Who are you, again?

My younger sister, Laura, called me from her front row seat in the living room bay window. She was panicked and laughing, unsure how to talk about the events on the lawn and still maintain the austerity that marks the emotional relationships of the Householder clan. Dad had lashed a chain to the tiny trailer hitch on his petite Japanese pick-up truck. The chain's noose had a stranglehold on some of my mother's prized azaleas and rhododendrons. He was gunning the engine to wrench them from the flowerbeds. After years of gardening, our newly divorced Dad was going low-maintenance with a little un-gardening therapy.

I was away at college while Laura was still at home, part of a rapidly unraveling family life.

People change. And perhaps none more so than the recently divorced. Our Dad tried out smoking, lost a good 50 pounds and rearranged every aspect of his life -- from playing Mr. Mom to my high-school aged sister to traveling to India to do good works with his Christian friends. He is a better person for all of it, but the getting there was, well, bumpy. This is the story of how my sister and I raised Dad and why his new girlfriend left us with a twinge of empty nest syndrome.

Dad: The Original

My earliest memories of Dad are of a long, lounging mass on the living room floor, head propped up against the couch, ensconced in blue jeans and his signature half-zip burnt orange sweater. We ran Tonka trucks over his stomach, slid Barbie dolls down his shins, curled up against him to watch TV. He was a jungle-gym.

Later, of course, his role would grow with us. For me, he became the enforcer who finished the fights I had with my mother. Laura, the youngest and least rebellious, remembers a slightly gentler Dad, "He was just Dad. The man who fixed the things that I broke and gave me money when I went out."

Off to work every day in Dockers; home to chow down on meatloaf or Shake-and-Bake pork chops. Out to the garden or into the LaZBoy. Dragging us to church on Sunday mornings and building class projects no 5th grader could hope to duplicate. He was just Dad.

The News

Laura says that she saw it coming. Mom sat on the back porch every evening, nursing a watery glass of Canadian Mist on the rocks and reading novels. Dad watched television and read the paper in the living room. "They didn't talk. Wouldn't even look at each other."

I was too far away and too fiercely independent to notice. I was living off-campus with seven sorority girls. Huddled against the wall in the dining room that had a built-in bar where the table might have otherwise been, I got the details over a bright pink phone:

"Mom didn't come home last night."

"What?"

"I heard them talking. Dad said that she couldn't stay here. That she has to go."

"Do they know you know?"

"No."

"Where's Dad?"

"At his sister's."

"I'll call you back."

I don't remember what happened next. Someone will fill in my swiss-cheese memory someday, but all I knew in that moment was that I had to protect my little sister from whatever came next.

The details became clearer later. Laura had missed her curfew the night before and stumbled in late. Dad was sitting up in the same old recliner, or a newer version of it.

"Where's mom?"

"She's not coming home tonight."

"She's in a lot more trouble than I am then."

"I'm going to bed. We'll talk in the morning."

When Laura heard voices the next morning, she sat at the bottom of the stairs and listened in (as every snoopy little sister and scared daughter will), as my parent marriage ended with the calm, even tones of people too disappointed to fight.

Dad: The Basketcase

Dad's Faith is very important to him. And, I think it was that guilt and obligation as much as anything else that left him floundering for what to do next. For a while, he tried to date Mom. Laura helped him pick out flowers. Gave him space to listen to sad Country songs. Struggled for a way to help.

He lost 50 pounds, started smoking, got drunk a few times. People told him he looked like Gandhi, a tall, balding man, relatively emaciated by the Divorce Diet.

He and Laura revolted against every rule and obligation Mom had ever brought to bear on the house. "We ate popcorn for breakfast. Skipped church on Sundays. Got cable and watched everything on it."

Even at his lowest, though, Dad remained supportive -- the ultimate Kid Booster, right down to Laura's Adventures in Hamburger Helper:

Eventually he came around and the reintegrating brought fresh waves of pain. Going back to church was one of the hardest things for Laura. She said "everyone knew that mom had left us." And, of course, many in the empathetic bunch wanted to help while Laura and Dad just wanted to keep it together. When Mrs. Oliver, a life-long neighbor, came over to say that it was good to see them, they both started crying. We are a weepy bunch. Dad and his sibs; me and mine.

Dad: The College Roommate

Dad and Laura quickly fell into the roommate pattern of taking care of each other, no questions asked. If there is a favorite story I have about my sister, it is the one that ends with one of her favorite memories of Dad.

Laura was over at Mom's new house (not her first visit). She was a little keyed up because although she and Mom were talking, Mom's new boyfriend was nearby, too. Then he said my name. It could have been something as simple as "don't you have a sister named Leigh." We will never know. She blacked it out and in the blink of an eye screamed "don't talk about my sister," ran out to her car, and cried behind the locked door. I like to think of this as a great moment in sibling loyalty.

Mom couldn't talk her out of the car; so, eventually Laura drove home. Dad could plainly see that she was upset and hugged her and "patted her head" for an hour before taking her out for ice cream. No questions asked.

And, of course, my sister returned the favor --

Dad has one of those "Almost" stories about Woodstock. Although he was a Navy-boy, he was lucky enough to be in Western Europe when some of his friends were in Vietnam. Most of his stories are of weekend adventures and lobster cook-outs back on base in New England. So, it's no surprise that he would be one from the crew-cut set who would be interested in Woodstock. Unfortunately for him and his friends, the trip was foiled by a big rain storm and a VW convertible. They turned back.

Thirty years came and went and somehow he still never made it to a concert. Until, my sister drug him to Santana. "He had so much fun. Sitting there on the ground, clapping. Yelling out, 'go Carlos!'" Now, I don't know anyone who goes to more concerts than Dad.

He turned out to be the perfect buddy. Visiting me at college, he'd lift me into big bear hugs and drink me under the table in two drinks flat. He'd talk to the bartenders, parents and non-trads with big, silly stories and an echoing laugh. Always up for a baseball game or a dinner out, Dad was just fun.

Dad: The Mr. Mom

Is there such a thing as custody of grown-up daughters? I think Dad would say yes and be absolutely correct. A few years after Dad's divorce was final, my boyfriend proposed to me in a beautiful town in Maine. I wanted to call from the plane, but I was simply too nervous, I emailed him. Pathetic, I know. He was thrilled and insisted on throwing us a wedding -- an incredibly generous gift.

So, what does a Dad throwing a wedding do? Well, he rallies his friends. The wedding was in his hometown. Jim and I were four hours away from Operation Marriage. Dad's friends arranged the hall, the menu, the church, and the minister in a few weeks flat. Another of his friends welded the centerpieces and more helped out with the details. Jim and Dad picked out the cake, their tuxes, the DJ and the photographer. Laura and I picked out dresses and invitations. He even saved me when I nearly insulted friends and family by not knowing the local tradition of asking the close female friends and family to bring cookies. It was Dad's show and I think I was as proud of him as he was of me when walked down the aisle.

Of course, a wedding is a community affair, the smaller stuff was likely even trickier. Like lacing the silvery beads of my sister's Prom dress and figuring out how to attach a boutonniére:

Dad: The Friend

We all just kept growing up. Dad relaxed into his role and became our friend as much as our dad. He arranged amazing holidays where we got to do what everyone talks about but tends to miss out on in the face of obligation and tradition -- we relax! And eat great food, including dad's famous sweet rolls and peanut butter fudge.

He called me every Sunday without fail -- and when I wasn't there, left a message in the consummate Dad -- Mr. Snuffleupagus voice, "hi, kids. This is dad. Just calling to say hello."

After college, I moved to Chicago and got my first career job at an agency downtown. I quickly found myself in one of those too-much-information roles where I knew about layoffs and buyouts and other misery. I talked to Dad, really talked to him -- for hours -- about the challenges of work. I was surprised -- no, shocked -- to find out they he struggled with his job, too, the politics and petty frustrations and incompetence. So much for the vanilla dad who left the house in his pressed shirts every morning and came home for fish sticks at night. Dad, it turns out, is a real guy.

Kicking around the empty nest

Then Dad came into his own again -- with friends and hobbies and a girlfriend -- and suddenly -- or, maybe not so suddenly -- everything changed again....

NOTE: The conclusion to "Raising Dad" will run next month.