For All the Dads

I can't help but smile today. I smile because my daddy is close in my heart. As Father's Day approaches, I remember this man, this very good man who brought laughter and goodness to the world and made it a better place.

Dad was a model son. If his parents had need of him, he dropped everything and ran next door to where they lived. No matter if it was something minor, my father always let them know that they were important. He cared for them into their golden years and respected them with a son's adoration.

Dad would do this with my mom as a good husband through the years. For her needs were always first to him. He loved her until death parted them, and even then, I felt his love surrounding her up to the time she joined him a short while later. Their marriage lasted over sixty years and was a shining tribute to all who knew them.

Other fathers who are in my heart today are some of the men who I appreciated through the years. There was my father-in-law, E.G., a man who broke into tears when we were reunited years after his son left our marriage. There was Matt's father, Mark, who was protective of his little boys and showered them with kisses and affection. There is my brother who adores his own little girls and would do anything for them. And my husband who especially appreciates his good relationships with his children in their adult years.

Some of us may not have known the love of a good father, or husband to our children. We may have found that an uncle, grandfather, cousin, neighbor, or dear friend made an impression in our lives with their goodness. As Father's Day approaches, let's hold a special thought for these gentle men who garnered respect in our lives through their actions and kindnesses.

To you, Dad, I close my eyes right now and envision your handsome face. I see you blinking with two eyes because you never could wink. I see your paint-stained pants with every color under the rainbow splashed over them. I smell the scent of marigolds in your hands. I hear the sound of your laughter and the timbre of your words--your magical, nonsensical words.

I hear the Emperor Waltz in the background. I can picture you now, Dad, conducting your invisible orchestra. I see you and Mom dancing and twirling in my mind's eye as the crescendo peaks. I feel your warmth radiating through everything you touched--your beautiful hand-created crafts.

I miss you, Dad. I hope you visit my dreams again soon. I thank God for allowing any special moments of closeness with you even now. Happy Father's Day with every ounce of love I have.

Your little Tenya.

Nonsense Language

Me, my brother and son have come up with a list of my father's imaginative language. Those of you who knew him best will understand.

We were called Toy, Toots, little Tenya. We were called Boy, Mattie, and Raymond. Others were called Fritzie, Nemon, Hage, Johnny Boy, and Rollo. There was Magruter, Ollie, Donelda, Cherley, Merdet and Peppay.

When you drank too much pop and left cans around you were a "Socack." When something came crashing down during rough play with your friends, you heard "Save the pieces!" When you wanted someone to leave because you were tired of them, you heard "Bid it!"

"Flutes" were little kids and not an instrument to be played. "The Serps" were my nieces as they ran around the house having fun. When you couldn't hear something you were called "Orville!" And when sneezes came in rapid succession, sounds like "Warf," and "Whoosk" were heard instead of Achoo!

If you spent too much money on a gift for my dad, he would call you "Mike Money" or "Andy Mellon." Of course this was always said with love because Dad enjoyed gifts so much.

Sometimes my father would ask me, "Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?" with his best Billy Burke impression from Wizard of Oz. Other times he would make fun of those of us who had a few computer skills and ask if we went on the "corn.cob" site (pronounced corn-dot-cob). Really....

When someone had big eyes, or was staring, we heard "Beadie Lajolla" or "Heady la Eyeball." It's a wonder we children grew up sane!

If you washed too much, you were a "Cleanso Smith." If you preferred to keep something a secret you were "Mystero." Even pets were not immune from fresh new names given to them. Penny, the Pomeranian was "Bluto,"  Mya the dog became "Myers." Lynxy the cat was "Torberious." And cats did not have whiskers, but they did have "weeyers." And if Dad wanted a cat or dog to leave him alone, he'd shout: "Boorelea!"

Restaurants that truckers frequented were called "Greasette Spoonette" and not Greasy Spoons. That was far too ordinary for our father. And when Dad saw me in shorts in the summer, he called them "wearing my diaper." He called winter coats "buffalo skins." There was no end to the wonderful world of madness.

I remember when my brother Rick was little and Dad wanted him to behave. He would always threaten that he was going to give his toys away to "Francie Blaho." Now Francie was not a real person, but Rick didn't know that, and he would "Straighten up and Fly Right" as Dad would say...

When any child annoyed dad, he said he was going to turn into "Thrasheto, the Thrashing Monster!" My goodness! Everyone behaved then. This seemed to be worse than Godzilla or Mothra or any of the old monster movies.

 My son has often said that the father in A Christmas Story played by actor Darren McGavin, reminded him so much of "Lamp," his grandfather, my dad. For there were a few nonsense words that Ralphie always referred to as his father said them. No wonder we laughed so much.

There were many other wonderful, amazing nonsense phrases. Some we never found the origins, and just hold dear to our hearts: Cutasecalea, Feenstra Mageech, Baby Mosie, Muscala Majona, Boosskach, Guya Kibbee, Zoomba, Broofisk,Henna, Sasha good little dog. All words from the vocabulary of one of the sweetest, funniest men I've ever known or ever hope to know.

I miss Dad's zany words and the silly faces he made. I miss him mimicking my son, driving him crazy until Matt would shout, "Lamp!" (Which was his own made up nickname for my dad.)

My father lived simply in a quiet place within himself. He could be known as shy in many ways, and preferred family around him to friends and tons of company. He prayed quietly with a small prayer book he was given by someone years ago and never made show of his beliefs, but you knew he had a heart for God.

Dad  was one-of-a-kind and though he's gone from this earth, which hurts my heart to admit, there are his soft, quiet ways, crazy language, and strength from the good man that he was which we all hope to carry on.

Happy birthday, Dad

Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Daddy! Happy birthday to you!!!

My goodness. Time does fly! I can remember the fun, silly man, the one who always tried to make everyone laugh. The time my father dressed up like Fred Rodgers, complete with zip- up sweater singing "It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood...."

Another time, with a large tin can upon his head breathing heavily like Darth Vader stating, "Luke, I am your father."

Or once, in J. C. Penney's, a fedora cocked sideways on his head while we walked through the men's department, pretending to be Hannibal Lector in the final scenes of "Silence of the Lambs."

This soft-spoken, good-hearted man, who walked through life seemingly without a care in the world. But there were cares. When I was 13 years old, laying in a hospital bed in Children's Hospital, my parents stood by stoically, trying to make light of the seriousness of spinal surgery. Dad would invent some crazy song or antic to make me laugh. He'd poke fun at the nurses and doctors, calling them all sorts of humorous names behind their backs. Day after day, he'd drive himself and Mom to visit me, though driving to Pittsburgh wasn't something he liked to do.

My rock, my strength. A man who was there in times when my mother was hospitalized when I was a little girl. A man who took the time to build crystal radios with me, paint little football men in an old game, explain word problems in math one more time. Walk me back to bed, when upon waking in the night, I'd need the reassurance that everything was alright. Explain the plays yet again to the tiring questions I asked while watching Steeler games with him. A man who never put himself before anyone. Humble, simple, loving and kind. These words don't do my Dad justice.

In 1999 my father was rushed to the hospital. A quadruple heart bypass would follow. My brother and I thought we might lose him at that time. Dad not only pulled through, but today, March 6, he turns Eighty-three.

God has been good to our family. I'm blessed to have both my parents and consider every day a gift with them. Though we've seen hard times through the years, our deep love and humor carries us through life's journey.

Happy birthday, Dad. When I grow up, I want to be just like you. All my love. . .