A Day with Dad

Today was one of those rare days spent mostly with Dad, and I cherished it.

Dad (as most of you know him) was in fine form - his acerbic wit slashed left and right, crossing all boundaries of political correctness - with a huge dose of fatalistic self-pity thrown in for good measure - in other words - typical Dad.

"I aint interested in any of these 'lifetime guarantees' people mention to me," he grumbled at one point. He's 80.

His funniest story was of his visit to a local grocery store. Since the hurricane hit, he gets some help with special food coupons, but they can only be spent for human food (no alcohol, no tobacco, etc). But he loves his three cats ("I would have 12 if I could, and build 'em a big cathouse in the back yard"), and so tried to purchase some salmon cat food for them.

The clerk would have none of it. "Sorry sir," he said she told him. "You cannot purchase pet food with these special food coupons, only human food."

"But these are my favorite - I eat these - this has been part of my diet for a long time" he said he told her - to no avail. Just like Dad - trying to slip something past someone in authority. And he wonders where we get that streak of anti-authoritarian behavior from time to time.

My favorite part of the visit was our tour around town in his truck. After he sat in the front passenger seat, he put on a big white straw cowboy hat that he had in the back jumpseat of his truck, and the sudden sight of him wearing it caught me by surprise and I laughed out loud.

He didn't even change expression as I laughed so hard I could not drive. In his 80 years he has NEVER possessed even one molecule in a cowboy bent - but he wore that hat as I chauffeured him around. He actually looked fine in it.

"Moe gave me this hat, and I like it," he stated simply, refering to a son-in-law. I am still smiling at the sight of Dad in a cowboy hat (a big one). Made him look like a father of a member of the Village People. Thanks for that laugh, Moe.

During our ride he showed me the new ballparks out at the Recreation Center Area on Standard Mill Road in southwest part of town. It's a phenomenal sight - all those new ballparks for the children of our hometown to enjoy.

I even rode by the park where I played Little League (under his coaching tutelage) and saw a baseball laying in the grass near home plate. I retrieved it and then stood on the same exact mound where I stood 41, 42, 43, 44, and 45 years ago and pitched.

Then I walked over to the shortstop area, where I played when I was not pitching. I got a bit of that old feeling inside for a moment. It felt great - and I felt myself checking my position relative to third base and second base - just as I did those many years ago.

Those were some of my glory years and part of Dad's as well : he coached so many pennant winners that there was a collective sigh of relief from the other coaches when he retired from coaching our hometown boys - which he did for more than 20 years.

He commented on the people in the cemetery. "I just want my ashes put in some garden, mixed up with good compost," he said. He recently donated his body to science, so he may ultimately get his wish.

"Your brother the chef just started a new job at Old Time Cafe," Dad informed me. "It's the best place to get a plate lunch these days in this town," he said.

We then tried to find a childhood friend of mine that once lived across the street from our home, and we did not guess (but found out later) that he'd moved, along with his 87-year old mother, to a home just behind the Methodist Church, on 4th Street. I made a mental note to visit E.W. and mom R.W. later.

We went by Dad's former business location on the west side of town. You could still clearly see his name on the sign out front, although the present owners tried to paint over it. Dad said it was about to become a church hall.

Each time we passed a home where someone he knew once lived but has now died, he mentioned that fact. "Heck almost nobody I knew 52 years ago when I moved here is still alive," he mused. I tried to change the subject.

He also pointed out homes that used to house a certain family - sometimes over several generations - but has now been sold to a new family - and I found this unsettling, as these homes always meant "so and so's family lives here" to me - and now that is no longer true.

In only one neighborhood did we run into someone we both knew - a contemporary of my father and mother's whose husband was our pharmacist - she was out working in her garden and looked almost exactly the same to me - even 40 years after I had seen her on a regular basis.

She and her husband had five children - all the ages of one of us (we are eight children), and she briefly caught us up on them. She also said that her husband just loves the internet and spends hours on it every day, mostly writing stinging letters about something or the other to the local paper. Dad emphatically told her that he will not go near a computer.

Remarkably - she asked him if he still fixed TVs because she had one that needed fixing. Dad told her that she could buy a new one for just a little more than what it would cost to fix that old one.

We commented on other homes that were damaged in the recent hurricanes and how strange it was to him that one home would be damaged and the ones on either side would be unscathed. He shook his head and put his hand over his mouth - one of his habits learned from his mother Fanny Ella.

"There's TWO reasons I am even still alive," he mused. "One is the good genes from my mother (she lived to be 90), and the other is that I exercised most of my life (not only was Dad a professional baseball player, but also , he ran miles and miles around the NDHS track and then rode a stationary bike well into his 60s)."

I had to agree with him there. His own father died at 68, and at 80, Dad is by far the longest-lived male in the family line.

Gives me hope.

In fact, the whole visit gave me hope. Especially the part back at the house where Dad showed off how affectionate his adopted Cat "Charley One Nut" could be. Sure enough, that cat nuzzled Dad as if Dad were his actual father, and it warmed me inside to see Dad enjoy this show of affection from this cat.

I left when my baby sister came by to retrieve me, but not without nuzzling Dad myself. He reached up and grabbed my head as I buried it in his neck. "Come back and visit again soon," he mumbled.

I know I will.