Over the last few days (since I found out about the endometrial cancer, hysterectomy, etc.) I've been thinking non-stop about lots of things. I've been remembering things that I haven't thought of in years. Some of it is funny....at least to me. So I thought I'd share some of my favorite memories.
One that jumps ahead in my mind is about my dad. Before I tell you the story, I'm going to give you some idea of what kind of a man Dad was! First of all, he was very intelligent, especially when it came to numbers and math. He could do huge calculations in his head. He worked for the St. Louis County Highway and Traffic department for many, many years as a Projects Engineer. He graduated from high school at the age of 16, he skipped ahead a couple of grades. He never attended college, but made sure that the six of us kids had the opportunity to if we wanted to do so. He worked extremely hard, loved to garden, watch and/or listen to the Cardinals play baseball, coffee and fishing. He was a Type I diabetic, he smoked like a chimney (Kool-Menthol Filter King, Prince Albert and Cigars). He was a strong, tough man and even when he was in pain, he didn't ever complain. He rode bikes with us, played basketball with us, would get us popsicles or ice cream when we were sick and always loved us no matter how much we pissed him off! Now, there were a couple of things that would really tick him off...the first one....if someone took his lighter (Jerry, my youngest brother, who is about 15 years older than me, was notoriously the one who got blamed for that!) Or, if one of us was lying. He hated that, and so does Mom. We learned at a very early age that it was MUCH better to fess up and take the punishment. But if we lied, oh boy....that was worse and more of it!
Dad cussed (because he WAS a sailor) and his favorite cuss words to say when he was frustrated or hacked was.."Well, shit, shit, shit." He had two favorite things to call people who made him mad...it was either "Peckerwood", or "Son-of-a-bitch".
Now, Dad was country...no bones about it...the man was country. Okay, so I think this happened when I was in high school...may have been college...it doesn't really matter. Mom, Chele, Evanne and probably some other siblings and I were sitting in the kitchen. I remember we were shucking corn and breaking beans out of the garden. Mom had this little lamp that was mounted to the side of the cabinet over the sink. It had stopped working so she asked Dad to take a look at it to see if he could fix it. So, we're all sitting there, talking, laughing and excited about the fresh green beans and corn on the cob and Dad, in his baseball cap, button down short sleeved shirt, baggy khaki shorts, white socks, tennis shoes and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, starts looking at the lamp and fiddling with it. We were all watching him, and of course the smoke from his cigarette was winding it's way up through the lamp shade. He messes with it for a couple of minutes, and then, in his country twang he said "I cain't figer out why it's a-smokin' !" We all immediately started laughing and saying..."Dad!! The smoke is from your cigarette!!!" He started laughing and said "Oh, well...shit!" He fixed it, we all had a good laugh, and I love that story.
After Dad had his stroke, and couldn't work anymore, he was always looking for things to do. He had this old '49 Ford Pickup Truck. He decided one day that it needed to be painted, so he bought some dark blue house paint that he liked, and hand painted the truck. No kidding. He painted that entire truck by hand. You could see the brush strokes in it. Michele and I drove that truck...for part of the time when we were in college and while I was student teaching...and I have to say, it ran really well! Never gave us any problems. I loved that truck because my Dad loved it, and I loved him.
I've been thinking a lot about Dad recently. My oldest brother, Bob, who is Dad's namesake, turned 63 on June 30th. My dad passed away at the age of 64 from liver cancer. I now know that my cancer isn't even a 16th as bad as his was by the time they found it, but it still made me think. He was so brave. We found out that he had liver cancer on December 21st, and there was nothing they could do for him. On February 8th, the day before my 25th birthday, he passed away. So about 49 days is all we had with him from the time we found out he had cancer. He was in so much pain, and he NEVER complained or said a cross word. That amazed me, and stuck with me. On my 25th birthday, my middle brother, Mike, and one of my other siblings...maybe Evanne and I went to pick out Dad's casket and meet with the funeral home people. It was my first year teaching, and I was devastated. But, with time, that grief has lessened. It's been 20 years since he passed, and I can still hear his laugh...sounded like Heathcliff when he was tickled. :)
It just occured to me that I may have already written about these two stories in a post from a couple of years ago. But, that's okay, because this blog is about me working through my emotions and dealing with all of this shit that has been thrown at us over the past few years. So, if I've repeated stories, it's okay. And, I'm sure Dad is enjoying it. I'm just assuming that he's right here with me, and patting me on the shoulder saying "It's going to be fine, doll."
One that jumps ahead in my mind is about my dad. Before I tell you the story, I'm going to give you some idea of what kind of a man Dad was! First of all, he was very intelligent, especially when it came to numbers and math. He could do huge calculations in his head. He worked for the St. Louis County Highway and Traffic department for many, many years as a Projects Engineer. He graduated from high school at the age of 16, he skipped ahead a couple of grades. He never attended college, but made sure that the six of us kids had the opportunity to if we wanted to do so. He worked extremely hard, loved to garden, watch and/or listen to the Cardinals play baseball, coffee and fishing. He was a Type I diabetic, he smoked like a chimney (Kool-Menthol Filter King, Prince Albert and Cigars). He was a strong, tough man and even when he was in pain, he didn't ever complain. He rode bikes with us, played basketball with us, would get us popsicles or ice cream when we were sick and always loved us no matter how much we pissed him off! Now, there were a couple of things that would really tick him off...the first one....if someone took his lighter (Jerry, my youngest brother, who is about 15 years older than me, was notoriously the one who got blamed for that!) Or, if one of us was lying. He hated that, and so does Mom. We learned at a very early age that it was MUCH better to fess up and take the punishment. But if we lied, oh boy....that was worse and more of it!
Dad cussed (because he WAS a sailor) and his favorite cuss words to say when he was frustrated or hacked was.."Well, shit, shit, shit." He had two favorite things to call people who made him mad...it was either "Peckerwood", or "Son-of-a-bitch".
Now, Dad was country...no bones about it...the man was country. Okay, so I think this happened when I was in high school...may have been college...it doesn't really matter. Mom, Chele, Evanne and probably some other siblings and I were sitting in the kitchen. I remember we were shucking corn and breaking beans out of the garden. Mom had this little lamp that was mounted to the side of the cabinet over the sink. It had stopped working so she asked Dad to take a look at it to see if he could fix it. So, we're all sitting there, talking, laughing and excited about the fresh green beans and corn on the cob and Dad, in his baseball cap, button down short sleeved shirt, baggy khaki shorts, white socks, tennis shoes and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, starts looking at the lamp and fiddling with it. We were all watching him, and of course the smoke from his cigarette was winding it's way up through the lamp shade. He messes with it for a couple of minutes, and then, in his country twang he said "I cain't figer out why it's a-smokin' !" We all immediately started laughing and saying..."Dad!! The smoke is from your cigarette!!!" He started laughing and said "Oh, well...shit!" He fixed it, we all had a good laugh, and I love that story.
After Dad had his stroke, and couldn't work anymore, he was always looking for things to do. He had this old '49 Ford Pickup Truck. He decided one day that it needed to be painted, so he bought some dark blue house paint that he liked, and hand painted the truck. No kidding. He painted that entire truck by hand. You could see the brush strokes in it. Michele and I drove that truck...for part of the time when we were in college and while I was student teaching...and I have to say, it ran really well! Never gave us any problems. I loved that truck because my Dad loved it, and I loved him.
I've been thinking a lot about Dad recently. My oldest brother, Bob, who is Dad's namesake, turned 63 on June 30th. My dad passed away at the age of 64 from liver cancer. I now know that my cancer isn't even a 16th as bad as his was by the time they found it, but it still made me think. He was so brave. We found out that he had liver cancer on December 21st, and there was nothing they could do for him. On February 8th, the day before my 25th birthday, he passed away. So about 49 days is all we had with him from the time we found out he had cancer. He was in so much pain, and he NEVER complained or said a cross word. That amazed me, and stuck with me. On my 25th birthday, my middle brother, Mike, and one of my other siblings...maybe Evanne and I went to pick out Dad's casket and meet with the funeral home people. It was my first year teaching, and I was devastated. But, with time, that grief has lessened. It's been 20 years since he passed, and I can still hear his laugh...sounded like Heathcliff when he was tickled. :)
It just occured to me that I may have already written about these two stories in a post from a couple of years ago. But, that's okay, because this blog is about me working through my emotions and dealing with all of this shit that has been thrown at us over the past few years. So, if I've repeated stories, it's okay. And, I'm sure Dad is enjoying it. I'm just assuming that he's right here with me, and patting me on the shoulder saying "It's going to be fine, doll."
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