Classic '50s Dad

 

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

Dad memories. Dad was a classic '50s dad, a Marine Corps vet who'd served in World War 2 and a born scout master. Here he is with my brother and my Mom. He was Scout Master for the troop at our church for years.

Having grown up very poor in a large family, he loved nature. Memories of Dad include him taking us on nature hikes in Marshall Canyon in (I think) LaVerne: there was a little "nature museum" there with a butterfly collection and a tiny zoo of snakes and lizards out back. A couple of times a year he'd take us for an over-nighter at Joshua Tree - at the time, the campsites there consisted of a water-pipe and faucet sticking up from the ground at the end of a long single lane of badly-weathered asphalt, and a couple of out-houses (Porta-Potties not having been in use at the time, these were permanent structures). We'd drive out Saturday morning, set up a tent, make lunch, walk among the rocks and desert, have dinner, look at the stars without any light reflected from any city, spend the night in the tent, have breakfast Sunday morning, drive home. Beautiful.

Dad would also help my sister with her own butterfly (and other bugs) collection, and, when we first moved into our house (after earliest memories living in a trailer on a Marine base in the middle of the desert), he'd catch tarantulas in the vacant lots all around our development.

Other memories of Dad include: Saturday mornings was pancakes for breakfast. Sometimes waffles. Dad was the cook.

Early Saturday mornings, all three of us kids would go lie in bed with Mom and Dad, and I remember one morning Dad reading to us about half of "A Princess of Mars." He loved Burroughs, and Zane Gray, and history.

He loved building things. He put in an arbor at the side of our house, and a brick patio along the back of the house. When we got a mouse in the house he invented a humane trap to catch it, and I remember him using pennies as a counterweight.

I don't recall him ever sitting me down and telling me, "Make sure to invest your money wisely, dear," but I learned from him the importance of having an Emergency Fund. We all had savings accounts from the time we were in grade school, and when I was sixteen he got me a checking account and showed me how to write checks.

Dad teaching us how to drive a stick-shift car in the parking lot of the local big-box store early Saturday mornings. He was a deacon in the Church, and always did his own taxes. When our TV's picture-tube would slip out of alignment - which tube TV pictures did, often, so they'd be distorted sideways, or the picture would "roll" - we'd call for Dad to fix it (by twiddling knobs in the back of the TV), but of course it would always correct itself the moment he stepped into the room.

"Let's find out what we're talking about before we get excited." 

I have no memory of him ever, ever doing anything dishonest, ungenerous, cruel or unkind. 

He hated crowds. He loved cheesy Hollywood historicals and sword-and-sandal extravaganzas.

He loved my Mom.

He loved us.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

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