When you’re a young boy, your father is your first and preeminent hero. Understandably so, I suppose. He can open any jar, lift any object, brave the closer full of monsters, use any tool, wear a suit, drink coffee, eat the gross foods (e.g. pickled eggs), and revel in them.
Dad was my first hero. One of his superpowers was an ability to delight his children at will. I can’t explain why this is the case but one of the memories that has stayed at the forefront of my mind this week is the memory of walking down the steps on an unassuming Saturday or Sunday morning to find a Yoohoo and a pack of baseball cards next to my cereal bowl.
Dad was my hero.
Dad was a good teacher. There’s a long list of things that I learned from him. I couldn’t possibly realize it then, but now, I have a real appreciation for the quantity and diversity of the various skills that he passed down: how to shoot, hot to tie a tie, how to camp, how to drive, and the list goes on.
He taught me how to hang drywall. Anyone who’s raised sons would place an equal level of importance on the ability to repair drywall. There’s on notorious hole in a wall that appeared on Needle Drive.
Mom & Dad were at a party that night, Hollie was similarly gone, and the boys were home along. The night’s entertainment was the recently released to VHS, Karate Kid. One thing led to another and, before long, my foot was in the wall. Matthew and I devised two cover-up stories, both failed miserably but Mom & Dad let them slide. Matthew held true to the stories for some period of time (years). Eventually he cracked under the pressure. I on the other hand, have stuck to it for way longer. The truth is that Matthew wasn’t even in the room. He was two staircases away. He had nothing to do with “the kick heard ‘round the neighborhood.” It was just me and the wall; pie y pared. Shortly thereafter, dad taught me to repair drywall. I doubt dad fixed many walls from that day forward.
Dad was a good teacher.
Dad had a unique sense of humor. You knew it when you saw it. “Dry” was an understatement. He also liked to keep me off-guard. I remember being accused of having too much fun one weekend in college. It was the kind of fun that warrants the revocation of one’s car privileges. Dad delivered the verdict and sentence by phone, “David, be home no later than 3 hours after your last class on Friday. I will return you to campus in time for your first class on Monday. Forget about the car for the rest of the semester. I’ll give you more details when you arrive. …oh, and David, one more thing. Bring home the microwave.”
All of the punishment was expected, except for the microwave bit. What did a grown man want with my microwave? It wasn’t until later that I understood why he wanted the microwave at home.
Dad was always thinking ahead.
That was dad. I have a million positive things to say about him. Those will be my memories. I loved him dearly and that’s how it will continue from now until forever.