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My dad was one of those people in life that you never forget. Maybe it was because he was a huge guy; at 6'4 and 260 lbs., you would be glad if you ran into him in a public place and not a dark alley. Or maybe it was because he was the biggest kid of all time and loved to have fun and play jokes on other people every day of his life. Or maybe it was because underneath that huge, tough physical facade was the biggest softie with an oooey-gooey center; a kind-hearted, generous, and thoughtful soul. Chances are, whatever your encounter was with him, it was an encounter that was ingrained in your mind.
When I was growing up, I was convinced that Dad's purpose in life was to torment his kids. Every Christmas, Dad would tape the doors that led to the living room shut with duct tape. This prevented us from even being able to look at our presents without him there. He would torment us further by making us play cards with him (games like hearts, speed and crazy 8's). He would do this to us until we were crying. Finally, he would peel off the tape and sneak into the living room with the camera. Then we could all come running in and he would be the first to see our excited faces and take pictures of us. It wasn't until I became a mother that I understood the joy a parent feels when seeing their children's faces on Christmas morning. I finally realized that he taped the doors shut because it meant so much to him to see how genuinely surprised we were when we entered the Christmas wonderland. Those were memories that he cherished his entire life and talked about frequently.
Every night after work and every Saturday morning, my Dad would play with us kids. One of our favorite games was "Scarewolf." This is where he would chase us around the house over and over while pretending to be a scary wolf. He would bare his teeth and growl and run after us and we would shreik with delight as we tried to escape. He also loved to take us and fling us like ragdolls over the couch. Even when I was pregnant, he was trying to throw me over the back of the couch. +003.jpg)
Dad valued family time and loved taking us on vacation. So many summers we would load up our station wagon (you remember the kind with the fake wood on the side) and drive to California with no air-conditioner listening to "Macho Man" over and over. Or we would just pack up and head to Jackson Hole, Moab, or Lake Powell with our boat. Dad never took a break from pulling pranks and tormenting us on vacations. At Lake Powell, he would drive the wave runner dangerously close to us and splash us with a humungous wave. Or if we were out in public he would hide somewhere so that we would think we were lost. As soon as we would start crying because we thought we had lost our dad, he would appear out of nowhere, laughing hysterically and giving us humungous bear hugs, reassuring us that he was watching us the whole time. We had so many great conversations and had wonderful times together as a family. But if you were in our family you had to learn at a young age not to take yourself too seriously.
Our favorite family vacation was Disneyland. Dad seriously loved Disneyland, even though he would never truly admit it out loud. However, his body language said it all when we were at the park. He would totally outrun us kids and plow people over to get to the "big rides" like Space Mountain and Indiana Jones. One of his favorite rides was Pirates of the Caribbean, and he made it a tradition for us to eat at the Blue Bayou. A few months before he passed away, Dad had an opportunity to visit California one last time. I gave him and my mom a daypass to Disneyland, and he was able to eat at the Blue Bayou, which he was so excited about. Everytime I go to Disneyland with my kids, I take them to the Blue Bayou in honor of my dad; and even though the kids meals are a ridiculous $12 it's worth it to me so that I can remember those special times with him there and carry on the tradition.
I went to Junior Prom with my dad. My best friend and I did not get asked to go; and so we were moping around my house feeling sorry for ourselves on the night of the prom. Dad came home from work and and asked my friend and I if we would go out on a date with him. He took us to Astro Burger and we ordered shakes and onion rings and fries and cheeseburgers galore. We sat in our favorite booth and talked for 3 hours. Dad cleverly spent that time boosting our self-esteem and by the time we left, Jennie and I were convinced that somehow everything would work out for us after all. I can't think of anyone I would have rather gone to Junior Prom with than my dad.
My Dad was a tight wad. He spent his entire life saving $ and being extraordinarily frugal. He was lucky that he owned his own business because the proper office attire for a CEO at his company was worn-out jeans and a plaid shirt. He practically wore the same outfit everyday. He was always looking for deals; he would be so excited and was thrilled to get a good deal on a chili-dog at Weinerschintzel. I remember when he turned 40 he convinced the waitress at the Sizzler to give him the Senior Citizens discount.
When Dad was diagnosed with terminal colon cancer stage 4, we were all devastated and scared. But if he was scared or devastated he never showed it. He reassured us that he was going to face this challenge head on, and that's what he did. He had surgery and many many sessions of chemo and radiation. He got weaker and weaker until he became a hollow physical shell of the man that he once was, but he never gave up. Even up until the day before he passed away he showed up for another chemo visit. His oncologist kindly sent him home and told him to spend his last moments with his family.
On May 4th 2004, my dad asked my mom if he was going to die that day. My mom answered yes, and he immediately slipped into a coma with Kussmaul breathing. We all rushed to his bedside and were able to be there when he passed away at home later that evening. As hard as it was seeing my dad leave this earth, I can't help but laugh to myself about the moment. This is because I remember how he had made my brother park his Harley Davidson in the backyard and how he had my mom strategically place his hospital bed by the window so he could look out at his Harley as much as he wanted before he slipped away.
On this 5 year anniversary of his passing, I remember my Dad. I remember a man who loved the little things in life; things like taking his kids to the 7-11 for penny candy, big tall glasses of OJ in the morning, and playing monopoly and whipping everyone's butts. I remember a man who was the best listener and had the best advice of anyone I have ever known and how people came from far and near to consult with him. I remember a man who was a financial genius and honored the principle of frugality. I remember a man who taught me to face my challenges head on and not wait for them to disappear on their own. I remember a man who encouraged me to pursue whatever dreams I had and supported my decisions to go on a mission, get a college education, and get married and have children. I remember a man who always encouraged me to have an opinion on everything, and to share it wisely as long as I believed in it. I remember a man who was like a child, an eternal jokester wanting to have fun and not taking himself too seriously. I remember a man who was never too good to get down on the floor and wrestle with anyone or play games with the grandkids. I remember a simple man who was never flashy or showy because he was so rich in personality and humor. I remember my dad when I wear his humungous, comfy Harley Davdison t-shirts to bed every night.
I know that almost everyone who came across my dad loved him, and without a doubt everyone that knew him will never forget him, whether they liked him or not.
I miss you dad. There have been many times over the last 5 years that I have really needed you and your expert advice, but I understand why you had to go. Please watch over my family. I love you!! Steph+008.jpg)
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2 years ago
