On a beautiful Saturday afternoon earlier this month, my 4-year-old daughter Alaina and I sat on the beach outside my parents’ house on Lake Pemaquid in Damariscotta enjoying lunch, the calm, glistening water, and each others’ company.

Alex Lear, at right, with his father Alan Lear, 2014. Lauren Lear photo

It was something I’d often do with both Mum and Dad, I told her. And sometimes, just Dad and I would sit there, sharing beers, ruminating on life’s many mysteries and swapping stories.

Alaina listened, quietly absorbing what I’d said. “What else did you and Grampy do?,” she asked.

He and I both liked to swim, snorkel, go boating, play board games. But probably what we treasured most was staying up late, having those same philosophical talks, and singing. I’d play guitar as we stood in the kitchen, glancing at the big book on the counter filled with classics primarily from the ’60s and ’70s, as well as a few of my originals.

His deeper voice blended with my baritone, an octave apart.

“Hallelujah,” written by Leonard Cohen and popularly covered by Jeff Buckley, was one of our favorites. I sing it at most gigs.

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Dad was a little bashful at times about singing with me, apologizing if he felt he was off key. Which was ironic, because I was honored to sing with him. As a child I’d hear him crooning in the bathroom, his smooth voice bolstered by the room’s acoustics, and I admired his ability. I hoped that when I grew up, we could sing together.

Alan Lear, left, and his son Alex sing at Alex’s parents’ home in Damariscotta, 2014. Lauren Lear photo

The hardest part about learning, in 2013, that Dad had terminal lung cancer was realizing he might not live long enough to see any child my wife Lauren and I created. I wanted him to experience being a grandfather, at least if only for a short time. I cried as I sat across the table from him where we’d played all those board games, clutching his hand as I told him this.

“That gives me something to live for,” he said, his usually strong demeanor visibly moved.

Dad died at 2:22 one morning in September 2015. Nearly one year to the day later, Alaina was born. A seasonal cycle of seeing my father slowly die had been replaced by one of watching my daughter grow inside Lauren.

Father’s Day had always been about doing something for Dad. Now as that day rolls around, it’s bittersweet. I miss Dad — his sturdy hugs, his crooning, his guidance — tremendously.

But now there are new reasons to celebrate, although it seems strange that I’m now one of the fathers to which the day is dedicated.

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Alaina — her name an amalgamation of Alan, after my father, and Lane, a name Lauren especially liked — makes gifts and cards for her Daddy, assisted by Lauren’s arts-and-crafts expertise. My favorite of these is a painting of the Hulk, Spider-Man and Iron Man, their bodies made up of Alaina’s tiny handprints, and faces added on by Lauren. A nod to my love of comics, made by loved ones.

Alex Lear sings with his daughter Alaina at the Topsham Fair, 2019. Lauren Lear

I didn’t want to spoil Alaina’s childhood innocence by talking about death, and wondered how Mum and I should explain to her what had happened to Dad.

“Where Grampy?,” she asked one Easter, when she was 2. She’d seen his sneakers by the door at my parents’ place, his coat still on the rack. But only photos and videos of the man himself.

Thankfully, I’ve drawn from my own talks with Dad to provide an answer. Two years before I was born, Dad was a passenger in a motor vehicle crash that nearly claimed his life. Which, as he told me, caused him to undergo a near-death experience. I realize such phenomena are debated, but I at least knew my father to always tell it like it was.

It’s a message of potential hope that I share with Alaina during the “Daddy-daughter talks” we have at bedtime. She has an incredible memory and an appetite for stories, and I’ve regaled her with many about Dad that run the gamut from humorous to serious.

The time I played a prank on him while he was moonlighting as a night watchman. The one about him rescuing a 6-year-old girl who’d been submerged in Camden Harbor a dangerous amount of time, and performing CPR to revive her — a feat which made him Marine Patrol officer of the year. The day at age 12 when I’d broken my arm in a sledding accident, and he stroked my hair as we waited in the emergency room.

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Although Alaina will never in this life be able to embrace Dad physically, I hope my stories have allowed her to take him to her heart on a spiritual level.

Alex Lear and his daughter Alaina, October 2020. Lauren Lear

Through Alaina I see Dad’s toughness, his humor, his stubbornness, his love. And as she gets older, perhaps there’s something of his voice in her, too.

One of the first songs Alaina saw me perform was “Hallelujah.” As an infant at the time, she clapped along. Now three months shy of 5, she sings with me — softly, sweetly.

With public gigs finally resuming this summer, I’ve invited her to sit next to me on a few songs. Since she climbed on one stage two years ago, hijacked a mic and regaled the audience with the alphabet song, she’s already an old pro.

Music is a thread that spans three generations. It is a bond that connects me to father and daughter alike — and, through that connection, links Alaina to Dad.

Hallelujah.

Alaina Alex singing video edit1

Alex Lear of North Yarmouth is a news assistant at the Sun Journal, and prior to that a staff writer at various weekly newspapers around Maine. He is a graduate of Colby College. He would be remiss in not mentioning his firstborn child, a French/English bulldog named Walter, who gave Dad two happy years of being a grandfather. Lear can be reached at alear@sunjournal.com.


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