Father's Day brings back many memories of my dad. He was a midwesterner, a very down-to-earth guy that made sure his children never looked down on anyone. A man who never met a stranger, a good friend and a person who sought to help and encourage others.
One of my earliest memories was of going to a San Diego Rockets game with him. They were giving away free basketballs. This event shaped my love of the game that continued through my high school years playing junior varsity. It was just dad and me, no one else, and it made me feel special.
Dad always had a soft spot for kids, especially those who didn't have anyone or have very much. I remember him playing Santa for a children's home one year. He was stationed in Groton, Connecticut, and he must have been home between his 3-month tours on submarines. I can't remember much, except riding in the car. I can't even remember where it was, as I was 7 or 8 at the time. I just remember being impressed and proud that dad allowed me to come along and watch.
Eating out with dad required best behavior. I used to love to blow bubbles with my milk or tease my brother. Dad wouldn't have any of it. If you didn't stop when he asked quietly under his breath, you got a soft kick under the table with those military-issue shoes. I survived on hot dogs and peanut butter and jelly growing up as I never had an appetite. Dad would always have to finish up when I didn't eat, as it was not acceptable to waste food.
When I say that dad never met a stranger, I mean just that. Dad was a talker, and it didn't matter that all of us where in the car waiting for him. His "quick stops," to drop something off, always resulted in long, lengthly waits. It seemed he was always on the go, doing something, and never stayed home. Dad was a junk collector, or a "picker" as they are called today. He collected electronics, old radios, tubes and parts and had the stuff stuck everywhere, including renting a storage unit to hold it all. He had many friends that he met as a result of this hobby. Ham radio was another love, and he joined a local club in Okinawa.
When I was going back to school, I took personality and skills test before I decided what to do for a career. When I brought home the results of the personality profile and description, my mother said that I had dad's personality. We are "feelers," people who base decisions on individual cases, in a subjective manner based on what we believe to be right within our individual values systems.
Dad was a hillbilly. He loved traditional country music (Jim Reeves, Patsy Cline, Boxcar Willie, Loretta Lynn). Country music was always on in the car, and nothing else was an option. If he was home on Saturday night, it was HeeHaw at 7:00 p.m., otherwise, Mom insisted on Lawrence Welk. As kids, we prayed for dad to be home. He had a thing for Cathy Baker, the blond on the porch with the hound dog. My mom used to joke with him that she wouldn't have given my dad the time of day. It didn't matter, we just had to quiet so he could linger on her every word. When he was reading Loretta Lynn's biography, he chuckled and remarked that no one could have been as ignorant as she was. As poor as he grew up in Kansas, Loretta was even more isolated in Butcher Holler, Kentucky. He loved her music, a love that I adopted as well. For my 13th birthday, the family got to go to the Loretta Lynn/Conway Twitty concert in Oakland, CA. What a treat that was. He purchased her biography for me and waited while I got her to autograph it after the concert.
One of the most poignant memories of dad, were the various people I met, for the first time, that told me how much my dad's friendship had meant to them, how he came to see them in the hospital, and what an encouragement he was to them. He's been gone 21 years this summer, and I still miss him. My daughter was 3 when he died and she doesn't remember how much she loved bouncing on his belly and the fun trips in the wagon to see the egrets and ducks. He loved being a grandfather.
