Uncle Pineapple, me and dad at Gia's wedding in 1989.
Dad's obit
Wow, my dad died. He's been sick for 3 years, but it still comes as a shock to the system when the end finally arrives. It was the most horrible thing I've ever witnessed, but I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else. I find it a terrible honor to have been with him and my mom when he passed.
This may be more of a typing out loud entry, but I wanted to share a few dad stories. I'm afraid they are going to be me-centric, but this is about my relationship with him. I am unclear as to whether these stories are truly factual, as they are colored by my childish recollections and the classic tall tale embellishments that happen over the course of time. They are, from my point of view, absolutely true.
I'm thinking about the day one summer I was determined to learn how to ride a two-wheeler bike, I couldn't have been more than four or five. Training wheels were for babies. I pushed the bike up the hill and coasted down, dumping myself off time and again. Eventually, our next-door neighbor's grandson Andy came out to try too. Dad came out to help, holding the back until I eventually got it. I remember us getting peanut butter cups as a reward.
My parents threw a party for my older sister's 7th birthday. I wasn't really invited until I begged. I was with my mom when she bought the prizes, and I desperately wanted the pearl jewelry set. I didn't get them, Gia's friend Rose claimed the prize and I lost my mind and made a desperate grab for it. Oh, I got in trouble with my mom, but strangely, not my dad. He took me for a ride in the car to go to A&A market, and incredibly, let me choose something from the toy rack. I claimed a small bright yellow Mighty Mouse flashlight.
One time he and my mom made a huge roast that they were going to have slice up for roast beef sandwiches. To my 6 year old eyes, it looked exactly like a cartoon Bugs Bunny roast, and I took a few bites out of it to see if it would still look like a cartoon roast. Man, was it delicious, but it also now had 3 tiny cartoon sized bites out of it. Yep, I got in trouble. He told me to go upstairs and start packing to "live with the gypsies down the street." I remember getting out my little flowered suitcase and through my tears, determining what I would need other than socks, underwear and my love pup. Astonished by my sad acceptance of my punishment (a theme that I would repeat time and again), he told me to put my suitcase away and think about what I did, because I had ruined the roast and they couldn't take it to the butcher to get sliced up. I think it was still edible, but I had of course lost my appetite for it. I know I did think about it, and determined it was impossible to explain the appeal of eating a cartoon roast to an adult.
When I was at the my work Christmas party getting kissed by K (Feb. playlist - Looking for a New Love part 2), I was way past my curfew for a Sunday night and boy did I get it. Yelled at. Grounded. Keys to the car taken away. Stunned and accepting of my punishment (again), I apologized since I didn't realize it was so late since I was busy *ahem* doing other things. Equally stunned by my saying I was sorry and owning up to my mistake, I was pardoned, but told it would only work this one time.
Another time, I was grounded "until you are 35!"
And that was another interesting thing about my dad. We girls were, more or less, operating on the straight and narrow, and many forms of rebellion were tolerated, although he did get his digs in. A rollicking evening of underage drinking was usually met the next morning with banging pots, fried eggs and Polka Joe on the stereo turned up to 11 *bleh*. The volume of his exceedingly cheerful voice was amplified on purpose.
He had me so scared of doing drugs, that I would barely take an aspirin.
He had me so scared of teenage pregnancy, that I left a trail of very frustrated ex-boyfriends from Jackson to Big Rapids.
Oh, the boyfriends. He had high standards for his girls, and few of the boys I brought home measured up (sorry guys). If he liked you, you were christened with a nickname (a term of endearment in his opinion), whether you liked it or not. Only two I brought home were nicknamed, and luckily I married one of them. The rest? Either referred to strictly by their name or lowest of low, not referred to by name at all.
Unclear as to what my career path was, or even where it was, I started at community college as a pre-pharmacy major, and front loaded my schedule with all the biology, chemistry and organic chemistry classes, and back loaded it with english lit, art, photography and design to act as a pressure valve. This led to me taking classes at Jackson CC and Lansing CC. When report cards came in the mail that June, 1988 I was ecstatic with the LCC report card which was a 4.0 on a 4.0 scale, but the JCC report was a 2.5 on a 4.0. He looked at the reports and said "I'm not going to tell you what to do, but I think these grades are telling you what you should do. Just know me and your mother support your choice." I changed my major to art and design and the rest is history.
When I took up figure skating as a hobby/sport, it hurt my feelings that my dad didn't get it. He came to only one competition, the Grand Rapids Open in 2004 and saw me come in last, and like a typical skating parent, was furious to know why I was sucking in the cellar. Afterwards, he gently requested that I not bother inviting him to competitions. Again, it hurt for him to say that, and I wondered why. My mom later explained that he was so afraid I would get hurt, that he couldn't enjoy the performance "waiting for her to fall and crack her head open like an effing watermelon." Well, my mom brought home the article from the Grand Rapids Press the weekend after Sectionals, and he gruffly asked to see it. He read it quietly, cleared his throat and wiped his eyes, and commented that he thought I got into the sport after seeing the Ice Capades with him in 1977. Then he grinned and said "good for you." He also told me to have a good time when I was on my way to Chicago for Adult Nationals. I think he finally got it.
His experience giving back to the sport he loved as a football referee for the Michigan High School Athletic Association inspired me to become a figure skating judge. We traded stories that last couple years of insane sports parents and even more insane coaches.
He was a wonderful grandfather to my sister's son Dylan and to my son Will. It was remarkable to see this gruff, cantankerous man become such a marshmallow in the presence of these two boys. I can't type much more about this right now without crying, but I hold dear to my heart the last time they played ball in the house while watching a Tigers spring training game. My dad must have pitched a soft toss ball to Will for two hours straight while Will swung a cross stitch tube as a bat. The joy they both exhibited is something to hold onto so I can share with him tales about grandpa.
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