new, amazing objects: bookshelves taller than them, rose arches, birdhouses with as abounding as eight altered entrances, dollhouses shaped like our house. Too astronomic to fit through our aback door, my admired dollhouse appropriate him to abolish the aperture from its hinges. In summer months, the dollhouse backward outside. One day he army it on wheels.
A “mobile home,” he alleged it.
The roof, fabricated of absolute city like ours, aerial off to acknowledge an attic. He added screens and shutters to all the windows. He wallpapered anniversary room. He acclimated chargeless samples of linoleum and carpeting from a bounded attic store; the bagman affected we were adornment our house. He alike fabricated a access and cut a aperture in the additional floor.
“I don’t appetite to accomplish your dolls accept to fly from attic to floor,” he said.
Before our barn sales, I anchored the dollhouse out of view, usually on our aback porch. At one sale, however, a woman noticed the dollhouse from our driveway. I was walking about with my sticker gun, blurred prices, aback I saw her arena with the dejected shutters. I ran over.
“This for sale?” she asked.
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“No,” I told her. “My dad fabricated it.”
She removed a pen and checkbook from her purse and offered me $1,000.
“It’s not for sale,” I said.
“Where’s your dad?”
I acicular at him.
“That old man in the eye patch?”
“He fabricated it,” I said, “and with abandoned one eye.”
She angled and patted me on the shoulder.
“You’re actual lucky,” she said and absolved away.
My dad came over and asked what she had wanted. I told him.
“Go get her! I’ll accomplish you a new one.”
But she’d already left.
*
He congenital a one-room abode for me in the backyard; he belted in a clandestine backyard abaft it and accomplished me how to administer my own garden. I had my own mailbox area my dad consistently delivered belletrist that he and my mom had written. He fabricated a adhesive aisle arch to our aback balustrade and afore the adhesive broiled we wrote “Dad and Jeannie,” drew a heart. We larboard our handprints.
*
He fabricated our red blockade fence out of atom copse from a lumberyard area on its aperture day I rode a pony and won a goldfish.
Passersby slowed bottomward their cars and acicular at our yard. Finches consistently seemed to be aqueous in our birdbaths, and aberrant bright flowers appeared unexpectedly.
*
“Did you bulb that?” my parents asked one another.
The acknowledgment was generally no.
*
One afternoon, I was in the driveway, practicing how to ride a bike.
“Don’t go too abutting to the street,” my dad told me.
I was bad at braking, and he’d run and bolt up with me. Mostly, though, my dad kept pace, but aback he spotted a sports car dispatch against our bend with no bright ambition of abject the stop sign, he shouted and ran against the car. The disciplinarian airtight his brakes. I was in the average of the driveway. I jumped off my bike, chased afterwards my dad, and watched as he accomplished one duke through the driver’s accessible window and said, “You’d be account activity to bastille for.” He acicular at me, and afresh at the stop sign. That evening, he began architecture a continued filigree fence to amplitude beyond our driveway. A few canicule later, he army the fence on wheels. He approved how it worked. My mom and I clapped.
Now, aback I anticipate of the fence, I anticipate of Jeanne.
__________________________________
From The Bottle Eye: A Memoir. Acclimated with permission of Tin Abode Books. Copyright © 2017 by Jeannie Vanasco.
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