Remembering My Dad on the Anniversary of His Passing: A Repost of a Repost of a Post from Long Ago

17 years ago today, my family experienced an absolutely horrific event: we watched my father take his last breaths as he quickly passed away after being taken off life support. I can't describe how horrible that was.

Days like today certainly give me pause for reflection. Having some relatives with teenage kids, I am reminded how teenagers are the smartest people on earth and their parents are among the most stupid. However, sometime beginning in kids 20s -- maybe after getting married and/or having their own children -- they begin to realize that maybe their parents were a little smarter than they gave them credit for. More importantly, if they had not done so already, kids begin to realize and understand the many sacrifices their parents made for them. In my mind, this is really a significant landmark in becoming a mature adult.

I have reprinted the following blog post a few times over the years. Today seemed like a good time to do it again. Oh -- and if you are still fortunate enough to have one or more parents, give them a kiss or a hug or, if living in an area distant from them, give them a phone call. Being a parent myself, I realize the value of those actions so much more now.
I had just gotten to work at the 7-Eleven store in the next town. I was working the evening shift, as I recall.

The year was 1980. I had completed my B.A. degree in the spring and was working at 7-Eleven during the summer to save some money for grad school, which I would be starting in the fall. My car, a junky 1973 Pontiac Catalina, had been totaled the previous January when some idiot blew through a stop sign and drove across four lanes of traffic to hit me with a Chevrolet El Camino. Although my Catalina was a tank, so was the El Camino. My Catalina didn't stand a chance. The complete driver's side of the car was dented in. Thank goodness it was a big sturdy car or I might not be here writing this.

I did without a car for five months. However, I needed a car for grad school since part of my first semester responsibilities would include traveling to many elementary, junior high, and high schools in central Illinois to give intelligence tests as part of my training in Clinical Psychology.

The Catalina had come from a Lincoln-Mercury dealership a few towns away. My dad talked with his "buddy" -- Freddie -- a typical used car dealer, to set up the deal. I bought the Catalina for $500, only to see it need a new tranny a few months after completing the sale. I did not want to go back to Freddie to see what other mechanical marvel he would try to unload on me.

My dad and I decided to look at the local AMC dealership in the next town. We saw a car that looked just about right -- an early 1970's Matador. It was white with blue interior and seemed to be in great condition. It was selling for $1000. We examined the car pretty closely and seemed to really like it. But for some reason which I do not recall, I didn't close the deal. Instead, I had my dad drive me to work.

Once at work, I started fretting about the car, thinking that I should have bought it before someone else got it since it was a good deal. I was beating myself up when lo and behold, my dad pulled into the 7-Eleven parking lot with the car. I went outside and he told me that he was worried that someone else might buy it, so he went to the bank to get money, then went to the dealership to buy it. Needless to say, I was surprised as hell but happy to have a car for my grad school years. The car gave me two years of semi-reliable transportation.

I recall this story with tears in my eyes since today marks the fifth anniversary of my dad's death. This story reminds me of all the small things that parents do to help their kids -- things which often are not appreciated until many years later or until people have kids of their own.

Shortly before my dad passed away, he gave me his 1992 Honda Accord, which he could no longer drive, so that I would have a  winter car and could keep my Mustang convertible in the garage during the cold, snowy weather. I recently gave the car to my sister-in-law -- someone who could really use it. However, I did keep one item from my dad's car -- his trusty riding companion, Bongo, one of the Beanie Babies. Bongo now rides with me everywhere in my Mustang. Today, however, Bongo gets a special treat -- he is sitting in my office watching me work, just as I imagine my dad is doing somewhere, looking out for me as only a father could ...

Dad lightning

Bongo in his new car

In Honor of What Would Have Been My Dad's 100th Birthday: A Reposting of a Dad/Rolling Stones Story

It is with fold memories and some sadness that what would have been my dad's 100th birthday is now almost over. My father passed away almost 20 years ago. Can it really be that long? Perhaps it is by divine providence that I am going to see the Rolling Stones in concert tomorrow night -- a reminder of a funny night that I shared with my dad waaay back in 1978, when I was a know-it-all college student.

The setting: The Rolling Stones were hosting and the musical guests for Saturday Night Live. Mick Jagger's voice was totally shot and sounded like crap. With that in mind, I take you back to a post I wrote in 2011.

Funny, the things we remember sometimes. This week marks the seventh anniversary of my father's death.  One of my favorite memories of my dad was a night many, many moons ago when we were watching Saturday Night Live. The Rolling Stones would be performing some songs on SNL, so of course I was going to watch.

Dad was sitting in a rocking chair and I was standing as the Stones broke into a tune. And then ... the moment ...

My goodness, you'd have thought that someone dropped a bomb on our house! The sight of Mick Jagger's tongue going near a guy had my dad ranting and raving. I tried to settle him down by saying "Dad, Jagger is just trying to be provocative and make some headlines." But it didn't matter -- the dirty deed had been done.

So yeah -- 33 years later the memory still remains -- a young guy and his father watching one of the greatest rock and roll bands ever.

So yeah -- almost 46 years later, the memory still remains. Happy birthday, Dad!  💓

Remembering My Dad: A Repost of a Repost of a Post from Long Ago

In keeping with my plans for celebrating ten years of this blog, I am reposting one of my favorite posts -- one that had to do with my father and a time when I needed a car badly. As a side note, those of us who have lost parents know that these memories become even more important and cherished as time goes by.I had just gotten to work at the 7-Eleven store in the next town. I was working the evening shift, as I recall.

The year was 1980. I had completed my B.A. degree in the spring and was working at 7-Eleven during the summer to save some money for grad school, which I would be starting in the fall. My car, a junky 1973 Pontiac Catalina, had been totaled the previous January when some idiot blew through a stop sign and drove across four lanes of traffic to hit me with a Chevrolet El Camino. Although my Catalina was a tank, so was the El Camino. My Catalina didn't stand a chance. The complete driver's side of the car was dented in. Thank goodness it was a big sturdy car or I might not be here writing this.

I did without a car for five months. However, I needed a car for grad school since part of my first semester responsibilities would include traveling to many elementary, junior high, and high schools in central Illinois to give intelligence tests as part of my training in Clinical Psychology.

The Catalina had come from a Lincoln-Mercury dealership a few towns away. My dad talked with his "buddy" -- Freddie -- a typical used car dealer, to set up the deal. I bought the Catalina for $500, only to see it need a new tranny a few months after completing the sale. I did not want to go back to Freddie to see what other mechanical marvel he would try to unload on me.

My dad and I decided to look at the local AMC dealership in the next town. We saw a car that looked just about right -- an early 1970's Matador. It was white with blue interior and seemed to be in great condition. It was selling for $1000. We examined the car pretty closely and seemed to really like it. But for some reason which I do not recall, I didn't close the deal. Instead, I had my dad drive me to work.

Once at work, I started fretting about the car, thinking that I should have bought it before someone else got it since it was a good deal. I was beating myself up when lo and behold, my dad pulled into the 7-Eleven parking lot with the car. I went outside and he told me that he was worried that someone else might buy it, so he went to the bank to get money, then went to the dealership to buy it. Needless to say, I was surprised as hell but happy to have a car for my grad school years. The car gave me two years of semi-reliable transportation.

I recall this story with tears in my eyes since today marks the fifth anniversary of my dad's death. This story reminds me of all the small things that parents do to help their kids -- things which often are not appreciated until many years later or until people have kids of their own.

Shortly before my dad passed away, he gave me his 1992 Honda Accord, which he could no longer drive, so that I would have a winter car and could keep my Mustang convertible in the garage during the cold, snowy weather. I recently gave the car to my sister-in-law -- someone who could really use it. However, I did keep one item from my dad's car -- his trusty riding companion, Bongo, one of the Beanie Babies. Bongo now rides with me everywhere in my Mustang. Today, however, Bongo gets a special treat -- he is sitting in my office watching me work, just as I imagine my dad is doing somewhere, looking out for me as only a father could ...

I had just gotten to work at the 7-Eleven store in the next town. I was working the evening shift, as I recall.

The year was 1980. I had completed my B.A. degree in the spring and was working at 7-Eleven during the summer to save some money for grad school, which I would be starting in the fall. My car, a junky 1973 Pontiac Catalina, had been totaled the previous January when some idiot blew through a stop sign and drove across four lanes of traffic to hit me with a Chevrolet El Camino. Although my Catalina was a tank, so was the El Camino. My Catalina didn't stand a chance. The complete driver's side of the car was dented in. Thank goodness it was a big sturdy car or I might not be here writing this.

I did without a car for five months. However, I needed a car for grad school since part of my first semester responsibilities would include traveling to many elementary, junior high, and high schools in central Illinois to give intelligence tests as part of my training in Clinical Psychology.

The Catalina had come from a Lincoln-Mercury dealership a few towns away. My dad talked with his "buddy" -- Freddie -- a typical used car dealer, to set up the deal. I bought the Catalina for $500, only to see it need a new tranny a few months after completing the sale. I did not want to go back to Freddie to see what other mechanical marvel he would try to unload on me.

My dad and I decided to look at the local AMC dealership in the next town. We saw a car that looked just about right -- an early 1970's Matador. It was white with blue interior and seemed to be in great condition. It was selling for $1000. We examined the car pretty closely and seemed to really like it. But for some reason which I do not recall, I didn't close the deal. Instead, I had my dad drive me to work.

Once at work, I started fretting about the car, thinking that I should have bought it before someone else got it since it was a good deal. I was beating myself up when lo and behold, my dad pulled into the 7-Eleven parking lot with the car. I went outside and he told me that he was worried that someone else might buy it, so he went to the bank to get money, then went to the dealership to buy it. Needless to say, I was surprised as hell but happy to have a car for my grad school years. The car gave me two years of semi-reliable transportation.

I recall this story with tears in my eyes since today marks the fifth anniversary of my dad's death. This story reminds me of all the small things that parents do to help their kids -- things which often are not appreciated until many years later or until people have kids of their own.

Shortly before my dad passed away, he gave me his 1992 Honda Accord, which he could no longer drive, so that I would have a winter car and could keep my Mustang convertible in the garage during the cold, snowy weather. I recently gave the car to my sister-in-law -- someone who could really use it. However, I did keep one item from my dad's car -- his trusty riding companion, Bongo, one of the Beanie Babies. Bongo now rides with me everywhere in my Mustang. Today, however, Bongo gets a special treat -- he is sitting in my office watching me work, just as I imagine my dad is doing somewhere, looking out for me as only a father could ...

Fathers

Happy Fathers Day to all the fathers and grandfathers out there!

Unidentified father who once masqueraded as Bodo, a dog with multiple personalities

I have now been a father for over 21 years. I have obviously learned a lot about fathering during that time. I think it is funny that new fathers are often scared that they will somehow "break" their children during the early years. One thing you find out fast is that children are much more indestructible than you thought.

One of my characteristics as a dad includes dispensing worldly advice to my children through the repetition of boring stories, lame jokes and puns. Hey -- it seems to work for me!

What was my father like? Well, I believe that he was typical of the many men who were fortunate to return from WWII. He was a "regular guy," smoked Lucky Strike cigarettes for many years, drank Jim Beam and assorted beers like Meister Brau, was fiercely loyal to his country, had a great work ethic, ... You get the picture.

He was a blue collar worker and seemed to know an awful lot about heavy machinery, automobiles, sewer systems, and building construction and maintenance. I don't think that he ever quite got or appreciated that my frequent Las Vegas partner, the King of Komps (also known as thundering36 in blog comments, or just my brother Jim) and I worked professional jobs in education. My dad hated office work but flourished in the world of mechanics.

My family moved from the city (Chicago) out to the southwestern suburbs when I was quite young, purchasing a house from my uncle, a successful business owner and operator. As part of the mortgage payoff deal, my dad worked some evenings at my uncle's gas station after working a full daytime job. Therefore he tended to not be around quite as much when I was growing up. He also had some hearing loss (unfortunately genetically passed down to #3 son) that kept him somewhat distant from the kids until he got some hearing aids.

We used to see my dad as a sort of local Archie Bunker due to his many unique views of people and the world. He was sure to comment on someone race or ethnicity, but it was not done in a hateful manner. He was actually quite a funny guy in his later years and relished donating time to worthy causes such as the local Meals on Wheels program. I got started on the Meals on Wheels route one summer when I was in college, and when I was set to return to school, he took over the route for me. I believe he kept delivering meals on the same route for over 20 years!

The last years of his life were challenging as he dealt with physical ills as well as the onset of dementia. My family was actually relieved that the physical problems caused his death before the cognitive problems became overwhelming. He died shortly after his 80th birthday, almost 9 years ago.

As I have grown older, and now having three kids aged 16-21, I have certainly appreciated more and more what my dad did for me and my siblings. I don't know that anyone can ever understand or appreciate the sacrifices fully unless he is a father himself.

Being a father is a great but tough job. I only hope that as I get older and someday leave this earth that my children will have the same appreciation for me as I did for my dad.

I write this as I am watching television. Our beloved Chicago White Sox are getting their butts kicked once again. It would have been a perfect afternoon to spend with my dad.

Challenges Beyond Bad Beats

Recently, a number of bloggers and poker chatroom folks have been revealing intimate details of their personal life. There are currently some amazing stories on the web dealing with poker players and their struggles earlier in their lives.

My life, on the other hand, has been relatively free from some of the demons that have haunted other players. I have never been in trouble with the law, never had any type of substance abuse issues, never went through a messy divorce, never struggled with unemployment, never had a terrible home or family life. In some ways, you might say that I have floated through the years and have had things pretty easy. Of course, I was blessed with a pretty good head on my shoulders and have always had a good work ethic to help me succeed. Some of my fears had more to do with worrying about how I would deal with a terrible situation when one eventually presented itself.

I got my answer a few years ago when my elderly father came to the end of his road. He was 80 years old and had multiple health problems including dementia, damaged lungs, a heart problem, etc. He was tough, however, and managed to make it through the physical challenges. Our main concern, however, was the dementia and my dad's cognitive deterioration. We had always thought (and hoped) that the bad organs in his body would give out before his brain.

After doing a rehab stint in a local nursing and rehabilitaion center, he came home, chuckling that he had faked out the health care personnel into letting him out earlier than they should have. That night, he collapsed at home and was rushed to the hospital. He never regained consciousness.

In a sense, this was not the worst thing that could happen to my dad. For all intents and purposes, he died at home. Unfortunately, his body was stubborn and decided to stick around for a few more days. However bad that was, at least it gave the family the opportunity to see my dad one last time while he was still alive, although "alive" at that time was certainly a relative term.

The Good Samaritan Hospital folks gently confirmed what we knew -- that he was brain dead -- and arranged for a time to take him off life support so that all the family could be present. Before that, however, we were asked about organ donation.

Now, my dad had so many physical problems that I had a hard time believing that any worthwhile organs could be harvested. We were told, however, that he had one organ that could be -- his liver. My dad had been a hard-drinking Irishman until his later years and the liver had apparently regenerated. When we were informed that his liver could be transplanted, we all cracked up laughing! Fortunately, the liver went to a woman with some children and the transplant was successful, so we were happy.

But ... watching my dad die after he was taken off the respirator was unbelievably agonizing. It was a powerful, emotional family scene that I will never forget. Fortunately, the Lord was kind and took him in a matter of minutes.

In searching for meaning during an earlier difficult situation in my life, I sought counsel with a wise priest who speculated that perhaps God had given me a difficult challenge in order to prepare me to deal with the death of my parents. These words rung true as I was able to get through my father's death better than I thought I could. It wasn't easy, but it was bearable.

My mother is still alive, and I dread having to face her death. For now, however, I prefer to concentrate on all the good from the past and in the present.

So ... no matter how bad the beats are that we get in poker or how we succumb to even the most unlikely beats, I see them as just that -- bad poker beats that are relatively inconsequential. I hope to keep this in mind as I try to improve my skills in this great game that fascinates us so very much.

Bowling Night With Dad

The plan was quite simple, actually. My friend Bob had done it many times.

"Ask your dad if you can go with him to his bowling league tonight. The guys all buy me snacks and soda." It sounded like a good plan. My dad bowled every Friday night in a league with guys from church. They would all be drinking, and anyone's son would stand to profit from their drunken generousity.

I went and it was pretty much like Bob said. Outside of the sugar high, however, there were someother interesting things to experience. One guy recently had a stroke and was determined that it would not stop him from bowling. He staggered up to the lane and was forced to throw the ball while standing upright. But dammit, he did it. Anothet guy had a five-fingered bowling ball, which I had never seen before. He put four fingers and a thumb in the ball and layed it down with the most wicked spin. I had never seen a bowling ball curve so much.

My dad was a funny guy to watch when bowling. As he approached the lane, he carefully used the arrows to set his steps. He brought the ball up to his face and then down to his chest while crouching and sticking his butt out. It was a pretty comical sight.

The amazing part, however, was seeing my dad in a different environment -- out having fun with the guys -- smoking, drinking, discussing the game, high-fiving after each frame ... He was far from stoic at home, but never seemed to have the kind of fun he did when he was out with the guys on bowling night. And it was cool to watch.

As you might have guessed, this night out was not recent. In fact, it was about 40 years ago. Things change. My friend Bob died tragically in a night time house fire while he was attending Eastern Illinois University. Sadly, I had mononucleosis at the time and was unable to travel to the funeral. Yesterday was the sixth anniversary of my dad's death. The date had almost passed me by when a hacked e-mail account caused me to phone my brother, who reminded me.

It's funny, the old obscure stuff you think of sometimes. Memories like these are priceless.

A Tale of Three Fathers

I

This past Friday marked the 14th anniversary of my father's death. Although it happened so many years ago, there are still painful memories of his last days. He collapsed at his home and never regained consciousness which, in a sense, was probably a good thing. If nothing else, it allowed his children a last chance to see him before he took his last breath. Although he was 80 years old at the time, his liver was still able to be used and was transplanted into a needy person. Unfortunately, we have no information on that person and do not know if she is still alive today.

My dad's final moments were shared with his family as we all stood around him right after he was taken off life support systems. It was a moment of brutal reality.

I have told several stories about my dad over the 12+ years of this blog. Unfortunately, most of the really great stories will never appear here due to the political correctness of current times. My dad used colorful terms in describing people of different ethnicities, races and religions -- terms that were common in the middle to late 1900's. They do not translate well to today's sensibilities. However, any readers chatting with me in person -- particularly over a few frosty beverages -- might get to hear some of these really funny things.

Tomorrow marks the 37th first day of school in my long career in higher education. The only first day I missed in all those years was in 2004 when my dad passed away. One of life's harsh realities for many people is that moment when your first parent dies. Even after years pass, it stays with you. You hope that you have a treasure trove of great memories to focus on rather than the end.


II

As many of you probably know, I am a father to three kids -- two girls and a boy. Those of you who are parents or were ever charged with raising children know everything that goes into parenting the little ones. So much time, effort ... and money! goes into providing a life for these little ones. As they grow older, the costs increase as do, in many cases, the challenges that you face. You don't do it to receive any kind of pat on the back, but you do everything out of love. However, you do remember as special those moments that fill your heart with joy.

As I have shared much of my life through this blog -- stories, good times, bad times -- I really wish to share with my friends something that I received out of the blue the other day. Almost a month ago, I helped my oldest daughter purchase an almost new car. My help included looking for cars for her, going with her to a dealership to test drive one, and finally finding the perfect car for her and helping her arrange dirt-cheap financing. It was fun as I love to get good deals, but it was just one of those things that, as a dad, you do. I'm guessing that this, and possibly other things, caused some reflection on my daughter's part. I was surprised to get the following text while at work this past week:

I was sitting at a table in a public area and didn't want to start bawling in front of everyone, but I was certainly touched. Moments like this don't seem to come around often enough in your life, but when they do, they are spectacular. So despite having to deal with a bunch of crap this month including shelling out several thousand dollars to have some extensive outside sewer and plumbing work, I have been a pretty happy camper. So ... I just wanted to share this with you, some of my best and most dear friends.

III

Saturday was a busy day for me. The mother of a former co-worker passed away and I had to drive outside town to go to the visitation in the morning. Before noon, I left with my wife to go to an out-of-town wedding of a good friend of my daughter. There was a 2 1/2 hour lag between the end of the wedding and the beginning of the reception, so I was able to get in a session of poker at the riverboat casino, which was only two miles away from the place where the reception would be held.

After booking a moderate win, my wife and I headed to the reception. Seats were assigned, and we were seated at a table with several couples who were about our age. I noticed that one gentleman at the table was wearing a pin with a photo on his lapel. We found out that the photo was of his daughter, a very good friend of the bride. In a cruel twist of fate, the daughter contracted a rare disease, went into the hospital and quickly passed away about 20 months ago. I had a few minutes to myself and quickly looked up some information on my phone. I slowly began to remember the newspaper article about his daughter. He checked his daughter's Facebook account and saw that my son was one of his daughter's Facebook friends. They had gone to the same high school. On the wedding party's table, a seat was reserved for this girl and a picture of her was there so that she could be present at the wedding.

I could not believe how difficult it must have been for this father to have lost his young, lovely daughter to a rare disease at such an early age. And to lose her so quickly and unexpectedly ... And then to come to this wedding and watch his daughter's good friend get married, and to see guys like me who still had our daughters at the wedding. My heart was breaking as I thought of how crushing it must have been, and how that sometimes due purely to chance some of us have great things happen, and some have terrible things to deal with. It was certainly a reminder that life is not fair, and that we should take every opportunity to live life to its fullest, as we have no guarantees in this life and, as one distraught parent once wrote, your whole life can change in a moment.

I certainly didn't mean for this post to be a downer, but instead I hope it serves as a reminder to appreciate those you love and tell them so while you can, for you never know when that opportunity might be lost, never to be regained. Life can truly change in an instant.

Thank for reading!

For Two Fathers

Happy Fathers Day to all my readers, especially those who have experienced that wonderful calling we refer to as fatherhood. As I always say, it is the greatest non-paying job in the world.

In reflecting on Fathers Day, I thought about my own dad and my father-in-law. What did I learn from them?

From my father, I learned about sacrifice for the family. My dad was a blue collar worker who worked a regular day job, came home to eat dinner, and then worked many evenings at my uncle's gas station. For years he followed this same routine, which enabled him to move his family out of Chicago and into the suburbs. He never seemed to have many possessions, and frankly, never seemed to have much of a desire for any. I appear to have inherited this. A computer, a television and a car that runs can sustain me for a long time. I am a difficult guy to buy presents for because I don't really want much of anything. I can't really explain it -- it's just the way I am.

Dad died almost ten years ago. I feel so fortunate that his body gave out before his mind, for he had already been suffering from dementia. This past week I visited his grave and took my brother, the King of Komps, who always keeps dad's grave in great shape. Dad would have particularly loved the American flags, for he was a proud WWII veteran.

From my father-in-law, Fred, I learned that faith in God and a positive, selfless attitude can help one cope with almost anything. Fred had a remarkable medical history: heart bypass surgery, brain surgery, and spinal surgery. He had a large family that included many challenges, including a mentally and physically handicapped son and a wife with many medical issues. Yet, through all this, he never squawked, never complained, but just did what needed to be done in a positive manner.

Fred treated me like I was his own son, including inviting me to join the family menfolk on fishing excursions to Canada. One of the last things he did for me and my family was to buy us a dishwasher. He had seen one on sale at a terrific price and was thrilled to buy it for us. He was that kind of guy.

Fred has been gone more than 15 years now. He had terminal blood cancer and faced his final months with courage and dignity.

Both these men were truly loved and are sorely missed. I think of them at times when I have challenges as a father. It helps.

Fatherhood: the greatest non-paying job in the world.

 

If you are up for a little fatherly reading ...

So today, aside from being a really challenging day at work, is also the 11th anniversary of my father's death. I'd like to say that it just seems like yesterday that he passed away, but the reality, at least for me, is that it seems so long ago...

I started this blog in 2006. Over the past 9+ years, I have shared stories about my dad, usually around significant times, like his birthday, the anniversary of his death and Memorial Day. I posted some of my favorite stories, including memories from going to his bowling night when I was in junior high school, my dad and cars, going drinking with my dad at a local VFW hall, my dad and the Rolling Stones, and more sobering stories like dealing with a father with dementia and watching my father die.

In a mood for some funny stuff interspersed with sad stories? Check out this link: http://lightning36.blogspot.com/search?q=dad

I hope that after I croak, my kids remember some fun stories about me.

Cruising the VFW Halls with My Dad

lightning sr. is on the left

My father always closely identified with the army due to his service in World War II. When my siblings and I were young we occasionally heard a few war stories, but rarely anything really bad. Those he kept buried deep inside himself. We were not part of the fraternity and therefore could never understand.

When my dad was getting older, we spent a few afternoons hanging out in VFW halls. We went to his usual hangout in his town two or three times, but he seemed to enjoy that less as time went on and the number of World War II vets decreased. He didn't feel like he really fit in with the Viet Nam crowd.

Once when he came to visit my family, I asked him if he'd like to go to the local VFW hall and have a beer. He jumped at the chance and was excited to find that there were a few "old guys" there (he always called other elderly people "old people," but he himself was not old, you see). Having the chance to chat it up with some fellow vets from his era made his day. Being the good son, I just sat there and listened as these "old guys" exchanged war stories and lamented about how this new generation (uh ... me!) had it easy.

It took me some time to figure it out, but they were really right. By the time I turned 18, the draft had been halted. I had plans to go to college. What I did over that next four years could in no way compare to the sacrifices that were made by guys my age in the previous generation.

My dad passed away several years ago. I always felt bad that, although he was proud of his military service, his time spent in the army left deep psychological scars that affected the rest of his life. Being from that generation, however, he was not going to whine about it, much less talk about it. That is the part of my dad that he kept hidden.

Today, in my regular work in higher education, I speak almost every day with students who have served or are currently serving in the military. Today, ladies and gentlemen, my hat is off to you. Thank you.

The Lick

Funny, the things we remember sometimes. This week marks the seventh anniversary of my father's death.  One of my favorite memories of my dad was a night many, many moons ago when we were watching Saturday Night Live. The Rolling Stones would be performing some songs on SNL, so of course I was going to watch.

Dad was sitting in a rocking chair and I was standing as the Stones broke into a tune. And then ... the moment ...

PLAY BRIEF VIDEO

My goodness, you'd have thought that someone dropped a bomb on our house! The sight of Mick Jagger's tongue going near a guy had my dad ranting and raving. I tried to settle him down by saying "Dad, Jagger is just trying to be provocative and make some headlines." But it didn't matter -- the dirty deed had been done.

So yeah -- 33 years later the memory still remains -- a young guy and his father watching one of the greatest rock and roll bands ever.

Cars

The Van

The van needed some work. Not just for one problem, mind you, but a few little issues and one major concern. I made an appointment with a local trusted mechanic, but couldn't get the van in for almost two weeks. Instead, we decided to just go to the local dealership where we had had many problems fixed in the past. I get the call from my wife. The news is not good:

1) Radiator has a leak. Estimate to fix: $680

2) Power doors do not work. Estimate to fix: $500

3) Backup lights -- were not working but now are. $0

4) Power window not working. Estimate to fix: $320

Yeah -- that is $1500, which doesn't even count the backup lights which now seem to work but may need to be fixed in the future. I wasn't wanting to fork over $1500, so we told them we would just get the van back and think about it. My plan: keep the appointment with the trusted mechanic and see what that shop says.

I go to pick up the van and pay the bill. I notice:

1) All door locks except one are now working

2) Power window is now working

3) And, of course, the backup lights are now working

Total cost: $92

I'll let the local mechanic give us an estimate on the radiator.

The Mustang

My son had just gotten his drivers license last week. I flipped him the keys to my Mustang so that he could drive it home from the dealership while I paid for the van diagnostics. We gave him directions home since he just started driving and was unfamiliar with the local roads. The route home was made easy: left on Prospect Ave, right on Springfield Ave, left on Staley Road.

As I drove home, the phone calls began.

----------------------------------------------------

son: "Dad, I think I drove past Springfield."

lightning: "What road are you on?"

son: "Prospect."

lightning: "Go to the next major road and turn right."

-----------------------------------------------------

son: "Dad, I don't know where I am."

lightning: "What road are you on?"

son: "Willow."

lightning: "I don't know where Willow is."

------------------------------------------------------

son: "Dad, the car has a flat tire?"

lightning: "What did you do?"

son: "Dad, I think I wrecked the car."

Just another tricky day ...

Fathers

A bittersweet post yesterday by Gary, remembering his father on the second anniversary of his death, focused me on my father, who would have turned 86 today. He passed away almost six years ago.

At the time of his passing, my dad had a case of dementia which was getting worse every week. We were actually thankful that his body gave out before his mind.

I always got along with my dad and felt like I was okay in my relationship with him when he died. This helped me in coping with his death, although watching him die as we took him off life support was excruciatingly painful.

To celebrate my dad's birthday, I reread my favorite post that I have ever written a few minutes ago.

It is a wonderful sunny May afternoon outside -- a great time to ride in the convertible. Time to pick up one of my kids at school. That's the kind of thing fathers do, you know ...

Family Thoughts As We End the Decade

I: A Family Tradition

My brother, thundering36, texted me early Sunday morning to remind me that Sunday was the Feast of the Holy Family in the Catholic faith. This day will always be special to me and a few of my siblings.

A post I originally wrote in 2010 and reposted in 2013

Memories ofttimes have a way of pervading our daily lives, bringing special meaning to certain sights, sounds, days, or occurrences. Today was one of those days for me.

In the Catholic church, the Sunday after Christmas is the Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. One of the readings at church today was from the Book of Sirach, which may be unfamiliar to those brought up in other faiths or Protestant religions, since Sirach was not included in the Hebrew Bible.

The Book of Sirach (also called Ecclesiasticus) is largely a collection of ethical teachings. Today's reading for the Feast of the Holy Family:

God sets a father in honor over his children;
a mother’s authority he confirms over her sons.
Whoever honors his father atones for sins,
and preserves himself from them.
When he prays, he is heard;
he stores up riches who reveres his mother.
Whoever honors his father is gladdened by children,
and, when he prays, is heard.
Whoever reveres his father will live a long life;
he who obeys his father brings comfort to his mother.

My son, take care of your father when he is old;
grieve him not as long as he lives.
Even if his mind fail, be considerate of him;
revile him not all the days of his life;
kindness to a father will not be forgotten,
firmly planted against the debt of your sins
—a house raised in justice to you.

With my father in the church pew next to us, my siblings and I loved to elbow each other and smirk when this passage was read. The line that elicited the action, of course, was "Even if his mind fail, be considerate of him." Little did we realize that when my father grew older, dementia would begin to take over his life. We have always considered it a blessing that my dad's body gave out before his mind.

I felt like I was okay with my dad when he passed away. Although his birthday and the anniversary of his death pass by each year without much trouble, the Sunday after Christmas is always the day that gets to me. I remember a sanguine young guy sitting next to a father who worked his ass off for his family...

lightning36 in high school

My Dad

II: A Timely Decision For Which I Was Rewarded

A little earlier this evening, I suddenly remembered that exactly four years ago, my brother, thundering36, was on his last full day in Las Vegas while I watched over our mother. She had turned 90 years old earlier in the year and seemed to be starting the slow descent toward the end. Her poor health and many medical demands had thundering at pretty much the end of his sanity. I saw a great opportunity to give thundering a much needed break and at the same time have maybe a last chance to have some quality time with my mother. I told thundering that I would pay for his plane fare and watch my mother while he took a short trip to Las Vegas to relax. He at first said no. I told him that he was crazy and that this offer wouldn't be on the table for long. He got his mind right and decided to go. This is what I wrote in my blog four years ago:

After spending Christmas with my wife and kids, I headed to the Chicago suburbs on December 26 to drive my brother, thundering36, to the airport for his vacation to Las Vegas. While he was gone, I took care of my 90-year-old mother, which is quite a chore. The first day went fine. However, thundering36 booby trapped me by making sure our mom was taking a stool softener. Well, dammit, on Sunday it worked ... in spades. I will spare you the gory details, but believe me, I earned my merit badge that day! The rest of the time wasn't so bad. And ... I had not had a chance to spend some real time with my mom for quite a while, so the time was important to both of us.

That brief paragraph did not go into the details about how much fun that day was when the stool softener took effect. I wanted to get some Chinese carry out and asked my mom several times if she would be okay for the short time I was gone. She assured me that she was fine, so I made the trip. When I returned, I ran into the horror show of all time! She felt really bad about it, so I reminded her that she had changed my dirty diapers more than  a few times when I was a baby. So yes - it is kind of funny to talk about that wretched day NOW. However, the assessment of her health was accurate. She passed away less than six months after that visit. While that, of course, was devastating, the thing that will always remain precious and personal to me was having several days of just the two of us, watching television, talking about the past, joking around. I will always treasure those days and will never forget the feelings I had.

III: A Good 2019 Christmas Visit and What the Future Will Bring

My youngest daughter still lives with my wife and myself and my oldest daughter lives only 20 miles away. However, my son lives in Seattle -- 2,000 miles away. He was able to come home this holiday season and stay almost a week. Having adult children together can sometimes be challenging. There were no big fights or arguments with any of the family, and Christmas Eve and the day of taking family pictures with lunch afterward went very well. I am thankful for that as it is upsetting, especially to my wife, to see any of the kids not getting along with one another now that they have grown up.

Realistically, my wife and I also know that we are at a point of change in our lives. I will be retiring next July and my wife will also. If we do not have our house sold and/or are just quite not yet ready for our planned move to Arizona, we might stay in Illinois for a bit longer. My wife would likely continue in her part time job while we wait, and I would finally get a chance to relax. But moving out west will also mean that we will now also have our daughters 1,600 miles away. For the first time in 28 years, it will be just the two of us again. That will certainly be different. I look forward to it, but am also somewhat scared of it after having kids in the house for so long. My wife's best friend lives in Scottsdale and I have a brother, a sister-in-law, a niece and a nephew (and their families) in Phoenix, so we won't feel totally alone out there. I know at least one former poker blogger in the area and know that another who lives 100 miles away from me now will also be living in the Phoenix area come next summer or fall. Going on the assumption that we like living there, we will be near a major airport and will expect that some family and friends will visit. Las Vegas will be only a five hour drive or short plane trip away.

A former high school friend, in response to an old picture I posted on Facebook, said "Some things never get old. Too bad I'm not one of them." I guess he is feeling it too. As one year heads out the window and another begins, I am reminded that I am not a young guy anymore. But like with anything, it is up to us to chart our own future. It is a scary, yet hopeful time.

Thanks for reading. I treasure the many friends that I have made over the years through poker, poker blogging, and trips to Las Vegas. May we all have an excellent 2020!

lightning36

Sunday Post Mania #2: A Sad Memory

Sometimes memories come flooding back from the strangest things. We were eating lunch this afternoon when my son remarked that a certain salad dressing was his favorite. I mentioned that I knew a guy that used to scoop huge gobs of sour cream on his salad. Actually, the guy was the father of a friend of mine. Then the flood started ...

Jerry moved into the area when fifth grade started. He was a pretty bright guy and had some of the same interests as me. We quickly became friends, and soon were working on a geography project together. I always had wanted to work with Jerry because his dad was a civil engineer and always "helped" his son with school projects. Shit -- they all looked professionally done. Now I would find out how much Jerry actually did himself. Well, maybe because outside people (me) were involved, Jerry's father did not help with (or do) the project. It looked like crap. I guess we all then knew who really did the work on Jerry's projects.

Anyway, I became close friends with Jerry and went to his house quite often. On the many times when Jerry would disappoint his dad, the dad would haul off and hit Jerry in the back. Hard. Hard enough to make him cry. It sure seemed wrong, but in those days it seemed like there were lots of crazy parents who would discipline their kids in unique ways. Today we would call it child abuse.

I am sure that the family violence had an effect on Jerry. By the time he finished high school he was the biggest sociopath I knew.

I had not thought about this family for several years, but was able to readily find information on them online. Jerry is now an attorney, so if his sociopathic  ways continued he is now in a profession where they would serve him well. His father, now deceased, had a national reputation due to his hobby/side business. It is interesting to read all the great things said about him due to his expertise in his field. Unfortunately for me, I can only remember him as this big guy who beat on his small, skinny, fragile son.

Fathers

Happy Fathers Day to all the dads out there! This is the one day of the year specifically designed for sitting back, propping up the feet, grabbing a drink, and watching a ball game or two.

I have mentioned many times how it seems that fathers have had a great influence on the lives of many bloggers. Their passing often remains a difficult issue with us many for years.

In wanting to focus on the positive today, though, I am reminded that what often helps defines fatherhood is a simple word: sacrifice. My dad worked two jobs for much of his adult life to be able to make the move from living in the city (Chicago) out to a nice area in the suburbs. He was not a very complicated man in his needs, but his experiences in World War II left indelible marks in his psyche. He carried a WWII attitude throughout his life: you do what you need to do and don't complain about it. He tended to be more distant from the family until his later years in life, when he seemed to flourish with conversation and contact. The times he broke out are among some of my all-time favorites.

My father-in-law was much different than my own father. He was very gregarious and worked a professional job, unlike my father who was a blue collar worker. He had an almost never ending positive attitude and was a very religious man. He saw himself as the captain of this big ship with many children, including a mentally and physically handicapped son. He clearly led the family in a righteous manner, but could also be one of the guys. The fishing trips I took with him and the male folk from his family were fantastic.

I took clues from both men in becoming the kind of father I am. I inherited my dad's notion of just hunkering down and doing work, but also my father-in-law's positive attitude and love for talking, telling stories, making lame jokes ... One other thing II inherited is that notion of sacrifice. My kids will never know the extent of things I have done for them over the years. It took me many years myself to appreciate the sacrifices my dad made for my family. It is sometimes kind of funny when I think about how little I spend on myself. I guess it is part of that fatherly tradition that is handed down. Mothers are often the great nurturers of the family, but usually lurking somewhere in the background is a father who is doing the dirty work to make everything possible.

So today ... a tip o' the hat to all the fathers out there. It is quite a fraternity -- one in which I am proud to hold membership. I just might prop my feet up and watch a few innings of Cubs or White Sox baseball today.

A Fatherly Day

Today was one of those days that just seemed to be part of being a father. The day started early as I had to work Saturday morning -- you know, earning that money that has kept the family afloat and provided almost everything that my kids have gotten over the years. After work, my wife and I went shopping with my son to buy him some supplies and food for him to take to his new apartment in town. Earlier this evening, I helped him move some of his things into the apartment.

The male population in my house has greatly decreased with my son moving out and with the loss of our cat, Boyfriend. Now it is just me and the chinchillas. In fact, Gravy, the first chinchilla, was purchased and brought home five years ago today.

Now ... you might be wondering how I know that Gravy was brought into the family five years ago today. The answer is that I was searching previous posts I had written about my Dad, who passed away nine years ago today.

On that anniversary five years ago, I wrote the following:

It is now four years since my father passed away. It still seems like just a few months ago that he was around. Although I don't like to dwell on the negative things from the past, I am still haunted, to some degree, by being there when the life support systems were turned off and watching him die. It is such an unbelievably horrible feeling and an experience I can't possibly describe. God knows how people are able to handle situations ten times worse, like watching a loved one be the victim of a violent crime. Dad, the White Sox pasted the A's today, so I know you are happy.

The years have certainly helped to heal the pain. Like most people who have lost a parent or parents, sometimes it is hard to believe how many years have passed since a loved one has been gone.

Around the anniversary of his death, I have focused on stories from the past, usually ones with some humor or ones that reviewed some special thing he had done. This year the thing that comes to mind is the difficult time we had dealing with my Mom when she suffered one of her severe bouts of depression. I was in college, busier than hell with classes, work and involvement in a service organization, when I took off from school and went home to assist with my mother. It was so scary seeing her that way. My Dad, who wasn't exactly Mr. Sensitivity, did one heck of a job with her -- keeping her calm, getting her to the hospital ... I know that he appreciated having me come home so that he didn't have to do everything alone. Just two guys sucking it up and dealing with a difficult situation.

And oh yeah -- the White Sox, who have been really terrible this season, won tonight. It brought a wistful smile to my face.

The End of a Family Era

On Sunday, my brother-in-law and I will be doing one final task on my late mother's house: getting rid of a bunch of ancient hazardous and non-hazardous chemicals left in the basement. On Thursday, unless something out of the ordinary happens, I, the executor of my mom's estate, will close on the house, ending a long run of family ownership.

My uncle originally had the house built in the late 1950's. My parents bought the house off him and moved in late in 1961, fleeing city life in Chicago and moving out to the far reaches of the southwestern suburbs. My parents made quite a sacrifice to move there as my mom was a typical stay-at-home mom and my dad was a blue collar worker, a mechanic who specialized in heavy machinery. Along with working his regular grueling full-time job, my dad worked some evenings at my uncle's gas station to help pay off the house as well as making regular mortgage payments. This dedication to family made quite an impact on how I perceive parenthood.

This was the house in which I spent most of my early years. I lived there full time through elementary school, junior high and high school until going to college in 1976, when I lived there only during summer and winter breaks. I continued to live there on breaks during graduate school, and last lived there in January 1982.

A rather serious young lad

Typical mid-70's high school guy

College graduation with mom and dad

Even though I no longer lived there, my parents did. My youngest brother lived there through 1986, and one of my older brothers, thundering36, moved back from Australia to live with my parents in 2000. My father passed away in 2004 and my mother passed away in June last year. When thundering36 moved out at the end of this past April to return to Australia, that ended a run of almost 56 years of family occupancy.

More significantly, the sale of the home really brings an end to the notion of my original nuclear family. No matter what, there was always my mother and father ... and the house ... to return to.

Now, the family lives in different geographical areas. One brother lives in the same home town and a sister is within 15 miles. I live about 150 miles away, another brother lives 1,700 miles away in Phoenix, and thundering36 is 10,000 miles away on another continent. My brothers, sister and I were last together for my mother's funeral, and frankly, that is likely the final time that we will all be together until one of us passes. I find this extremely sad.

Nephew Andrew's wedding in 2014

My youngest brother made a Facebook post today, featuring a video of Nickelback's song "Photograph, " and wrote "Kinda sums things up right about now!"  I have to agree. I've played the video several times today. The sentiment will remain with me for some time.

The Gathering: Ten Years After

I've written about my father several times over the past eight years. Often, the thought of him came about because of days that were special to him, like Memorial Day,

or perhaps memories of something funny or something special popped up for one reason or another. The memories of ten years ago -- August 17, 2004 -- however, are the kind that stay with us all of our lives.

My father had been in poor health. However, the more disturbing thing was that dementia had already taken hold of his life and had begun to rob him of memories and cause him problems with simple everyday living. He had turned 80 the previous spring. The beginning of the end started when he collapsed at home shortly after having been released from a rehabilitation center.

There was really nothing medically that could be done for him. He did not regain consciousness, and what little brain activity he had was likely just random brainwave activity. We all knew what was coming.

A light moment came when someone appeared to talk with my family about organ donation. We were wondering what might potentially be harvested from an 80-year-old man with significant medical issues. When we were told that he would be able to donate his liver to someone in need, several of us started smiling, remembering that my dad had had more than his share of whiskey and beer while we were growing up.

A time was arranged for the family to meet at the hospital as my dad would be taken off the life support system he was on. We were pretty sure that death would come quickly because of his poor health. He was taken off the life-giving machines and the family stood around his hospital bed, arm in arm, crying as we watched my father pass away. Thankfully, as we hoped, death came quickly. I can't even begin to describe how painful those moments were. The words do not exist.

So now, ten years later, the King of Komps and I will go out to the cemetery, maybe with my mother, if she is feeling well enough to do so. The KoK does a great job keeping the grave area looking a way that I am sure my dad would like.

Ten years. Sometimes it seems like so long ago, and sometimes it seems like it was just yesterday.