Here's To You Dad

Today may seem like just another day, but for me it’s the celebration of a hero. It’s not Superman or Spiderman, but the celebration is in honor of a guy named Jack. Jack was an incredibly unassuming guy. He was often soft spoken but had the ability to shake his fist and rail his lungs in abject thunderous dialogue when injustice occurred. Whether his kids acted out of line, or a person was denied equal opportunity, he sought justice whether it resulted in a spank on his kid’s butt or the right of a black man to sip from the fountain of the “white world.” He was a modern day Solomon who drove a Chevy, and ate braunschweiger sandwiches.

Most of his time was spent working and helping to raise seven boys and two girls. He was such a dilemma. I remember him cussing at the top of his lungs after my brother burnt himself. My brother spilled hot tea water on him himself and my dad yelled, “God Damn It.” and then he quickly asked, “Are you alright?” I spilled gasoline on the grass filling up the mower and he yelled at me until Mom said that he better apologize….of course since, Mom told him to, he did…

To us we would typically only see his anger directed at the irritations of family incidents, but his soul also harbored disdain for the greater injustices in the world. I think sometimes he tried to control the little stuff because he couldn’t control the world. While he often ached for his fellow man, we would only see his concern about how long the baloney was in the trunk between Mom getting home from the grocery store, or when someone actually brought potato salad to the cookout…because you know, that can go bad.

My dad in addition to harping on the stupid things in life also made people feel good. We would spend a morning fishing and not catch a fish. He would always say, “Well Matt, it’s only 10:05 I bet they’ll start biting at 10:15.” And when it hit 10:15 he would say, maybe at 10:25. He was always hopeful.

I will always remember how much he loved my mom. When I as a teen, it was pretty much Mom, Dad, and, I. My dad and I would watch football on Sundays. My mom would make hot dogs and soup. That’s all. She made something as simple as hot dogs and soup. When we got done eating, my dad would never fail to say, “You’ve done it again, Mary Anne.” He was so appreciative of a dinner of soup and sandwiches. He was the best.

Dad was many things…a proud and devout Irish-Catholic who could swear with the best, a hard worker, die-hard Democrat, a man who in child like fashion enjoyed shooting bottle rockets into the trees to chase the birds away much like a scene from Steel Magnolias. He would then head inside and sit down at the kitchen table. He would sit down with a couple of Braumeisters, a shot of whiskey and pen and pad. Writing poetry was his solace, and he did it well having two books published.

So Dad, Happy Birthday and thanks for everything. I realize that this tribute is not as poetic as your writings, but much like when I read your works it brought a smile to my face. Cheers!!

In Closing:

I think if I should have to go
Before the things I want to tell you
Have been said,
I could not be at rest eternally,
But must be awake,
And seek your soul instead.

And then if you would smile
Into my eyes and say,
“I know, for it was so with me”,
My happy dust would mingle
With the earth,
As endless rivers flow into the sea.

--JJM 1981