Flashback Friday

My dad loved to tell stories about his life.  His favorite stories we heard countless times growing up.  It became a joke that every time the missionaries came over for dinner, we kids would try to leave the room to avoid hearing the same standard stories we knew he couldn't help but retell.

Dad lived a unique and interesting life.  He had a lot of fun stories.  It was always his goal to write his Life Story.  I believe he managed to record some of his most well-known experiences, but his Time came before he reached his ultimate goal.

I've been thinking about that a lot lately.  All we have left now are our memories of his stories and the bits and pieces he recorded.

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My kids love to ask Mark and me to tell stories of when we were little.  They have their favorite stories that they like to hear repeated, but they also frequently ask to hear something new.  To spark our memories, we'll encourage them to "pick a word."  Then, we try to come up with a story related to "fence," or "red," or "Christmas."

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As I've pondered these circumstances, I've felt a push to try and record my memories and stories from when I was younger, so there is a record for my kids and my grandkids when I am gone (or even just when I'm old and forgetful).  The added benefit of doing it now, is my Mom and siblings are still around to provide feedback and fill in gaps in my memory, because I'm sure my recollections are tainted by time and personal biases.

My goal is to try and write a Flashback story on a regular basis.  A couple a month would be great, because it doesn't seem daunting, yet in just a few years could mean upwards of 24-36 stories!  I don't have a plan of what to write.  No particular order.  Just whatever I happen to be thinking of.

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Here's the first contribution: Random Memories of Dad

*When my siblings and I were little, we loved to climb on Dad whenever he would lie down on the couch.  He'd always cry out, "what do I look like, a jungle gym?," and of course we'd yell, "Yes!" and continue our monkeying around.

*One day when I was in middle school, Dad was driving me home from a softball game and I exclaimed, "we won them!"

"Oh, really?," he replied, "then what are you going to do with them now?"

I didn't get it.  He had to explain the difference between "won them" and "beat them" to me.  He was a stickler for proper word usage and I credit my inner-cringe at bad grammar to his influence.

*I recall being in the car with my dad when I was 8 or 9.  I don't remember what we were talking about, but I said, "Oh, Dad! You're so smart, you just know everything!"  

He was quiet for a minute, then responded in a way that surprised me, "I really don't know everything.  I make a lot of mistakes and I'm sure I'll make a lot of mistakes in the future.  I hope you can remember that I'm trying."  

That was the first time I'd considered that my Dad wasn't perfect and his words stayed with me throughout my teenage years (and beyond).

* My dad was sure I was going to be an Olympic softball player.  I was never even close.  Sometimes his exaggerated hopes were frustrating, but mostly I was flattered he believed in me.

* We spent a lot of time with Dad watching Nick-at-Night.  Green Acres, Mr. Ed, My 3 Sons, Bewitched, Lassie, Flipper... we were fans of them all.  Which reminds me, as a kid, my favorite bands were Queen, Buddy Holly, and the Beatles, because that's what my dad liked and listened to.

* My dad liked to tell me a story of the first time he was left home alone with me.  I was still a very little baby.  When he went to change my cloth diaper, I kicked my feet (as babies do) and then started screaming.  He looked down to discover the diaper pin sticking into my heel!  He says he felt terrible, but he sure did like telling that story...

*When I was in 6th grade, at the end of the D.A.R.E. program, we were assigned to write essays about what we'd learned.  I was more interested in playing Super Mario Brothers 3, so I slapped together an essay as fast as possible to get back to my game.  Dad asked to read it and decided it wasn't acceptable - something about "way below my potential."  He made me rewrite it, and I ended up winning the essay contest and having to read my essay at an assembly in front of the whole middle school.

* My dad always signed his last name with a lower case "g."  When I noticed and asked the inevitable, "why" question, he explained, "I think the upper-case cursive G looks like a big, fat belly.  I always feel like I should add a belly button!"

From then on, I always added a "belly button" to the cursive G in my signature.