Remembering my dad
12.01.09
My dad passed away this morning about 8 a.m. For those of you who never met him, and for those who did, here are a few stories about him.
1. Accepting Charity
My dad felt very strongly about accepting charity. In his mind, it called in question his manhood and his ability to provide for his family. It was near Christmas; I must have been about 12 years old, and my dad, my brothers and sisters, and I were sitting in the car along a street in York, PA, while my mom was in the store shopping. I was sitting directly behind my dad when a man came up to the car. It was obvious that he had been drinking although I seem to remember that he was not badly dressed. He kept trying to give my father a $20 dollar bill, but my dad refused. Finally, the man gestured toward all of us kids in the car, and looking directly at my dad, he said, “Please, take this money and buy your kids some Christmas presents. If you don’t, I’m just going to end up drinking it.” My dad took the money, thanked the man, and the man left.
The next day my dad kept talking about what had happened. My dad had always refused what he considered ‘charity’ from other people. But this time, in accepting charity from this stranger, it seemed to my dad that it wasn’t charity because my dad had taken the money to help the man keep from drinking. I remember sensing how important this event was to my father and how it made him look at things in a different way.
2. Dad and Uncle Ben
My dad’s uncle Ben was only a couple of years older than he. Apparently Ben was very mischievous. Once he lured my dad into a field where my dad was attacked by a goat. Another time Uncle Ben told my dad that he had jumped off a local railroad bridge about 30 feet into the Muddy River (in Maryland), which is only a few feet deep. My dad, to prove he was as clever and brave, dove off the bridge into 4 or 5 feet of water. Dad said he had to pull up sharply, but his chest still scraped the rocky bottom. When he told Uncle Ben that he dove off the bridge, Ben laughed, and said he had jumped feet first and that he didn’t believe my dad. So dad dove in again, just to prove it.
Another time, dad was driving to Uncle Ben’s. The road twists along through woods along the Muddy River and has numerous blind spots. Dad was driving about 60 miles an hour along this road which was posted for 35. He rounded a particularly dangerous curve on the wrong side of the road. As he did, Uncle Ben passed him going the other way, also on the wrong side of the road. Dad slewed to a stop, turned around, and came racing back down the road to catch Ben. As he again rounded this dangerous curve on the wrong side, Ben passed him going back the way he had come, also on the wrong side. Again, dad found a place to stop and turned around. This time, however, he rounded that dangerous curve carefully, and on the right side of the road. Just past the curve, he found Ben waiting for him. Ben said he hadn’t wanted to try rounding that curve again.
3. Tobacco Stems
I also have my own trickster story involving my dad. Dad raises homing pigeons, and my brother Joe was stuck with the task of carrying buckets of water up to the second floor of the barn to the breeding pens there and down in the yard to the loft where Dad kept his racing pigeons. My dad bought some tobacco stems for nest bowls. Tobacco is very itchy to handle. Dad came home and at lunch told me that I had a choice between carrying the tobacco stems from where he had left them in the barn down to the loft or letting Joe do that while I watered the birds. Physically, watering the birds was more demanding, but given how itchy the tobacco stems were, handling the tobacco stems was the worse job. My dad had orchestrated all this to teach me a lesson about hard work. Joe was certain I would leave him to move the tobacco stems, and he was not happy. Dad had placed the stems on a large sheet of plastic to protect them from moisture. I asked him if he wanted me to put the stems back on the plastic when I got them down to the loft. When he said yes, I said I’d move the tobacco stems–much to the surprise of both my dad and my brother. In fact, dad was thrilled. He had me where he wanted me.
After lunch, I went out to the barn. Lifting the edges of the large plastic sheet, I flipped all the tobacco stems to the center, then grabbed all four corners of the sheet of plastic and dragged it down to the loft, never handling the tobacco stems. In effect, I had outfoxed the fox. Dad was in two minds–unhappy his “lesson” had failed and impressed at my cleverness in evading his trap. Joe, on the other hand, felt cheated.
4. Pork Brains
I was a very picky eater as a child (Actually, I still am, although I have gotten somewhat better). One of the foods I particularly hated was liver. One year when I was in senior high, I was shopping with my mother and grandmother. My mother decided we were having liver for supper. Then my grandmother saw some pork brains on sale.
“I haven’t had pork brains in a long time,” she said. “But I can’t eat all those.”
My mother looked at me and said, “If you don’t want liver, you can eat pork brains.”
Well, I knew I didn’t like liver, so I decided to take a chance on the pork brains. I mean, they couldn’t be worse?
That night at supper, my grandmother and I were eating pork brains while my mother and five siblings were eating liver. While I didn’t like the pork brains, they were better than liver. Then my father came in to join us for supper.
What’s this?” he said, pointing to the pork brains.
My mother said, “If you want some, just eat them.” My father looked at the rest of us. No one said anything.
I shoved a fork full of brains in my mouth. “Go ahead,” I said, trying hard not to smile.
He tried some. “Taste like smelts,” he said. Smelts are fried fish eggs, which my father loves. He helped himself to some more brains. “What are these?” he asked again.
“Just eat them. They’re good,” my grandmother said. Perhaps I should mention this was my maternal grandmother, his mother-in-law. She laughed. At the stove, I heard my mother snicker.
My father grabbed another generous helping. I watched with interest. If this continued, I wasn’t going to have to eat any more brains or liver. I smiled.
My father proceeded to wolf down brains. Soon all the brains were gone. “What were those?” he asked again.
Now that the brains were all gone, I looked my father square in the face. “Pork brains,” I said.
My father leapt from the table, sprang to the door, and ran into the front yard, retching while my mother and grandmother cackled.
© Bill Stifler, 2009