Dad's Stories

I could have been listening to a recording. The morals and analogies echoing in my ears were as familiar as a comfortable pair of slippers. The tone was calm and meaningful and at some points the inflection was so accurate I was tempted to sneak a peek into the backseat. But, it would do no good. 

It was not my father lecturing my teenage self. It was me! Lecturing Teen!

Her trespass, though not worthy of writing about, was enough to make me angry as all hell. And it was in this state of heightened emotional distress that I seemed able to channel my father's spirit directly through my words. Amazing really, how quickly we can become our parents. Teen sat stoically answering when one was required, enduring the uncomfortable silences when I was counting to 10 in my head so I wouldn't kill her I paused the conversation for reflection. No sign of listening was readable on her face or in her actions.

But, I know she was absorbing every word. Just as I had when my father gave them to me. So, to my storytelling father who always has a point, and all fathers everywhere I wish you a Happy Father's Day! Your work is not in vain, as children we hear your messages and they become part of who we are.

Now, it's FatherHood Friday. So, go ahead, click the link to head over to DadBlogs and take a break to read some wonderful blogs by some wonderful people!

Dad Does What?

As a child I had a vague idea of what my father did for a living. He worked in the John Hancock building, he had seats at the White Sox games, and sometimes he took us to the circus to sit in "work" seats. I remember him pointing to the tarp used to cover the field during a rain delay at a Sox game and explaining that the phrase, "Near North covers the infield" was his work. Somehow, I had learned it was insurance.

But, knowing these things lent no real concept to what it was he did all day. As a 5th grader struggling through long division, I sat in his office, read his door plaque and it hit me. I looked to my dad and asked, "Since you're the division manager, can you help me with my math?" Yes, I was clueless as to why he broke into gales of laughter...

That brings me to the present. Kids today tend to have a better idea of what it is their parents do all day. Just the other day Youngest was telling me, "boys want to grow-up and do a job like Dad's."

"Really?" I inquired, "Why, what does Dad do at work?"

Youngest: "He goes into his office at work. The ladies all work, but he stays in his office and sometimes he goes out and talks to them."

Me: "Oh yeah? And what does he do in his office?"

Youngest: "He has a whole bunch of paper in there. Sometimes he writes on it."

Me: "So writing on paper is his job?"

Youngest: "Well, he doesn't work with the ladies and he has a whole bunch of paper. Oh and he sits at his desk too. There's a computer there, right in front of him. So, I guess he does the computer too."

There you have it, management summed up in a neat little kindergarten package.

Now, it's Fatherhood Friday, so click this link and read some great blogs by some great people!

New Parts

It is Friday! Yea! A whole weekend looming on the horizon is a wonderful thing. Plus, it is time for Fatherhood Friday, brought to you by the wonderful bloggers at DadsBlogs, go give them a visit!

My father explains it like this: when the transmission in your car breaks, you don't run-out and buy a new car. Well, you may but I don't Instead you go to the local shop and have the mechanic repair the part or put in an entirely new one. 

The last time I visited my dad it was clear that he was having issues. Getting up and down the stairs at the cottage was incredibly painful. To the point where he ventured down to the lake seldom. My sister and I worried and fretted. If it was this bad here, how was he getting around at his home, with 4 floors? We talked to him and he said his knees were bad. He had been seeing a doctor and needed surgery, but he was ok. 

That was a year and a half ago, and as of Jan. 1st the man still had not had the surgery. Why? Well, because he didn't have time for recovery. I, personally, think he was worried about recovery.But, he had a plan - surgery on the 15th. 

So it was that my dad had his transmission, err knee replaced in January. And the recovery he was dreading? Well, to use his words "this place is like a cruise...there is always something going on and a nurse even puts on my socks in the morning!" So, maybe the next time he needs to hit the repair shop, he won't wait quite so long. After all, he is from the save and repair generation!

Girls, Guns, and Bonding

It's Fatherhood Friday! It will be worth your time to click the link and read some great posts written by dads and moms at dadblogs. (of course you can read and comment here first)

Have you ever seen City Slickers? You remember, the movie about hilarious male-bonding? Well, in it there is a conversation when Billy Crystal talks about how he remembers baseball stats because that was something he shared with his dad. This never made a whole lot of sense to me. Intellectually I grasped the concept, but it just didn't resonate. As a result, I always assumed it was a gender thing. I mean, jeez, I talked to my dad all the time. We did things together, we even went to baseball games, and I didn't need to know stats, . So, for all these years it was labeled "guy thing" in my head. Until this Christmas.

This year the crowning gift from my husband was a 12gauge Winchester shotgun. (it's a country thing) I had been asking for one for 3 years, since I went skeet shooting with my dad in Michigan. (finally the stars aligned, Hubby got a great deal, and I got my gun complete with trigger lock) Admittedly I was a bit intimidated. It is one thing to hold a gun in a field designed for shooting and quite another to hold one in your living room.

After all the presents had been opened and once the kids were settled in with their gifts, I was able to call my dad to offer holiday wishes. The conversation turned to gifts and I was able to tell my dad about my new gun. It was at this point that a whole new world of conversation opened between us. There was more than the usual interest, there was excitement and speculation. He wanted to know the make and model, which hubby had told me so I could be somewhat "gun literate." We talked about gun models and styles, as well as all things shooting. My father, a business man from Chicago, shared a whole new person with me. One I had glimpsed when he "took his girls shooting" a few summers past. We now officially have conversation fodder that is exclusive of kids, work, and current events. A whole new ball game, and I don't have to learn any stats!

Squash 'Em

I've recently, today, joined DadBlogs (though I have been loitering in the area for awhile). And in honor of that new membership, I am posting a Fatherhood Friday story.

While on our rainy camping trip, we found need to keep the children entertained. I had board games and cards conveniently stashed under the seat of the van, and nonna had brought along Aggravation. This game was new to my family, so we decided to play it.

There being only 6 players and 8 of us niece teamed-up with Boy, while I joined Youngest (largely honorary since I made no decisions or rolls). Now, for those of you who don't know the game, it is like Sorry - but with dice, marbles, and some other changes. In other words, you can squash other players and send them back to home.

With Youngest taking the lead, I expected little squashing to be done - kind hearted thing that she is. But, Hubby thought it would be best to strongly encourage the squashing theme. "It's part of the game," he reassured her. And she took to it, like a duck to water. Terrorizing her portion of the board with zeal. Who could've known that underneath the adorable 5 year-old exterior lay a giggling squash maniac?

The game continued with little input from me, as Youngest had her own mission in mind - squashing the opposition. Until she was in position to squash her father. At this point he looked at her and said in his sweetest Daddy voice, "Are you going to squash me?" At which point a look of pure horror crossed her sweet face. She ran over to him, gave him a two-armed hug and said, "Don't worry Daddy, I won't get you."

Other players cried foul. "Manipulation!" they shouted. (Teen and Boy were among the loudest) The kids strongly encouraged Youngest to squash her father at every opportunity, but she was having none of it. And dad? Well, he was reveling in his glory at having the ear and heart of another player. Together they would conquer the game.

Until there was a move she couldn't avoid. She would have to send her dad back to home or forfeit her turn. She moved, reluctantly. After sending him back to home, she looked at him with big eyes & quivering lip. Hubby, opened his arms, she ran to them eager for redemption. He gave her a hug, told her it is part of the game, and that she was doing a great job. She said "Sorry I squashed you Daddy." He laughed, kissed her head and told her that he would always love her no matter how many times she squashed him.

The moment passed and they went about the business of conquering the board. Youngest ended-up winning the game. Squashing and competition are great, but never underestimate the power of cute in winning the game.

Dad is in Charge

Everyone needs a place to which he can escape the concerns of the everyday world and just unwind. My parents graced our family with such a place - the cottage. When my parents divorced (i was 8) this abode of serenity stayed with my father.

I know that my father often looks with regret on his divorce, blaming himself for the struggles his children faced as they grew. I have told him, and I now tell you reader, that because of the divorce I was given a gift that many children of my generation never experienced. The gift of my father's full attention. Each weekend my dad would drive to our house, pick-up my brother, sister, and me; away we would go. Sometimes the oldest 3 siblings would join us, sometimes not. Regardless of who was there, at the cottage dad would be in charge of grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, and caring for us kids. There was no mom to take over the daily duties or clean our scraped knees. It was all dad.

I learned to drive a golf cart, caddy when he wanted to play a "quick 9 holes," shoot a BB gun, and fix a minibike (ok that didn't stick but you get the idea). I learned all about Paul Bunyan and how to roast a perfect marshmallow at our regular fires. That only sissies don't bait their own hooks and how to take a fish off a line without getting poked by gills and scales. I had to prove that I would not drown by swimming across the lake as dad rowed beside me, before I could venture to the raft without a lifejacket. In addition to these, there were innumerable more lessons that I take with me. But above all, I learned the gift of tranquility that can be found in a quiet wood.

Dad would grab the bug spray and we would head-out. Walking new or old paths, we would look for signs from nature. Dad would talk about sassafras and gum trees. (He knew an awful lot for a city kid from Detroit and businessman from Chicago.) We would find and eat wild raspberries. My brother and I would play explorer and pretend we were lost in jungles. We would find old stone house foundations and Dad would talk about the Underground Railroad. He created a vision in my head of a world filled with opportunity, mystery, and safety. In short, he gave us his time. A precious commodity in the life of any adult. In the woods there were no trees to trim or boats to tinker with. There was the adventure the conversation and us. That was it.

It is no wonder that last summer as we visited the cottage my sister and I were hit by the need to bring our children back each year. Sadly, I will not be making the trip this year. It weighs heavily on my mind. My father is getting older and my children love the freedom the small lake with small local woods have to offer. Hubby and I will pack-up our family and head to the woods, but they will not be northern woods. They will be woods that pose real dangers in the guise of alligators and snakes. But as my father taught me in my childhood, woods of any kind are filled with mystery, opportunity, tranquility, and above all are a symbol of the love and time a parent is willing to share with his children.