May 6

From Classics

So the last couple of days have been ones to celebrate. "May the fourth be with you," that is, Star Wars day. Cinco De Mayo, of course...and today, May 6th, is a day to remember. For over 60 years, it was a day to celebrate, for it was my dad's birthday. Unfortunately, he was cut down in the prime of life (really, for our longevity now extends more and more commonly to 100 years).

I've written about him before.

He was likely best known for his sense of humor. He collected jokes, memorized jokes, told jokes, and in general, looked on the sunny side, most all the time. Whether it was a trying time with farm or family, whether it was a parent's death or bankruptcy, dad always smiled on through.

Creepy as it sounds, that was my problem with his corpse. When I was asked to approve the undertaker's work, I wanted a smile on dad's face. It was not to be so. I guess it would have been unnerving for others, but to me, seeing him all staunch and stern was the most unnatural part of all the unimaginable things done to his body. I only saw that grim face a couple of times, and I'd earned the stink eye, let me say.

He was also enterprising. All the time, he was seeking ways to make it rich. He had an import business. He marketed a bumper sticker. He had an Elvis tribute plaque on the market. He diversified our dirt farm into a truck farm. He explored wind farms, and he sold the water rights to our property to pay off the land for us to later inherit.

I'll always remember the last real conversations I had with him. (The very last was over the phone, the day before he died, and it was pedestrian and truly a major source of regret). In October, less than a month before he passed, we sat in his office. I was sharing with him my utter disappointment in myself. (At that time, I was really on the brink of quitting life...and looking back now, I think that I was a stooge.) He was trying his best to give me a pep talk, telling me he loved me and all that a dad would do. He hugged me and teared up. It was the most sincere father and son moment ever.

Then he died.

But I am writing to remember him here. I need to write much more about him for my children, for none of them got to know their grand-dad. That sounds like a good summer project, right after I finish grading papers in the next 10:4:34:18.