We weren’t close though we worked in the same building for yonks. He was old school and I was trying to grow and learn in a male dominated industry. Women in pressrooms were salespeople at most, not Production Managers.
While it was sweet that Peter told me, on more than a few occasions, that I reminded him of his youngest daughter, it felt as though he couldn’t see past this. That is, as long as he was seeing me as just like his kid, he wasn’t paying attention to what I was telling him about the print work we were trying to produce for his customers. Maybe he took me seriously, maybe he didn’t. I wasn’t exactly the most patient human in my early 30s.
None of this matters now (and hasn’t for 30 years). I could have employed diplomacy and grace. He could have refrained from treating me like a little girl. Neither of us did.
The point is that he lived a long, happy, healthy life. He had a wonderful wife, loads of grands and great grandkids and a shitload of friends. Good for him. I’m sincerely happy he had such a full, wonderful life.
I’m also angry—that doesn’t feel like the right word. I’m, perhaps a bit jealous (?), maybe resentful (?) that he got to live so very long and The Amazing Bob didn’t. I’m peeved (?) that Peter had such tremendous health but TAB didn’t and I don’t. That’s not especially evolved of me but, to be fair to myself, it’s just a petty shadow, not the full picture by a long shot.
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| Peter Orlando in the radio room aboard the USS ATR-2 in 194 |
I imagine that his wake and funeral will be huge events. He was dearly loved. The family might need to rent out a coliseum. I mean…fer reals. On top of being a nice guy, he was one of the last veteran’s of D-Day still standing.
Fer Bast's sake, the President of France awarded him the Chevalier of the Legion of Honor,
“as a sign of France’s infinite gratitude and appreciation for your personal and precious contribution to the United States’ decisive role in the liberation of our country during World War II.” (source)
Should I go to the wake? I want to pay my respects but also it’d be nice to see so many people not seen in years.
Is this crass of me? Ultra déclassé? Not cool? Yeah, probably.
I’d like to apologize to a few folks. For what? Having been a rabid wildebeest and just generally socially weird in my early-mid 30s. I’d like to completely avoid a few. Then there are the ones I’d like to embrace and thank for their grace, support and kindness.
I’d like to go but this has the potential to be a MONDO awkward occasion. The last time I saw any of these folks, I had hearing, my face wasn’t twisted with nerve damage and I didn’t need a walker or wheelchair to get around.
I think I probably won’t attend.
I’m envisioning the co-worker who gave me shit about needing more volume on my phone (he was in charge of the company’s phone system). He attempted to shame me for even mentioning my failing hearing because TAB had REAL health problems—NOT me. Dude, I’m not two dimensional—I can take care of and love TAB and be concerned about my own health AT THE SAME DAMN TIME. Neat, huh?
I’m thinking about the manager I had who mocked my hearing loss, saying, amongst other things, that I had “selective hearing” as opposed to brain tumors that would grow and steal my audio. Yeah dude, nice “jokes” at my expense. When did you become an expert on my auditory system and Neurofibromatosis type 2?
I was completely deaf five years after these boys had their fun.
Yeah, I’m gonna stay home. Maybe donate to some charity in Peter's name.
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