Jack William McCarrick
October 27, 1944 – September 11, 1972

September 11, 1972, I wasn’t even a full month into my fourth year, my brother, Doug, was just two years old, and my mother must have been about four months pregnant with my sister, Amanda. That’s when my father died. I’m not angry with him, with god, or with anyone because of this. I don’t understand it, but I’m old enough now to realize that life is funny, tragic, and unpredictable. We take what it gives us and make the best of it.

I can’t really say that I remember anything about him, or those early years, with certainty. I was four and everything I “remember” about my father has been told to me by my relatives. I’m certain that I was crushed at that young age. My parents went on vacation and only my mother came home. That’s got to have an effect on a kid.

I know that he worked in the automotive companies, both GM and Chrysler. I know that he liked fast cars and fast boats. I know that he could draw and was a draftsman. All this I know from pictures and tales told by relatives. What I don’t know is what kind of man was he, what were his dreams for himself and for his children, what kind of father he was, and what kind of relationship he and my mother had. In truth, I don’t think I ever really asked about any of these things. Perhaps it was the worry of upsetting those who might know or a desire to hold onto my created image. I’m not sure.

I’ve never heard a bad word spoken of him. Maybe that is simply reverence for the dead or the fog of memory. But truthfully, I’ve never heard much spoken of him at all. My grandma Laura would have to be the most prolific teller of tales, but even she simply repeated the same stories again and again.

So what I remember is simply a collection of family stories, pictures, and drawings. From this I have created an idealized image of the man, and what my life would have been like had he survived to see me grown. It may be skewed and out-of-focus but it the image that has gotten me through a lot of years.

I miss my dad and wonder about the life that we might have had together. What lessons might he have taught? How would my life be different? Mostly, though, I wish I had gotten to know him.

Ronn McCarrick
06/26/2003