Kevin

Two weeks before his death, my dad and I had one of those conversations where we both knew it would be the last. My dad, Michael Joseph Corcoran, was 83 years old, and his body was riddled with cancer. I used that opportunity to try to make sense of his life’s journey and the two versions of him I knew: one I called “dad,” an empathetic and charismatic father and teacher, and the other I called “Michael J,” an angry and manic alter ego.

During his high school years, Michael J. made it on eleven of the fifteen “top five troublemakers” lists at Cathedral High School. Michael J.’s alcoholism led him to be fired from the only job he ever loved — teaching — by his friend and mentor, Bill Kuntz. Michael J. lied his way onto being hired as a city articulated-bus driver (at that time, I wouldn’t be caught in a car with him behind the wheel). Michael J. was emotionally abusive and had a rivalry with his son (me).

My dad, on the other hand, was a youth-sports coach and beloved high school teacher. My dad was more than 47 years sober through Alcoholics Anonymous. As a teen, I would watch my dad give “leads” at Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, the opening talks that would start things off. My dad spent Saturday mornings at Panera with a group of Jewish friends and would stop by a local mosque. In his wallet, my dad kept a copy of a letter I wrote to him while in college, in which I told him how proud I was of him. Once, a veteran family I never knew came to visit his home, and their three children all lined up to greet “Uncle Mike.”

At his wake, it was moving to see all the people that showed up, most of whom I did not know: an imam, his Jewish Panera-group friends, his ex-students from Scecina Memorial and Crispus Attucks high schools, Catholic brothers from his “top five troublemakers” phase, people he helped through AA and Narcotics Anonymous, and many more. In a way, all these people knew different versions of my dad that I would never know.

Talking to him for the last time and better understanding his life journey helped me make peace with the several facets of him I knew and did not know. It never truly made sense to understand my dad as a simple binary, even if it was easier for me to use the impersonal “Michael J.” to deal with his more difficult aspects. My “dad,” “Michael J.,” “Uncle Mike,” “Corky,” and Michael Joseph Corcoran are all facets of one complex, charismatic, and radically open individual I will deeply miss.