The Monkey Barrel

Archive for March, 2009

Dear Dad,
It’s raining today. You’re not missing much. I did laundry, packed lunches, fed and played with the baby, got the big boys to school, made breakfast for Fred. It feels weird. Normalcy. How can life be normal without you in it? I’ll bet your having the best day ever. In fact, I bet every day up there is the best day ever. I hope there’s golf, and water skiing. I really miss you.
Love, Em

He was the cow whisperer. Any field on a country road, he could pull the car over and make a soft mooing that sometimes I think only a cricket could hear and the bovine would come running from however far out they had been. It was a little embarassing and a few years back we bought him a Farside mug with people in the field and cows in a car yelling HEYYYYYY out the window. He loved it. He had a great sense of humor. Banana pudding and fried chicken for every birthday meal. Even the year I gave it my first attempt and cooked the instant pudding according to the directions on the nilla wafer box and God bless him he drank it with a grin (or maybe a grimace) on his face, down to the last mushy drop. I continued to try for years and began making it from scratch and he would smile, but nod his head and say, it was wonderful Froggy, but not like my momma’s.
Daddy was a very well dressed man. Always in a dress shirt and slacks and even his weekend yard clothes were just worn out, threadbare work clothes. Matt and I never saw him wear jeans until we were teenagers. That was the year the New Kids On The Block came into town. I never thought I’d get to go, but they bought me tickets and I worried and fretted that my dad would show up in his dress clothes but I was called down to the living room and there he stood wearing my brother’s stonewashed jeans and Hi top Reebocks with a t-shirt and jean jacket over. Mom had even made a rat tail out of an old lock of my hair and had pinned it on and he had an old clip on earring on one ear. I should’ve been mortified, but I knew how much he wanted me to enjoy my time and I was so proud of him for the effort. We drove to the concert in his Cuda and I will never forget the quiet in the car afterward driving home just listening to the motor and being exhausted and blissful and having shared it with dad. I don’t think he ever wore jeans again tho.
Once he took my car to be inspected and when he picked me up with it to show me a few things that were different, we got around the corner and he pulled my cigarette package from his pocket and quietly laid it down on my lap. He said only, “I started when I was in the military and it took me years to quit. It’s just not a good idea babe.”, and I never smoked another drag again.
Dad taught me how to water skii when I was around eleven down at Lake Gaston. He was patient as with all things. It took forever, it seems, to learn to let go of the rope when I fell, rather than swallow half the lake while being drug thru the water. Eventually, I learned and we spent many Saturdays and summers skiing together.
Every summer there was a family reunion on the 4th of July out at Uncle Jo’s, and every year the men put out the volleyball net. I dreamed and dreamed of the day I would be big enough to join in. But when I was, the men folk were none to keen on me joining but dad was undeterred and put me right in the fray. My love of the sport was sealed and dad was at every game and every practice thereafter. I remember he would keep a cooler with ice and wet cloths for those coming to the bench at those sweltering games at Penn State. All of my teammates were just long lost daughters to him.
Dad worked in his wood shop and his hands turned out many gifts with great joy in the working. He made breakfast every Saturday morning to the tune of This Old House and Bob Villa in the background. I used to pretend some mornings to be asleep so he would come and wake me up for breakfast and Saturday chores. He was always in the yard with us working alongside.
Dad never met a stranger. We returned to Charleston, SC. a year after hurricane Hugo hit and I remember him talking to the waitress at Shoneys and finding out that she had lost her home and she and her baby girl had nothing left. I remember him leaving a huge tip for her when he thought no one was looking. He taught by example never really in words. People loved him instantly.
The memories are ever flowing and I could write for days and still never capture the soul of who he was. I will keep posting them for as long as they flow and I can bear up under the weight of them. My life is full for having had the privilege to be his daughter and to be able to have such an example to strive to meet. for my own sons. They are blessed to be a part of his legacy and I am changed by who he was and I long for the day to meet him again in my heavenly Father’s presence.

He is gone. I don’t know that my heart will ever recover from the greatness of this loss. He was my hero, for all time. All that was good and fine about a man he embodied. Selfless unto death. No more suffering, no more pain, safe in his Saviour’s embrace. Well done good and faithful one.

A few weeks ago we started hearing an odd sound coming from the bathroom. It only happened occasionally but pretty soon it was with every flush. The kids started calling it Chewbacca. They began specifically going up to use that toilet and gales of laughter would ensue. Occasionaly I’d find an obscure light sabre and oddly hacked toilet paper on the floor. Luke started wearing his Darth Vader helmet to go potty and his Lego Star Wars underwear became hugely popular again. Whenever friends or family would come over they were ushered sneakily upstairs with whispered giggles about our new family entertainment. About a week ago I noticed that a few seconds after Chewbacca’s call came an answering groan. So now we have one wookie howling and it’s companion groaning in response like some weird mating ritual, in our toilet!! I had no idea our potty was the galaxy “far far away”. I almost don’t have the heart to have Fred fix it because it has produced so much joy, but fear of a growing colony of wookies and the ensuing hairballs give me caution.