Dad
About 15 months ago an egg-sized lumped appeared on my dad’s neck over a few days. It wasn’t supposed to kill him. It did, yesterday.
Cancer sucks, but what happened to my dad was crueler than most. Beyond the pain, brutal treatment, sickness and everything else that comes with cancer, this one took his voice.
My dad lived an incredible life and to the benefit of everyone around him he was a damned good storyteller. I spent a lot of time trying to coax another story out of him. He was a greaser, part of a high school gang, welcome at the Playboy clubs that were in Chicago, an ad man with one hell of a portfolio, stand-up comedian, singer in a band and probably a lot of other things I never got to hear about.
I’ll never get to hear him tell another story. Thanks to him I heard some incredible tales that helped shape who I am and how I will remember him.
Tell someone you love a story that is important to you. I have a couple that about my dad that I think only I remembered. I don’t know why these have stuck with me all these years, but they have.
If you would like to share your stories with me too I would be overjoyed to read them. You may reach me at jon@alt42.net.
Here are a couple stories about me and my dad.
Broke Something
In the summer we would go to the park across the street to play catch, often with the added bonus of tiring out the dog. My dad since I can remember had a lot of pain when throwing overhand, but his days as a pitcher tugged at him always. Every now and then he would forget about the pain and let one rip. He could put some heat on it.
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I was pretty good at making the catch, but this time my glove bent. The baseball hit me dead center in the chest. It hurt like hell. Breathing was hard but I let out a yell.
“I think you broke my scrotum!”
My dad started cracking up, me thinking it was because he walloped me. I think I got away with calling him an asshole in that moment. Between fits of laughter he diagnosed my scrotum as being horribly misplaced. It dawned on me I meant sternum.
I couldn’t help but laughing. My chest still hurt, but there was no stopping it. After a few minutes we regained composure and went back to tossing the ball.
My First Drink
I think I was about 8 years old. We were at the swim club at the end of our block. Out front families gathered to eat individual pizzas or round yellow nachos with orange cheese. Us kids would run around in the grass, playing tag and making up rules for how we weren’t “it” when someone got you just before reaching home base.
The adults sat around at the picnic tables doing whatever adults did. When the food showed up they would spend 10 minutes trying to get all of us to calm down.
I was parched so I picked up the large water bottle my dad just set down. Taking a big gulp I knew something was wrong with this water. My cheeks were puffed out, filled with liquid, and my eyes watered. I got my mom’s attention, pointing from mouth to water bottle and back again. Finally one of my parents realized I had just filled my mouth with beer. My mom balanced helping me and giving my dad a furious glare. My dad shrugged it off.
There was a strict no alcohol policy at the pool, so they couldn’t say anything about there. By the time we finished swimming everyone but me had forgotten all about it.
