Tomorrow is Fathers' Day. And the general public (that means all of you) are inundated at the store with cards, gifts for Dad, and well you get the idea.
When it's Mothers' Day, Jeff most of the time tells me that I'm not his mother. And, that's definitely true.
But, like all of you, have/had a Dad. I'd like to talk about my Dad. Since I was the middle child, our family lineage went like this. My brother, was the oldest, and a boy (I have no idea why that should matter, it's not like he's in line for the royal throne. Mind wandering off again. My sister is 8 years younger than me. She was born premature and very small. When she came along, I was bumped up in the family to the dreaded "middle child".
The parent that I bonded too the most, was my Dad. Dad was humorous, and made the little things of life, well in a word, interesting. More times than not, Dad drove me to the library for research. Dad and I shopped together, tried experiments at home. Here's what I know, just so you don't make the same mistakes. One time, he and I wondered how many times you would have to fold over a take out bag of ketchup. Um, based on the mess on the ceiling, if memory serves me correct, then it doesn't take much. Unfortunately, we had a "popcorn" ceiling. Obviously, Dad and I had to scrub the ketchup off the ceiling. We didn't mind much in doing it, but scrubbing down a textured ceiling is not fun.
When I was a teenager, there were two commercials, that Dad and I had to try, of course. The first one was putting saran wrap, in a cup (we used coffee) like they did in the commercials. The theory was, that once the saran wrap was in your cup, you could just pick up that wrap. Next, we filled up our "wrap" with coffee, and the "bag" if you will, would be strong enough to hold the coffee. It's a good thing we did this experiment over the sink, because the saran wrap did not hold, and burst open. So, product failure number one.
As a teenager, Prell shampoo had a commercial where they put a pearl in the top of the bottle, and it slooooowly went to the bottom. Of course, this was too good to be true. So we bought the shampoo, found a pearl, and expected for that pearl to do like it did in the commercial. Not so folks. Once we put the "pearl" in, it immediately sank to the bottom. You see, even back then, the commercials were too good to be true.
When my parents would come to Maryland to visit, Dad and I took advantage of all the open houses. We would "dress" up a bit (so we didn't look we didn't belong there), and toured multiple homes in Potomac (think posh and expensive). The realtors wanted to follow us around, which was okay but annoying. And, since we were being followed, Dad would point out to me that there were only "x" bedrooms, and where would the "staff" sleep. It didn't do any harm, and provided us with fun entertainment. Mom never understood why we did this, and even if we explained it, I'm pretty sure she still wouldn't get it.
Then there was car shopping. Dad really liked cars, Pontiac's mostly. We would go to a dealership and check out the interiors, kick the tires (I don't know why that was important, but we did it all the same). When the salesman approached, Dad never missed a beat. He assured the salesman that it was a beautiful car, but just not for him. Then he would suggest to me that we go to another dealership to look at their inventory.
One other memory, that I'll never forget, is a 1942 Dodge weapons carrier. My memory is fuzzy, but here's a picture of this kind of vehicle.
Apologies to Jeff, because I'm pretty sure that his/ours didn't look exactly like that one. Jeff happened to be driving by a house, and he could see part of the weapons carrier in the yard. He knocked and he bought us, what would someday be a dune buggy! The statistics of a similar vehicle are: 13'8" long, 8' foot high, 7 feet wide and weighed two tons. All of this is approximate of course, but you get the general idea.
Since the "wc" didn't have a motor, or many other parts, it had to be towed from point A to point B (our house). We had, at that time a large pickup truck. We added chain from our bumper to the WC's bumper, and slowly made our way home. Dad, who loved it, sat in the driver's seat of the WC. I think it made him feel like MacArthur! I won't bore you with all the problems Jeff had trying to put the "wc" in a drive able condition. To register this beast, MacArthur was called on again, to "steer", if you will to the DMV to be weighed. And, the old girl weighed a lot. Back at our young age, it hadn't occurred to me at least, that putting a 2 ton vehicle on the beach, would be a disaster. Talk about flattening the dunes!
There are so many things I could write about my Dad. One thing, that's really important, is he had an easy personality, great humor and a slight sense of adventure.
The year before my Dad passed away, I went to California to visit my parents (Dad actually). Every morning, Dad would walk to a doughnut shop, for coffee and obviously a doughnut. Dad had his own cup, as all the regulars did, and while eating and drinking, he could exchange war stories with the other old men. While visiting, I joined my Dad to the shop, and met some very amazing men. By today's standards, everything that was said around the table would likely be labeled "false memories"!
I didn't know it at the time, but that would be the last time I had with Dad. He was on dialysis twice a week, which he hated. During one of his treatments, I think Mom had left him briefly during his treatment. It was during that treatment, that Dad (again fuzzy) had a heart attack or stroke. Either way, he passed away, and I never had a chance to say good-bye. Jeff and I flew to California for the funeral. The summer before, Dad and I had talked about dying. I had taken a class of something, truly can't remember. Dad and I talked about heaven or hell. I assured him, that he was going to rise to the very top. He told me that if he did go "upstairs", there would be set of wings waiting for me.
Dad feared going "south", and from the mythological things we had talked about, he told me that just in case he went "south", he'd like to have some "walking" around money, to help "grease" the wheel when punishments were handed out. I, of course, happily agreed to this.
Before we went to the mortuary, Jeff and I made a stop to pick up a few things for Dad. He ate Planter's peanuts every night. He was disciplined enough that he only ate one at a time. First purchase was the peanuts, and the second purchase was a Playboy magazine. I doubt that, while he was alive, he likely didn't get to read that magazine. So, here's what we did. We pulled the centerfold out of the magazine, and taped it somehow to the top of his coffin, where he would be able to "see" it for eternity. We put the peanuts in the coffin, within easy reach. Before we left visitation, I asked to see the bottom of his coffin. Why? Because I had to make sure that he had his ankles crossed when he slept. They weren't crossed, but I made sure that the mortician took care of that for me.
Lastly, because Dad worried so much (and he definitely didn't need to), we folded up a few bills and put them in his breast pocket. Having done all of that, it was time to say good-by. When people came for visitation, they walked past the coffin, and immediately took a second look. Did they really see the centerfold taped to the front of the coffin? I don't think, nah scratch that, Mom thought that it was, in a word, offensive. Jeff and I stood our ground, the centerfold remained in place. And, for good measure we tucked the rest of the magazine under his arm.
Jeff did the eulogies for Dad. I don't remember everything he said, but he did refer to my Dad as Sarge (that was his military rank). He also talked about whenever we were in the house, Dad would ask Jeff, what did he want to talk about. Sex, cars and something else that I can't remember. Jeff would always say sex, and Dad would reply had Jeff seen the new Pontiac?!
I could go on for hours writing about my Dad. I miss him like it was yesterday. He passed away in 1995. Lastly, at his funeral, the owner of the coffee shop closed for the day, and all of Dad's cronies came to the funeral as well.
Everybody, should have a Dad like mine. And, though it's been years, whenever Jeff are in the plane and fly through clouds, I can't help myself, I just have to look wishing that I could see him.
While I'm not yet typed out, I find myself getting emotional just writing down some of my best memories of Dad.
Love you Dad - you were the bestest (sp) father to me, and I miss you still today.
P
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