“Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes.”
Father’s Day gives me the chance to use my whole posting to talk about my Dad. He was the funniest guy, mostly on purpose but lots of times by happenstance. We used to have Dad stories, all those times when we roared and he had no idea why. He used to laugh along with us and ask, “What did I say? What did I say?” We were usually laughing too hard to tell him.
I know you’ve heard this before, but it is one of my favorite Dad stories. He, my mom and I were in Portugal. I was driving. My dad was beside me. On the road, we had passed many piggyback tandem trucks, some several trucks long. On the back of the last truck was always the sign Vehiculo Longo. We came out of a gas station behind one of those. My father nonchalantly noted, “That guy Longo owns a lot of trucks.” I was laughing so hard I could barely drive and my mother was roaring.
My father wasn’t at all handy around the house. Putting up outside lights, he gave himself a shock which knocked him off his step ladder. He once sawed himself out of a tree by sitting on the wrong end of the limb. The bookcase he built in the cellar had two shelves, one on the floor and the other too high to use. He said it was lack of wood. When painting the house once, the ladder started to slide, but he stayed on his rung anyway with brush in hand. The stroke of the paint on the house followed the path of his fall. Lots of times he set his shoe or pant leg on fire when he was barbecuing. He was a big believer in lots of charcoal lighter fluid.
My father loved games, mostly cards. We played cribbage all the time, and I loved making fun of his loses, especially if I skunked him. When he won, it was superb playing. When I won, it was luck. I remember so many nights of all of us crowded the kitchen table playing cards, especially hi-lo jack. He loved to win and we loved lording it over him when he lost.
My father was a most successful businessman. He was hired to turn a company around and he did. He was personable and funny and remembered everyone’s names. Nobody turned him down.
My father always went out Sunday mornings for the paper and for donuts. He never remembered what kind of donut I like. His favorite was plain. He’d make Sunday breakfast when I visited: bacon, eggs and toast. I can still see him standing over the stove with a dish towel over his shoulders. He always put me in charge of the toast.
If I ever needed anything, I knew I could call my father. He was generous. When we went out to eat, he always wanted to pay and was indignant when we one upped him by setting it up ahead of time that one of us would pay. One Christmas he gave us all $500.oo, not as a gift but to buy gifts.
My father left us when he was far too young. It was sudden. He had a heart attack. I had spoken with him just the day before. It was pouring that day, and I told him how my dog Shauna was soaked. He loved that dog and told me to wipe his baby off. I still remember that whole conversation.
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keepthecoffeecoming.blog 
June 20, 2010 at 8:38 am
What a beautiful tribute, Kat. Our Dads are such a part of us.
June 20, 2010 at 1:52 pm
If’n it weren’t for a Dad & Mom, what would I be?
June 20, 2010 at 6:54 pm
Bubba,
What would any of us be without our parents?
June 20, 2010 at 9:52 am
Thanks, Cuidado
They are so close always.
June 20, 2010 at 11:31 am
Yes, Kat, Dad was a very special father in so many ways. A couple of memories of mine:
We were at Uncle Jimmy’s wedding reception and I was feeling very sophisticated and well dressed, sitting at a table waiting for the happy couple to complete their photos in the other room. We were all having a drink or two to pass the time (no surprise there-haha). I was reaching across the table and my arm hit my drink and spilled all over the linen tablecloth. Everyone gasped and looked horrified, and I was feeling the red creeping up my face from embarrassment. Out of nowhere, Dad appeared, picked up the glass, put a linen napkin over the wet spot, got me another drink, and made some funny comment before he went back to his table. It was like it never happened and I was so grateful to him.
A male friend and I had tickets to see a play in Boston that I was really looking forward to seeing. At the last minute, this “friend” ditched out on me. When I told Dad about it, he said he would take me to the play. There was a deluge that night, so when we got to the theater, Dad, being the gentleman he always was, stopped out in front to let me off before he parked. There was an awning outside, so I waited under it until he arrived. As Dad was averse to wearing raincoats, the poor guy looked like a wet dishrag. His hair was plastered to his head, his suit was soaked, and his pockets were full of water. We patted them and water gushed out of them. We had a good laugh over that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen pockets full of rain before or since.
The play had three actors only – Richard Jordan, Jenny Agutter, and Paul Benjamin. After Act 2, Dad turned to me and said he was having a hard time keeping track of who was who, too many actors. I laughed so hard, I was shushed from all the people around us. (That’s so Dad at the theater/movie, isn’t it, Kat?)
At the intermission, Dad bought me champagne and we stood together with my arm through his, checking out the crowd. There was a gaggle of older, hoity-toity ladies standing a little ways from us. They kept staring at us and tsk-tsking. One of them commented in a loud whisper, it’s disgraceful seeing that older man with that young girl!! Knowing Dad hadn’t heard her snide comment, I whispered it in his ear and then kissed his cheek. We laughed and hammed it up for the old bitties. Dad got a big charge from the whole thing.
Am I ever glad that friend of mine let me down. It was the only time I ever went to the theater alone with Dad and it’s a memory I will cherish forever. He was kind, sweet, and generous, and I’ll miss him always, but he left us with Great Memories!!!
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
June 20, 2010 at 6:29 pm
These are such great stories, Sheila. I didn’t know about the wedding story, and I love it. That was dad all the way! I remember your telling me about the play, and it always makes me laugh. Remember when we saw Taming of the Shrew? The father was the worst actor and had a New York accent. At intermission we were talking about how bad he was when dad came up and said the only actor he understood was the father. Watching TV with him was also a trip. He always wanted to know who was who. I remember when watching movies he’d guess Sonja Henie when he didn’t know the actress’ name.
He left us with great memories. I said Happy Father’s Day on the way by today.
June 20, 2010 at 12:19 pm
I love reading stories about Your father 🙂 Mine dissapered after I was eight and I only saw him twice after that. He drunk himself to death by the age of 58.
have a great day now!
Christer.
June 20, 2010 at 1:03 pm
Christer – Sadly your experience was not unique
From a slightly different perspective, I love being a Father. I have wonderful kids that have been a joy for 22 and 24 years. I share Father’s day with my son’s Birthday. I biked early at Stoney, had breakfast with everyone, received a framed memory of my trip to the Champions League Final, watched a wonderful game between Italy and New Zealand, ran over to Costco and will enjoy football family and food for the rest of the day.
Sometimes I have a great sense of well being – today is one of those days.
June 20, 2010 at 6:41 pm
My Dear Hedley,
I can’t imagine a more perfect Father’s Day than one filled with all the people you love, a World Cup game and good food.
Happy Father’s Day!
June 20, 2010 at 6:38 pm
Christer,
I’m sorry you didn’t have a better father, but I think you did well by yourself for yourself. You seem to have a wonderful life!
June 20, 2010 at 12:37 pm
i love this post. have a great trip
June 20, 2010 at 6:37 pm
Greg,
Thanks so much! I’m here at the hotel for the night-dragged my laptop for now, am not taking it to Colorado. I am looking forward to the family and the Red Sox!
June 20, 2010 at 1:08 pm
What a great story and tribute. I come here often, and (of course) I love the music you share, but what makes my visit here even better is to read the wonderful stories and times in life that you write about and can tell so well. I always leave your site with so much more than having heard a wonderful song from the past. I leave with wonderful songs also playing in my heart! And for that, I wanted to say thank you.
June 20, 2010 at 6:56 pm
Jay,
What lovely things you’ve said, especially, “I leave with wonderful songs also playing in my heart!” You have just made my evening! I’m sitting here with a smile!
June 20, 2010 at 5:12 pm
Christer, sad to read your Dad left you at such a young age. You turned out to be a fine person regardless. Kat, I do remember almost every word of my Dad calling from Florida to say he had to wait on making the trip up north to visit us and the grand kids. He had a cold and Mom was making him chicken soup. We put off our plans only to learn the next day he choked on a chicken bone and was dead before he hit the floor, the coroner told me. It was a fitfull time for us because, like your Dad’s death, it was sudden. He was 73. I remember him everyday because he was such a big part of my life. He was also my friend. We have shared some sacred moments including him being in country in Vietnam when I was in GA; then me being in country when he was leaving for the Pentagon. Crazy but we never connected and figured out we were in Vietnam together for one weekend. Him in Danang, me in Saigon. I work hard at parenting because I always am thankful to my mom and dad for caring for me the way they did. Good post today and have a wonderful trip to CO.
June 20, 2010 at 6:36 pm
Z&Me,
I remember that your dad was in the military, but I didn’t know you were contemporaries for a while. We both hold all with loving hands to the memories of our dads. I know my Dad and I crossed swords often, but that it was never personal, political usually. We were poles apart, and we loved to taunt each other. My Dad was 65 when he died, and I have always felt cheated.
June 21, 2010 at 5:18 pm
Hi Kat!
By the time you read this I know you will be in CO – -enjoy!
I am catching up on my web reading today and love this post.
My Dad died when I was only nine, but he left me a few special memories. He loved Louis Armstrong. (My prized possession is a program autographed to my Dad from Satchmo himself.) He loved Almond Joy chocolate bars. And every time I eat a thin crust pizza I think of him.
My Dad loved to tweak my Mom by bending the rules a little. My Mom’s mother would visit us on the weekends and bring a homemade apple pie. It was meant for dessert, but my Dad and I would each make sure we saved a slice for breakfast the next day. I can still see my Mom rolling her eyes and saying “You two! That’s NOT healthy!” (And my grandmother’s answer always was, “That’s OK…I’ll make another!”)
For many years I was fatherless…until about twenty-five years ago, when I was “adopted” into a family with a Mom, Dad, and 10 brothers and sisters (be careful what you wish for…you just might get it!). Anywho, I called him up on Sunday to wish him the best day possible, and he told me (as always) that he loved me. He stepped right in from the beginning to be the Dad I never had. How cool is that?
Stay well – –
Coleen
June 21, 2010 at 8:50 pm
Hi Coleen,
You have wonderful Dad stories. We so love and cherish those special moments no matter how long ago they happened. The pie story is a great one. I always figure dads were meant to make and break the rules, all the more fun that way.
Wow, you hit the jackpot!!