Happy Father's Day!

My Dad died in 1993.  I still miss him all the time!  So today, on Father's Day, as my children take their own Dad out to get his present, I'm sitting here remembering  my Dad.  He was heroic, as in the day all his little daughters (there are 7 of us) and our Irish setter Bridget  were galavanting around the wet rocks on the edge of a swiftly moving stream.  Bridget strayed too far into the stream and was swept towards the not too distant waterfall over a dam, certain death awaiting.  In front of all of us now hysterical kids, Dad scrambled quickly after the dog, somehow moving faster over the wet rocks than she was in the water.  He managed to get into a slightly swirling pool of water ahead of the fast moving dog, close enough to stretch over the current and latch onto her collar as she almost shot past him, and dragged her out of  danger.  Knowing  Dad, I'm sure it never even occurred to him not to rescue her.   Just as it never occurred to him to not beat out the flames shooting off my body when my pajamas (pre flame resistant materials and well before the educational mantra "stop, drop and roll") brushed the glowing burner on the stove and ignited and I ran screaming through the house.   He told me later, after the burns were healed, I was engulfed in flames from waist up, my hair and eyebrows singeing in front of him.  The scars I have on my side are from his fingers smudging my melted skin as he beat the flames back.   But we could count on Dad in so many other, less dramatic but life enhancing ways none the less.  His corny jokes, told every holiday, especially Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I don't remember the jokes themselves but the constancy of hearing them and seeing his grin as he enjoyed them yet again.  One ended with "Squaw bury Shortcake" and that silly little ditty trotted out every Father's Day as we dug into the annual strawberry shortcake.  We could also count on Dad for showing us how to maintain good humor when circumstances suggested otherwise.  Like getting caught in the dump in Old Town, Maine at midnight with a couple of sleepy kids and a dead car battery, miles from the nearest phone (yes, eons ago we had to rely on ourselves, not cell phones).   A guy in a taxi stopped to clean out his car after his shift and agreed to call my grandfather to come get us.  Grampie showed up, we dropped him off at his house, then took his car out the Old Tannery Road (then just a dirt track through some dense woods) to get back to my uncle's cabin on the pond where we were vacationing and where we knew we could get some jumper cables.  In the dark of Old Tannery Road, we soon heard a soft thump and discovered it was from the very unfortunate meeting of tire and skunk.  He stopped in case the skunk was alive and suffering but it was not.   Dad was much more unhappy over the skunk than the smell.   We set out once again and soon realized the thump, thump, thump was not just the rough surface of the old road.  The tire was flat.   Not once did I hear a cussin' issue from Dad.  In fact, he sat down on the edge of Grampie's car and just laughed.  Then he quite resolutely changed the tire and somewhere around 2 or 3 am, we arrived back at my uncle's cabin.  Once we kids were settled into bed, he and Mom climbed back into the smelly car, jumper cables in hand, and returned to rescue our car.  The next day it was vacation as usual and Dad not once complained about the lack of sleep, recounting the tale as a joke instead.  That's just the kind of guy he was.  Cheerful, practical and just plain good folk.  So today, in honor of Dad, I'll make his favorite meal: a darn good steak for the grill to be followed by strawberry shortcake.   That's just the kind of tribute he'd want.

Comments

[Elaine]

Sounds like a great dad. Hmmm...the sense of humor sounds a little familiar too. He ain't all gone...nope. There's definitely still a little of him left around...someplace ;)

[Nancy J]

You've brought tears to my eyes not only with your stories but as I remember my dad (1910-1961)and grandpa (1889-1982) who were of the same ilk.

[Leslie]

Wonderful to have such memories of your dad. And Elaine's right, there's a certain reminder of that particular sense of humor in those wonderful bunny names at Woolybuns!

[Marie]

He sounds like a wonderful man and dad. You were very lucky to have a dad like that.