You Were My Dad, You Were So Rad...

Once again circumstances have forced me to break my "funny posts only" here on the old blog. My dad died suddenly about a month after my grandma died. Well, it was sudden to my sister and I; my mom said he had been dealing with more and more health issues.

Your family members are your first role models, for good or ill, and mine did a good job; they kept my sister off the stripper pole and me from being a performance artist.

Among other things, dad taught me what lures work for what fish, how to read a body of water, how to smell an approaching rain storm, and how to punch without breaking your thumb. He also took me to all the Star Wars, Star Trek, and Superman movies. Did he fall as crazy for Star Wars as I did? Probably not, but he still looked at and encouraged dozens, if not hundreds of my artistic renderings of Darth Vader and assorted battle scenes.

He made up stories every night for both me and my sister when we were little. I don't remember much about them now, of course, other than vague themes.  I seem to remember his studies of Native Americans played a big role.

As a teenager and a punk rocker, I had to rebel against what I saw as his narrow-minded, old-fashioned ways. No matter how bad family battles got, however, there was always a reprieve on the river.

And as much as I fought against him, I've found throughout the years that I share many of his traits, along with a lot of the anxieties and neuroses which I had no idea at all that he had until recently. My annoying habit of coming up with a project idea and having to start right now? That's totally inherited, as is my nightstand covered with a pile of books to read before falling asleep.

Some of these projects seemed like sheer torture at the time, but afterwards, they gave me a sense of pride - like how I can now replace a car's cooling system, thanks to an all-afternoon project that I swore was never going to end.

Along with having us, dad served and was wounded in Viet Nam, which led to him discussing all the ways to keep me out of the hypothetical Gulf War I draft. It also stopped him from both hunting and attending church. We always wanted to ask him about the war, but never really felt comfortable, and now it's too late.

He saw six continents, earned a PhD, led a teacher's strike, was married for 48 years, taught science and history, and taught his kids how to make an impressive marinara sauce. Did he know how much we loved, respected, and appreciated him before he died? I hope so. Unfortunately I also inherited his tendency to keep my emotions and feelings buried and so a lot of our conversations were kind of surface.

So as hard as it might be, make sure to tell your parents how much they meant to you, even if you have to lie a little bit, or write an anonymous note or something. Trust me, it'll make everyone feel a lot better.

I'm looking forward to getting back to the funny soon.