Happy Father's Day...
This post is dedicated to my Dad. I first want to start by saying… Dad, I Love You and I Miss You!!!My dad passed away 2 ½ years ago at the age of 71. However, not a day goes by that I don’t think of him.
Picture of me on my Dad's lap when I was 1 1/2 years old
A little bit about the type of man my father was:
He was a very hard working man (he actually worked that day and then died in the wee hours of the morning).
He was caring and would give you the shirt off his back. (Many times my father would give $ to my sisters or I when we needed it for something during our teen and early adult years. Years later, when having a talk, it came out that he would then go without lunch that week as he had given us all the $ he had.)
He was also a stubborn man in some ways in that he didn’t like doctors or hospitals and didn’t go unless absolutely forced. 2 men had to carry him out of the house and take him to the hospital when he had his first heart attack. (I know Dad; it was just a little case of mild indigestion.)
Dad didn’t believe in arguing and fighting, he thought all things could be worked out in a normal tone of voice.
He was always there when you needed him. Whether it was a bent rim on a bike or a place to stay, he was there for you.
His philosophy was to wake up happy and sing a song. (Looking at this as an adult I totally agree, when I was a teenager, it used to drive me nuts that he was so happy in the AM and I just wanted to sleep.)
A walk down memory lane or in my dad’s case, it is more of a walk down the tracks. (He used to go on walks with myself, my sisters and then the teenager and my nephew when we all were little. He would walk us down the block and then up the railroad tracks and back down them.)
When I was growing up, the things I remember about him most are:
The hat he used to wear
His house shoes
The smell of his Old Spice Aftershave (this is the only aftershave he ever used. When the teenager was little, he and Dad used to call it foo foo juice)
The smell of half & half tobacco and the red and green metal can it used to come in (he quit smoking when he had his first heart attack).
His hands… they were hard and rough, yet tender and strong. You would always see a telltale sign of grease under his nails no matter how much he scrubbed them.
Some of my most special memories are:
Walking one evening through deep snow to retrieve his car as the snowstorm was so bad, he had to abandon it and walk home from work. The walk was cold and somewhat long, but I insisted on going with him as I didn’t want him out there alone. Never then did I realize how much I actually held him back and how much harder I made the journey for him. But, being the person he was, he took me anyway and carried me thought the areas that were too deep for me to walk and up the steep hill we had to climb.
Getting my picture taken with Santa. One year, I so wanted to get my picture taken on Santa’s lap and got all dressed up, but my Mom said that I was too old and only my little sister was going to get her picture taken. Needless to say, I was devastated, until Dad saved the day. He said I could get my picture taken if I wanted to and so I did. It was actually the last time I ever did and without even looking at the picture, I can see my head as if it just happened.
Helping him clean his tools after he would work on a car at home. Each tool had to be wiped off with a red shop towel and put back in its place in the toolbox.
Church on Sunday evenings - When I was younger, I loved to go to church, and my father would drive me there and stay for the Sunday evening service. There are two things that vividly stick in my mind. The first story that comes to mind is that while sitting in the pew at church, my father suddenly, leaned and whispered to me that he had forgotten to change his shoes and was still wearing his house slippers. We smiled and smirked quietly and then ran out of church as soon as it was over so that we would not get stopped and somebody notice. My second memory is that we had been out of town for the weekend and were coming back on a Sunday Evening, we were running late getting back and I was to be in a play at church that night. My dad dropped everyone off at home and whisked me to church, just barely making it. I am sure he was tired from traveling and wanted to relax before going to work the next day, but not only did he get me there, but he stayed and watched me.
Squirrel Hunting was one of the few passions my father had. He loved nothing more than to get up early before dawn and be on a ridge somewhere hunting squirrels. He took me with him a few times, I didn’t see what he got out of sitting perfectly still and being quiet, but to be with him, it was worth it. I also remember helping to skin the squirrels (I would never gut them like my older sis did) and fighting over who got the tail. (If I was asked today to skin a squirrel or if I wanted to hold a squirrel tail, I know my face would distort into a look of pain and disgust and I would never do it. Strange what you will do as a kid that you won’t do as an adult.)
Breakfast before school – My sophomore and junior year of high school, my dad used to drive me to school on his way to work. However, first we would stop and have breakfast. I used to get either toast with jelly, a fruit cup or pancakes. On the days I would order pancakes, I would have to guard my food. Not because my dad would eat it… noooo, my dad loved to take his finger and poke it in the middle of my freshly served stack of pancakes. Ok, he actually loved the response he would get from me when he would do this.
Songs and diddies I remember:
My father was always singing something or had some little diddy that he would say. DH is always telling me “that sounds like something your father would say” I smile and swell with pride that he has passed these on to me.
You get a Line, I’ll get a Pole
I’ve got a Gal, she’s a New Yorker
Burning Bridge of Fire
I saw the Light
One of his favorites was…. (insert a name in the blanks) _______, ________ I’ve been thinking how to keep your feet from stinking, soap and water will not do, Oxydol’s the thing for you. My son has grown up hearing this song as well, and now I sing it to Doodlebug.
He would ask any unsuspecting person… how did you cut your finger, burn it? And the person would actually look at their finger.
Living in a house with 3 daughters, he rarely got to answer the phone, but sometimes, he would beat us to it. His standard lines were…
Harry’s morgue, you stab ‘em, we slab ‘em; Harry’s pool hall, 8 ball speaking; Or, better yet, if a friend would ask if you are home he would say yes and then hang up. When questioned, he would say that they wanted to know if you were home, they didn’t ask to speak to you. Luckily, my friends knew my father and his phone techniques weren’t a problem… at least until I started dating.
If you ever needed a laugh, Dad was the one person who could always make you laugh.
I have so many more stories and memories that I could tell, but I will save them for now to share another time.
Happy Father’s Day Dad!!!
Love,
Sam (what he called me when I was little), George (what he called DH), Lil’ Buddy (the teenager) and Doodlebug (even though she never got to meet you, she knows all about you.)
Pieces being sorted by KGrams at
6/19/2005 09:51:00 PM
5 comments(s):
Lil Sis (aka Easily Amused),
I hope reading this made you smile between your tears. I know I bawled while typing it, but then I would also smile as the tears were streaming down my face. Just know that he is watching us and is very proud of the women we have become and the men we are raising.
Love,
Your Big Sis (KGrams)
By
KGrams, at
6/19/2005 10:03 PM
Do you know how hard it is to smile, cry & type at the same time? This is why I chose to not blog about Dad yesterday. I have a tough time with this topic. You will never know how hard I had to work to maintain a normal lifestyle after it happened. Or how many times I thought about following in our brothers footsteps. I have no regrets in my relationship with him. About a week before he died, I was in the kitchen ironing, and listening to a CD I had burned. Well, an old George Jones song came on (He stoped loving her today. For some reason a strange feeling came over me, I just needed to talk to Dad ~ was it bro-D or some other family member letting me know something was going to happen? I immediantely called Dad. I told him that I know he dosen't like to talk about sappy stuff, but to just shut up and listen. I then told him that even if we (all 3 of us girls) never showed it, he was the best father in the world and that I couldn't have had a better father, and that I loved him. Then I hung up. I didn't give him a chance for a response. I didn't need one. He had shown me everyday of my life that he loved me. For that I am thankful. We spent a lot of alone time together in the couple of years before his death. God, I miss those times and all the phone calls (is it raining in your backyard?). It has only been recently that I haven't had to have a daily cry about Dad. I started keeping a journal, well, it's more of a collection of memories right after he died. I haven't written in it for a while. But, I love to go back and read it (you are welcome to read it if you want). I still feel so close to him. I miss him so much I can't even explain it in words. I know my DH had a terriable time after Dad died. He was trying to mourn in his own way, but he had to really do a lot to help me through it. Most of those early days I just wanted to die also. I couldn't imagine my life without him. For the most part I still can't. I know this may seem a bit wierd, but I talk to him all the time. I know that he's there listening. In a lot of ways DH is so much like him. Some days that is comfortering. Sometimes, when DH & teenager are not home, I sneak down to the basement and just touch Dads tools and things, so that I can be near him. He's the only one that has ever used them. DH won't use them because he says that he's not worthy (I guess that in itself explains what DH thought of Dad). God, I can't believe that I just told someone about all of that. DH dosen't even know.
Thanks for the good cry. He is watching us, and somedays I can see him just scratching his head and saying "what are they thinking, but for the most part, I know he is proud. I wish Doodlebug could have known him. Her life would have the richer for it. I wonder what nickname he would have come up with for her?
Sorry for any mistakes, I don't need to see the keyboard, but it would help if I could see the screen through the tears.
By
Tina M, at
6/20/2005 10:29 AM
KGrams, that was wonderful. I bet you know now why he woke up singing every morning.
By
ieatcrayonz, at
6/20/2005 12:41 PM
That was a totally sweet tribute to your father. I can tell how much he loved you through your memories. You are a lucky girl.
By
Mama Duck, at
6/20/2005 4:11 PM
Thank you all for you kind words and thoughts! Yes, I loved my dad very much and I know he loved us as well. This is the most special post I have ever done and will ever do. I will be printing this one off and saving it forever.
Lil Sis, we have once again made it through another Father's Day. They say that at some point, they will start getting easier, we will just have to wait and see. : )
By
KGrams, at
6/20/2005 9:08 PM
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