I hope the producers of NCIS don’t mind that I am using the title from one of their recent episodes. But it’s just too perfect not to use in this instance.
You see, I recently lost my dad. And he was all about stories. But you know, it’s kind of sad when you think about it, because one day, there will be no one to tell those stories. We become just a name on a headstone. I think of that when we visit the cemetery. What were all of these people like? What impact did they leave on the world? How will I ever know?
People talk about leaving a legacy. I think my dad thought his legacy was leaving us money. That’s fine, but sometimes I think he didn’t spend money when he should have. Maybe that’s just his generation because Tim’s mom was the same.
But a legacy is much more than that. It’s the people you’ve touched, some without even knowing it. I think my dad left a wonderful legacy. People all over will be telling the best stories about him.
He had his own stories that we heard over and over again, but we always laughed. From my experience, parents and grandparents need to talk to the kids about their lives. They want to know what you were like as a kid. What stupid things did you do? Who were your friends? I know a lot about my dad’s life before me, but I’m sure there is plenty I don’t know.
My goal with this post is to share my stories about my dad. The things that will always remain in my heart. These aren’t the kinds of things you can put in an obituary (although some people try!!). These are what defined our relationship and always will. These stories will live on until I can no longer tell them.
My stories
I grew up hearing how much I looked and acted like my dad. Sometimes it was said when my mom was teasing me, but I never felt bad about it. I loved that I shared that with my dad.
He and I were usually the first ones out of bed on a Saturday morning, and one of those mornings he gave me donuts for breakfast. No big deal. But when my mom got up and looked at the remaining donuts, she said they were moldy!! I never held that against him. And I survived.
My dad was very competitive. He played basketball, football, and baseball in high school, college, and even in the Army. He loved to talk about all the times he got hurt. Either when he had to be carried off the football field, or the one about Dean Smith breaking his finger when they played Kansas.
This competitiveness extended beyond organized sports. One of the greatest family stories is when he made a bet that he could beat his nephew (my cousin) in a foot race. I will never tell it as well as the others, but in a nutshell, they ran up and back on the sidewalk in front of our house. My dad was running so hard, he tore his socks to shreds and went sprawling on the sidewalk. Why he was running in socks I’ll never know. Anyway, he would always take on a challenge.
My dad always liked the girls and they liked him. When I was in sixth grade, I had a Halloween party. This was during the height of the Addams Family TV show. To add to the party atmosphere, he would answer the door and say, “You Rang?”. A friend of mine never forgot that and to this day, she calls him Lurch.
He tried to help me throw a softball far enough to qualify for the President’s Physical Fitness award, Sadly, I scored high in all other events, but could not throw a softball. I never did get the award.
He tried to teach my mom how to cast a fishing line. They were in our front yard. He was sitting on the front porch and she let it fly. It had a lead weight on the end and it came back and hit him right between the eyes. And of course, she laughed. We were always a family that laughed first when someone got hurt. Fortunately, this became a funny story and not something tragic.
When I was a sophomore in high school, I was asked to present the homecoming crown to the queen at halftime of the football game. I was pretty nervous about it because I was self-conscious about being tall and very skinny. I’ll never forget what he said: stand up straight and be proud of your height. I still think about that.
He taught me how to drive. Once I got my permit, he would take me out to a large empty parking lot and have me drive around it, to get used to the car and how it worked before I ever got on the road. He did let me drive home from there and I remember him saying he was a little nervous because I drove so close to the right side of the road!! It’s funny, but not long before he died, he asked me if I remembered all that.
He had to tell me we were moving, leaving the only home I’d known and all my friends. He didn’t want to leave any more than I did, but he felt he had to for the sake of his career. My mom and sister seemed happy to move but my dad and I always felt sad about it.
He loved to hunt and fish. Every fall there would be pheasants and quail soaking in our kitchen sink and deer hanging in the garage. In the spring, he’d get ready for his annual fishing trip to Canada.
He didn’t have a boat, but he had a motor. I guess someone else had the boat. A few weeks before the trip, he’d fill up a metal garbage can with water and hook up the motor to make sure everything was OK. What a funny sight, seeing a man in his driveway running a boat motor in a garbage can!!
He helped me get my first car the summer after my college graduation. He found a good deal on a used car with very few miles and he helped me make the down payment since I’d only been working for a couple of months and had no money.
He was famous for shedding blood whenever he did a job, especially wallpapering. We knew we had to have plenty of bandaids on hand. He’d either cut himself with the razor blade or fall through the back of the chair he stood on and scrape his shins. You’d think an athlete could handle something like that!!
Later in life, one time he was all scraped up and I asked how he did it. He confessed that he realized he couldn’t put his shorts on anymore without sitting down. In other words, he had fallen while getting dressed!! I think about that a lot these days, as I struggle with some of the same things.
We have all kinds of funny stories that won’t mean anything outside of our family. Doesn’t every family? I’m sure those stories will surface at family gatherings for years to come.
My dad was the guy who knew someone wherever he went no matter how far away from home he was. He thrived when his barbershop quartet toured the country, singing at various barbershop shows.
I spent so much time with him or talking to him during the last four years. We weren’t a family that talked every day before that, but it became a part of my daily schedule. As he became more isolated, it grew harder and harder to find things to talk about. Maybe that’s just me since I’m not a big talker. But I was there if he needed anything.
During the last six months, I was there four afternoons a week, and he got me started on a sports talk show – First Things First. After a while, I don’t know if he cared but I looked forward to hearing what these guys had to say. I learned a lot about the NFL!! Thanks Dad!!
I don’t want to remember him based on the last four years. I want him to always have a young face, agile legs, and no confusion. I want to remember him as fearless and my protector, not the other way around. There are stories from this time, but they won’t be the ones I tell. Well, maybe the suckers. Or the hearing aid stories. I guess there will be stories after all!!
I wasn’t here when he died. Everything happened so fast. I’m grateful that he didn’t have pain at the end and he went quickly. He was ready to get to heaven.
The last time I saw him was about eleven days before he died. Uncharacteristically, I said “love you” as I left his room. I’ll always be grateful those were the last words I said to him. God must have known I needed to say it then. It’s a good final story.
