I know I already did something on dad’s… Gonna do another… If you’ve happened by here before - you’ve probably already heard some of it…. (I’m reminded of the “eyerolls” in marriage after 20+ years of hearing the same story retold…)
Thought and thought “what can be profound to say about dad, and being a father?”… Then I figured it out pretty simply… It ain’t about me… it’s about my dad, and it’s about my son…
My father.. 5’5” maybe. For being so involved with sports myself, my father didn’t know the difference between a 3-pointer and a hole in one…
A happy man… whistled a lot… sang a lot… smiled a lot… would intently listen to a conversation… and then tie it all together with some smartass (but extremely funny) comment..
I see him in the yard wearing his “PLEASE don’t wear those God-awful things to Safeway” ‘slacks’… They had paint, tar, oil, dirt, sweat, glue, allover ‘em.. The zipper flip thingy had broken and a large (not small, large) paper clip engineered in it’s place.. He was happy in’em, and wasn’t a duty outdoors that they weren’t perfect for…
I can hear him relating a fabricated story of something he was gonna do that was perilous, sneaky, criminal, whatever, JUST to get a rise outta mom. He had no intent of doing so, but that man tugged and tugged lovingly on her leg all his life. He could go on and on in vivid detail making up all kindsa crap… When you conversed with him in a crowd, you felt kinda like raising one eyebrow each time as if “is this one for real”.. Ya just never knew.. Till the enda the story.. He’d literally orate made up crap for ten minutes (the cast, the bobber, the bait) for a five second punch line (snagged you were.)
Sold books. To college campus’s.. One account at KU (figures) had a small gay section of the bookstore.. And onea the publishers he represented so happened to be selling a book for gays.. I was a senior in High School.. .they were going outta town for the weekend… and from previous similar weekends, he understood what was probably gonna happen whilst they were away.. So….. They pull out 4pm-ish… 42 cars filled with my snotnose high school friends pull in around 6-ish.. A great time had by all… until they found “the book.” It was laying opened on toppa the desk in the dining room.. “:Life as a Gay Man”.. by John-somebody… There on page 1, in blue ink “To Victor, with love, John.” That was my father’s humor. Rather than say “hey, don’t do that” - he had another plan up his sleeve… it was “have your fun…. But ya gotta ‘earn’ it too!”
I mentioned when my mother had her stroke.. He did everything.. Laundry, cleaning, cooking, her physical/hygiene care.. And sold cars from the driveway…He’d come home and say “Victor, can you get three of your buddies to come with me to pickup these cars I bought.. I’ll pay ‘em $10 each..” And we would. I could not believe how cheaply he got these cars for.. Then one day I rode with him.. After agreeing to terms of 3 beauties on the back lot, he shook the sale’s managers hand and returned to the car…. Started it up.. Then said “Oops… forgot his tip.”.. Pulled outta envelope with 5 Twenties in it.. Walked in, gave it to the guy and returned with a smirk… WHY YOU LITTLE SHIT!
Again, I was lucky. My father was kind. Never got riled up. Found fun in no matter what he was doing.. And was liked.
The simple thing about my father I will always remember… Whenever I called - he ended each and every phone call with “I’m glad you called Vic.” A simple thing, but a huge thing.
On being a father. I’ll never forget the SONogram… The days leading up to this arrival… THE DAY… The feeling carrying him from the operating room to the nursery - tightly wrapped in his blanket… Watching him crawl… Catching his first steps on video.. The mess around his high chair on birthday number 1.. His colic… His verbal advancement.. Playing “hut ball” in the garage.. (That’s the game where you have a six foot basketball goal.. And you wear your football helmet to play! I dunno how the term ever originated.. But I think he donned it.)
Coming home from 1st grade “Meet the teacher Night” and being told “dad… you’re the oldest dad in my class.” Countless, countless hours playing with army guys, catch, shooting hoops, throwing batting practice, hitting fly balls.. Kicking the soccer ball back and forth..
I can see all the old sport’s uniforms.. All the kids on the teams.. The results.. The games.. The fun times in the games… the fun times together outsida the games.. Myself and 8 of his friends riding around the parking lot of a Middle School somewhere in North Kansas City prior to the tipoff of the 6th Grade Championship Basketball Game - and we had “We Are The Champions” CRANKED.
Always being the youngest, smallest on his team.. Finally, at age 16, coming back to play in our hometown - and he was the oldest… and the success that followed..
His smile. His sense of humor. His good looks (musta been mom)…
The simple thing from my son… There’s not a day go buy where he doesn’t first offer “You have a good day dad.” Thanks son.. A bunch.. And you have a nice day as well.
I took that drive I spoke of.. I went by several houses we’d lived in.. Each with memories of that age and that day.. I drove by where we usedta play ball.. Where we usedta borrow the High School batting cage.. Where we had basketball practice.. Where he was born…
THANKS for “calling”… You have a good day… Love, Victurd
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