watch out for snakes.
This one didn't really get started until I was in High School, which is odd because I grew up out between fields where snakes showed up in the yard all of the time. But later, at this time, we moved to a new town and into a development. Sometimes we would still see snakes in the yard but very rarely. But it became something that my dad would say every time we walked out the door, like a mother yelling, "Be careful!" or "Be back before dark!", but father would always yell, "Watch out for snakes!" at the last second as you walked out of the door. It was something that always made me smile as I was walking out of the door.
Later, as I was in college and my parents moved back out to open fields again, my dad was cleaning up the driveway and saw a large black snake. As my dad has declared war on snakes for as long as I can remember, he killed it with a shovel. He thought to himself that it might smell and stink up his property - we can't have that. So he picked it up in his gloved hands and tossed it across the street into a pasture surrounded by some very small woods. He tossed a little too high and the snake's corpse caught on a tree branch and wrapped itself around at least twice over 20 feet in the air! The snake remained there and served as my father's reminder to "watch out for snakes".
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
that healthy glow
real men also tan.
With the exception of perhaps the house I was born in, and then the house in high school, my family always lived in a house out in the country. Little to no neighbors and plenty of yard space. My father took such a large un-shaded area to full advantage to the tune of short swimtrunks, a 20-year old beach towel, and no sunscreen. Needless to say, my father was always well-bronzed.
With the exception of perhaps the house I was born in, and then the house in high school, my family always lived in a house out in the country. Little to no neighbors and plenty of yard space. My father took such a large un-shaded area to full advantage to the tune of short swimtrunks, a 20-year old beach towel, and no sunscreen. Needless to say, my father was always well-bronzed.
Friday, September 21, 2012
how to clean a gun
q-tips serve great for cleaning guns.
My house never ran out of q-tips. They were used for everything, including the obsessive cleaning of my father's guns. Most hunters probably clean their guns every couple of years, or when they look like they need it. My father cleaned them religiously every year before his week-long trip for the start of deer season and even sometimes on his return. My father made guns last longer than most avid hunters could. My brother stated that receiving our father's guns after his death was like getting a brand new gun.
the dining room table is the proper place for cleaning guns.
Every year. Never fails. The dining room table was transformed into a gun shop work table. Of course, a sheet was laid down first. My father took apart his guns and swabbed them with special micro-fiber cloths and q-tips for the hard to reach places. This alone was a week-long process which wasn't terrible growing up because we had a kitchen table for family meals and an extra-long dining table for holidays. But then, my family moved and built a new house. The kitchen featured an island with a barstool-less bar (my mother has yet to purchase seating for it after almost 4 years in the house). This architectural shift led to a smaller dining room where the kitchen table for family meals was placed, and we got rid of the long table. So, deer season came around and we were left with couch dinner seating or an eat and run strategy.
My house never ran out of q-tips. They were used for everything, including the obsessive cleaning of my father's guns. Most hunters probably clean their guns every couple of years, or when they look like they need it. My father cleaned them religiously every year before his week-long trip for the start of deer season and even sometimes on his return. My father made guns last longer than most avid hunters could. My brother stated that receiving our father's guns after his death was like getting a brand new gun.
the dining room table is the proper place for cleaning guns.
Every year. Never fails. The dining room table was transformed into a gun shop work table. Of course, a sheet was laid down first. My father took apart his guns and swabbed them with special micro-fiber cloths and q-tips for the hard to reach places. This alone was a week-long process which wasn't terrible growing up because we had a kitchen table for family meals and an extra-long dining table for holidays. But then, my family moved and built a new house. The kitchen featured an island with a barstool-less bar (my mother has yet to purchase seating for it after almost 4 years in the house). This architectural shift led to a smaller dining room where the kitchen table for family meals was placed, and we got rid of the long table. So, deer season came around and we were left with couch dinner seating or an eat and run strategy.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
clothing care
never carry anything in your pockets. it will cause creases and wrinkles in your pants.
This was something I knew my father did, but he did it almost to a fault in the end. My father never left his keys, wallet, anything in his pockets - especially when he sat down. The wallet could stay in the back pocket only when walking. As soon as he sat down, it went on a table, in the middle console of the truck, or in his coat pocket. Keys were either carried or put in large coat pockets. Loose change was never carried around. The reason I claim it was to a fault is something that I will never forget about my father's death. Suicide never comes expected to a family - especially when none of the "normal" signs showed beforehand. After he was found, one of the officers on the job later stated that he believed this was pre-determined for a while, which was quite discomforting. When we further inquired, he said that he believed this was true because of how "clean" he was. He carried nothing in his pockets, no cash, no loose change, no papers; his phone was left in the middle console. The officer believed if this was an "act of passion", he would be carrying these sorts of things. Our response was that that was how my father was. Even in his death, my father kept neat and tidy.
This was something I knew my father did, but he did it almost to a fault in the end. My father never left his keys, wallet, anything in his pockets - especially when he sat down. The wallet could stay in the back pocket only when walking. As soon as he sat down, it went on a table, in the middle console of the truck, or in his coat pocket. Keys were either carried or put in large coat pockets. Loose change was never carried around. The reason I claim it was to a fault is something that I will never forget about my father's death. Suicide never comes expected to a family - especially when none of the "normal" signs showed beforehand. After he was found, one of the officers on the job later stated that he believed this was pre-determined for a while, which was quite discomforting. When we further inquired, he said that he believed this was true because of how "clean" he was. He carried nothing in his pockets, no cash, no loose change, no papers; his phone was left in the middle console. The officer believed if this was an "act of passion", he would be carrying these sorts of things. Our response was that that was how my father was. Even in his death, my father kept neat and tidy.
Monday, September 10, 2012
health rules
oatmeal, scrambled eggs, and cold cereal are part of a well-balanced diet.
We always joked about my father's lonely eating habits. I call them lonely eating habits because he only did it when he was on his own (which wasn't often - my mother cooked dinner nearly every single night). But for those nights that she wasn't at home, or wasn't home soon enough, these were the actions my father took. I will say, I took my habit of eating cold cereal at any point in the day from my father. He made me feel it was normal to eat a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch at 3:00 pm. I remember a summer in high school: my father would come home for lunch everyday around 11:00 am. The phone would ring at 10:45 am; my father was calling to let me know that he is coming home. My duties then were to prepared scrambled eggs for him to eat when he arrived at home. I'm not even sure why I did it. When I wasn't home, I'm sure he ate cold cereal instead. I remember another time when we were joking about my parents' relationship and somehow it came up - what if something should happen to Mom? My brother didn't miss a beat, "Well, a man can only live on scrambled eggs, oatmeal, and cereal for so long."
one mug of coffee requires no less than 4 heaping scoops of white sugar.
Most people take the time to prepare their coffee in the morning. It's almost like a private ritual. No one sees you make it; no one knows how much creamer you use - how much sugar. Not my father. My father did everything he possibly could to shorten his time in the morning. He made is lunch the night before (normal), he prepped the coffee maker the night before (ok), he got out a mug and put 4 large scoops of sugar in it and set it next to the coffee pot (what?). This was the after-dinner ritual where we were all there to see. My father never used less than 4 scoops of sugar in his coffee - and that's even after he cut down!
if it doesn't have a label on it, it doesn't have calories.
This is probably the most used rule that I stick with today. When I was in late-elementary school, my father was hospitalized for chest pains due to high cholesterol. After that, he did a major cut-back on his diet...mostly. My mom was always (and still is) a fantastic cook and her Amish heritage surely did help with those delicious recipes. Thankfully, she never used lard in a recipe (or I would be as big as a house) - she always used butter, and lots of it. She made chocolate chip cookies, cheesecake, blueberry crumb pie, brownies, fruit turnovers, everything - all made with butter. So when my mother would bake a cake, pie, brownies, cookies, my father helped himself generously. And if confronted about his overdose of dessert portion mixed with his high cholesterol, his response would always be, "Well, it doesn't have a label on it. Therefore, it doesn't have calories, saturated fat, sugars, or cholesterol." I have to say, I like the way the man thought when it came to food. To this day when I am making something in the kitchen and enjoy an extra portion of home-baked cookies or cupcakes, I remind myself of probably my favorit piece of advice from my father. Bon appétit!
We always joked about my father's lonely eating habits. I call them lonely eating habits because he only did it when he was on his own (which wasn't often - my mother cooked dinner nearly every single night). But for those nights that she wasn't at home, or wasn't home soon enough, these were the actions my father took. I will say, I took my habit of eating cold cereal at any point in the day from my father. He made me feel it was normal to eat a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch at 3:00 pm. I remember a summer in high school: my father would come home for lunch everyday around 11:00 am. The phone would ring at 10:45 am; my father was calling to let me know that he is coming home. My duties then were to prepared scrambled eggs for him to eat when he arrived at home. I'm not even sure why I did it. When I wasn't home, I'm sure he ate cold cereal instead. I remember another time when we were joking about my parents' relationship and somehow it came up - what if something should happen to Mom? My brother didn't miss a beat, "Well, a man can only live on scrambled eggs, oatmeal, and cereal for so long."
one mug of coffee requires no less than 4 heaping scoops of white sugar.
Most people take the time to prepare their coffee in the morning. It's almost like a private ritual. No one sees you make it; no one knows how much creamer you use - how much sugar. Not my father. My father did everything he possibly could to shorten his time in the morning. He made is lunch the night before (normal), he prepped the coffee maker the night before (ok), he got out a mug and put 4 large scoops of sugar in it and set it next to the coffee pot (what?). This was the after-dinner ritual where we were all there to see. My father never used less than 4 scoops of sugar in his coffee - and that's even after he cut down!
if it doesn't have a label on it, it doesn't have calories.
This is probably the most used rule that I stick with today. When I was in late-elementary school, my father was hospitalized for chest pains due to high cholesterol. After that, he did a major cut-back on his diet...mostly. My mom was always (and still is) a fantastic cook and her Amish heritage surely did help with those delicious recipes. Thankfully, she never used lard in a recipe (or I would be as big as a house) - she always used butter, and lots of it. She made chocolate chip cookies, cheesecake, blueberry crumb pie, brownies, fruit turnovers, everything - all made with butter. So when my mother would bake a cake, pie, brownies, cookies, my father helped himself generously. And if confronted about his overdose of dessert portion mixed with his high cholesterol, his response would always be, "Well, it doesn't have a label on it. Therefore, it doesn't have calories, saturated fat, sugars, or cholesterol." I have to say, I like the way the man thought when it came to food. To this day when I am making something in the kitchen and enjoy an extra portion of home-baked cookies or cupcakes, I remind myself of probably my favorit piece of advice from my father. Bon appétit!
Friday, September 7, 2012
better get moving!
when my father asks a task of you, that means he wants it right away. too much time and he will do it himself.
My father was not the if-you-have-time-could-you type. Most of the time, I was reading a book in the living room, working on homework, or maybe trying to relax after school or dance classes. If he asked me to do something, I learned that I can't say, "Ok, right after I finish the chapter/ the page/ this problem," because if I did do those things and got up to complete the task, I would find my father doing it himself. Most of the time, it was things that could wait: washing the dishes, changing the laundry, unload the dishwasher, etc.
I find that I now, complete a task as soon as I think of it because of my father. I remember the mentality: If I don't do it now, no one will.
My father was not the if-you-have-time-could-you type. Most of the time, I was reading a book in the living room, working on homework, or maybe trying to relax after school or dance classes. If he asked me to do something, I learned that I can't say, "Ok, right after I finish the chapter/ the page/ this problem," because if I did do those things and got up to complete the task, I would find my father doing it himself. Most of the time, it was things that could wait: washing the dishes, changing the laundry, unload the dishwasher, etc.
I find that I now, complete a task as soon as I think of it because of my father. I remember the mentality: If I don't do it now, no one will.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
first things first
the first thing that must be done when arriving home is changing into sweatpants and slippers.
It's true. Everyday my father would arrive home from work and immediately change into his ratty sweatpants (or gym shorts in the summer), and the same slippers he has had since I was a baby. The could give the illusion to an outsider that my father was lazy or didn't like his everyday khakis and polos. But, it was clear to those of us that knew him that it wasn't for comfort, it was for practicality. You see, my father could not relax and lay on the couch after a hard day's work in his khakis: they would get wrinkled. So in order not to create unnecessary creases, my father chose to change his clothes every single day after work, in spite of expecting company. My father didn't stay in his day clothes for visiting boyfriends or girlfriends, visiting friends, or even when his mother was coming to dinner.
It's true. Everyday my father would arrive home from work and immediately change into his ratty sweatpants (or gym shorts in the summer), and the same slippers he has had since I was a baby. The could give the illusion to an outsider that my father was lazy or didn't like his everyday khakis and polos. But, it was clear to those of us that knew him that it wasn't for comfort, it was for practicality. You see, my father could not relax and lay on the couch after a hard day's work in his khakis: they would get wrinkled. So in order not to create unnecessary creases, my father chose to change his clothes every single day after work, in spite of expecting company. My father didn't stay in his day clothes for visiting boyfriends or girlfriends, visiting friends, or even when his mother was coming to dinner.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
could you pick up some gum while you're out?
the best way to kill a groundhog is bubblicious bubble gum. preferably watermelon flavor.
I don't know where my father heard this idea or just decided to try it out, but it's true. The first time I heard of this, I was in my undergrad, home for the summer. I told my dad I was driving out to the store to pick up some things and he asked that while I was out, I pick up some Bubblicious Bubble Gum, watermelon flavor. I was surprised. Normally my father never chewed any sort of gum. If he had any sort of breath enhancer, it was a mint or mouthwash. So I asked what he wanted gum for. "Groundhogs," he replied. Again, taken aback, I asked him what he meant.
"Well, I set a piece of gum outside of the groundhog hole. The groundhog thinks it's food because it smells like fruit and so they eat it. But groundhogs can't digest it. Clogs 'em up and they die."
Horrified, I asked if he was serious and he insisted that it worked. Being from a farm town, I understood the nuissance of groundhogs and the importance of getting rid of them as effectively as possible. So I agreed. As I was leaving, my father reminded me, "Get watermelon flavor. That's their favortie. But strawberry is good too."
I never saw the result of this groundhog execution method, but according to my father, it worked.
I don't know where my father heard this idea or just decided to try it out, but it's true. The first time I heard of this, I was in my undergrad, home for the summer. I told my dad I was driving out to the store to pick up some things and he asked that while I was out, I pick up some Bubblicious Bubble Gum, watermelon flavor. I was surprised. Normally my father never chewed any sort of gum. If he had any sort of breath enhancer, it was a mint or mouthwash. So I asked what he wanted gum for. "Groundhogs," he replied. Again, taken aback, I asked him what he meant.
"Well, I set a piece of gum outside of the groundhog hole. The groundhog thinks it's food because it smells like fruit and so they eat it. But groundhogs can't digest it. Clogs 'em up and they die."
Horrified, I asked if he was serious and he insisted that it worked. Being from a farm town, I understood the nuissance of groundhogs and the importance of getting rid of them as effectively as possible. So I agreed. As I was leaving, my father reminded me, "Get watermelon flavor. That's their favortie. But strawberry is good too."
I never saw the result of this groundhog execution method, but according to my father, it worked.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
how to cut a cake
the middle of the cake is the best piece.
My father could be the only one to desire a piece of cake or brownies in a square or rectangular baking pan, and he will cut in order to receive a large piece straight from the middle. However, he doesn't cut the whole pan, but solely the middle piece he desires after so when the rest of us go to cut, we have to cut around what he cut out and attempt to make it even.
pies and cakes are not cut in even pieces. they are cut one at a time to allow my father to get the largest piece.
This rule goes in tandem with the first in this post. Some people cut the whole pie/cake at once in order to create even pieces; and most people know that in order to cause even slices of pie (if you must cut individually) you start cutting in the middle. Not my father. The knife went in at the point out from the crust that designated how long he wanted the piece and cut in the normal triangular shape of pie pieces, but perhaps wider. For family dessert after dinner for a family of five, this was okay the first time around. But leftover pieces were a crap-shoot. Eventually some poor soul would be left with the final stump piece - a very short and wide slice of pie that was usually like eating nothing but crust. However, you could luck out if it was cake because then it was straight icing with a couple cake crumbs.
My father could be the only one to desire a piece of cake or brownies in a square or rectangular baking pan, and he will cut in order to receive a large piece straight from the middle. However, he doesn't cut the whole pan, but solely the middle piece he desires after so when the rest of us go to cut, we have to cut around what he cut out and attempt to make it even.
pies and cakes are not cut in even pieces. they are cut one at a time to allow my father to get the largest piece.
This rule goes in tandem with the first in this post. Some people cut the whole pie/cake at once in order to create even pieces; and most people know that in order to cause even slices of pie (if you must cut individually) you start cutting in the middle. Not my father. The knife went in at the point out from the crust that designated how long he wanted the piece and cut in the normal triangular shape of pie pieces, but perhaps wider. For family dessert after dinner for a family of five, this was okay the first time around. But leftover pieces were a crap-shoot. Eventually some poor soul would be left with the final stump piece - a very short and wide slice of pie that was usually like eating nothing but crust. However, you could luck out if it was cake because then it was straight icing with a couple cake crumbs.
Monday, September 3, 2012
we bought a lot of ice cream.
the last serving of ice cream in the carton tastes like cardboard. it will be left alone.
As a family of five, we bought a lot of ice cream. There were parent flavors and ice cream for the kids. No matter what ice cream tickled my father's fancy that day however, if there was ice cream an inch from the bottom of the container, it was put back. Or if he got himself ice cream and realized that he was nearing the bottom, instead of topping off the perhaps 1/4-serving left, he put it back the the freezer for someone else to finish off. The reason? The ice cream on the bottom tastes like the carton.
My father had it down to a science: you see, when they package ice cream, it's still soft. So as the ice cream is freezing, the container taints the flavor of the ice cream. Of course, the sides are not affected by this because in the freezing process, the cream also rises to the top. This is why you can scrape the ice cream off of the lid and it is fine, but the bottom of the container has lost the cream and is being tainted my the carton.
If the ice cream even looked like it was getting low (about 3/4 down), my father would insist that we have a new carton of ice cream (unless it was a flavor he didn't eat). The new carton would be opened, the "tainted" ice cream untouched, and my mother or us kids would have the duty of finishing it off in order to make room in the freezer.
As a family of five, we bought a lot of ice cream. There were parent flavors and ice cream for the kids. No matter what ice cream tickled my father's fancy that day however, if there was ice cream an inch from the bottom of the container, it was put back. Or if he got himself ice cream and realized that he was nearing the bottom, instead of topping off the perhaps 1/4-serving left, he put it back the the freezer for someone else to finish off. The reason? The ice cream on the bottom tastes like the carton.
My father had it down to a science: you see, when they package ice cream, it's still soft. So as the ice cream is freezing, the container taints the flavor of the ice cream. Of course, the sides are not affected by this because in the freezing process, the cream also rises to the top. This is why you can scrape the ice cream off of the lid and it is fine, but the bottom of the container has lost the cream and is being tainted my the carton.
If the ice cream even looked like it was getting low (about 3/4 down), my father would insist that we have a new carton of ice cream (unless it was a flavor he didn't eat). The new carton would be opened, the "tainted" ice cream untouched, and my mother or us kids would have the duty of finishing it off in order to make room in the freezer.
speaking of raisin-filleds...
everything gives my father gas.
I remember when my father received one of his favorite foods (raisin-filled cookies), he would delightedly eat them, all the while explaining how raisin-filled cookies give him gas. My father's farts were famous - but moreso than the after-effect was the excuse. He never held back, my family could testify to that. Rather than a blush and an "excuse me" my father's response was more likely a stern look and a "[enter food item] gives me gas". My sister an I had decided together that even water could give my father gas. As prideful as he could be, the embarassment of gas never seemed to affect him.
I remember when my father received one of his favorite foods (raisin-filled cookies), he would delightedly eat them, all the while explaining how raisin-filled cookies give him gas. My father's farts were famous - but moreso than the after-effect was the excuse. He never held back, my family could testify to that. Rather than a blush and an "excuse me" my father's response was more likely a stern look and a "[enter food item] gives me gas". My sister an I had decided together that even water could give my father gas. As prideful as he could be, the embarassment of gas never seemed to affect him.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
a man of simple tastes
pie and raisin-filled cookies are the way to my father's heart.
It's true. If you were meeting my father for the first time and you really wanted to impress him, all you had to do was make a pie (they had to be homemade, not store-bought) or raisin-filled cookies. Usually any kind of pie did the trick: peanutbutter pie, apple pie, blueberry crumb pie, sour cherry pie, any pie. The raisin-filled cookies were a little trickier. If they were bought, the had to be bought from a particular bakery in Lewisbury, PA: Keeley's. They had the best raisin-filled cookies. I think while we lived there while I was in high school, we bought a box of them at least every month. We would bring them home and then my father would stash them like a squirrel stashes nuts: they were his cookies. My mom's sister is one who makes raisin-filled cookies that every year at the family reunion/Christmas party, my father would try to steal the whole basket-full. Eventually she started making a double batch: one for the whole family, one for my father. And yet again, they were his stash.
While living in Lewisburg, Keeley's closed down and we mourned the loss of raisin-filled cookies. But I have heard that it has recently opened. Perhaps it is time to have another raisin-filled cookie.
It's true. If you were meeting my father for the first time and you really wanted to impress him, all you had to do was make a pie (they had to be homemade, not store-bought) or raisin-filled cookies. Usually any kind of pie did the trick: peanutbutter pie, apple pie, blueberry crumb pie, sour cherry pie, any pie. The raisin-filled cookies were a little trickier. If they were bought, the had to be bought from a particular bakery in Lewisbury, PA: Keeley's. They had the best raisin-filled cookies. I think while we lived there while I was in high school, we bought a box of them at least every month. We would bring them home and then my father would stash them like a squirrel stashes nuts: they were his cookies. My mom's sister is one who makes raisin-filled cookies that every year at the family reunion/Christmas party, my father would try to steal the whole basket-full. Eventually she started making a double batch: one for the whole family, one for my father. And yet again, they were his stash.
While living in Lewisburg, Keeley's closed down and we mourned the loss of raisin-filled cookies. But I have heard that it has recently opened. Perhaps it is time to have another raisin-filled cookie.
Friday, August 31, 2012
don't do it...
don't say that my father looks like his brother. even though he does.
For nearly my entire life, my father had quite a substantial mustache. However, on a whim, he decided to shave it off. This was a shock because I never saw what lived under this famous mustache (it won a contest and everything) and I finally saw the physical resemblance between my father and my uncle. He didn't seem to like that statement, but, as one could expect, brothers tend to look alike...just don't tell him that.
For nearly my entire life, my father had quite a substantial mustache. However, on a whim, he decided to shave it off. This was a shock because I never saw what lived under this famous mustache (it won a contest and everything) and I finally saw the physical resemblance between my father and my uncle. He didn't seem to like that statement, but, as one could expect, brothers tend to look alike...just don't tell him that.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
did you hear that?
don't expect to get through an entire movie quietly. he is sure to ask questions, state what just happened, or check to make sure you are aware of what happened.
Again, movies. Always a treat. My father wasn't always a sit-down movie-watcher. I really depended on the movie. Sometimes he wouldn't actually peak interest until 30 minutes into the movie, which was really great because the remainder of the movie he would be asking who this was or that or why this person was doing that (needless to say, most of this is explained in the first 30 minutes of the movie). Or, if the movie was meant to be mysterious from the beginning, the first 30 minutes are spent asking who is this, why that, which the response would always be: you'll find out. Sometimes he didn't, because he would get up in the middle to do something else and come back at the end with another slew of questions.
Another thing he did was while he was slapping your knee because he found a line so funny, he is also asking if you heard that. Did you catch that? Did you see that? Meanwhile, you're missing anything that happened after that brilliant line, as is he, and then will be asked why this because he missed the next five seconds.
however, don't make noise during a movie. you will be shushed or told to listen.
My father apparently was the only one allowed to talk during a movie. If he was into it, and you asked, "Pass the popcorn," you were immediately give a short shh or my father would grunt out "listen". That's not to say that my father was mean about it. You just had to pick your spots. Conversation was saved for points of the movie that my father lost interest and got up and left; requests were reserved for my father's fits of laughter, knee-slapping, and elbow grabbing. Naturally, this narrows down the movie categories to comedies. Watching a serious movie that requires you to follow the story, such as Taken or Inception, requires silence and patience because he will ask you if you are following what is going on, or ask, "What just happened?"
Again, movies. Always a treat. My father wasn't always a sit-down movie-watcher. I really depended on the movie. Sometimes he wouldn't actually peak interest until 30 minutes into the movie, which was really great because the remainder of the movie he would be asking who this was or that or why this person was doing that (needless to say, most of this is explained in the first 30 minutes of the movie). Or, if the movie was meant to be mysterious from the beginning, the first 30 minutes are spent asking who is this, why that, which the response would always be: you'll find out. Sometimes he didn't, because he would get up in the middle to do something else and come back at the end with another slew of questions.
Another thing he did was while he was slapping your knee because he found a line so funny, he is also asking if you heard that. Did you catch that? Did you see that? Meanwhile, you're missing anything that happened after that brilliant line, as is he, and then will be asked why this because he missed the next five seconds.
however, don't make noise during a movie. you will be shushed or told to listen.
My father apparently was the only one allowed to talk during a movie. If he was into it, and you asked, "Pass the popcorn," you were immediately give a short shh or my father would grunt out "listen". That's not to say that my father was mean about it. You just had to pick your spots. Conversation was saved for points of the movie that my father lost interest and got up and left; requests were reserved for my father's fits of laughter, knee-slapping, and elbow grabbing. Naturally, this narrows down the movie categories to comedies. Watching a serious movie that requires you to follow the story, such as Taken or Inception, requires silence and patience because he will ask you if you are following what is going on, or ask, "What just happened?"
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
which knee?
never sit next to my father while watching a comedic movie or tv show. you are bound to get bruises.
This might be a slight exaggeration. However I do use the word slight. Sitting next to my father watching comedies was always a joy. It was infectious. I do not mean the comedy in the movie but the comedy in my father. His laugh was terrific and anyone who knew his laugh could say the same. I actually have friends that loved to watch movies with my father for the sole purpose of watching him instead. But...there was this 'habit' that my father developed when we laughed so hard. We know the addage, "that's a knee-slapper", where you laugh so hard you slap your own knew. Well, my father took to slapping other people's knees. He also would grab elbows, give strong nudges, and the like to make sure that you saw or heard what happened and understood how funny it was. Another word to the wise could be: never hold a beverage while watching a movie with my father.
This might be a slight exaggeration. However I do use the word slight. Sitting next to my father watching comedies was always a joy. It was infectious. I do not mean the comedy in the movie but the comedy in my father. His laugh was terrific and anyone who knew his laugh could say the same. I actually have friends that loved to watch movies with my father for the sole purpose of watching him instead. But...there was this 'habit' that my father developed when we laughed so hard. We know the addage, "that's a knee-slapper", where you laugh so hard you slap your own knew. Well, my father took to slapping other people's knees. He also would grab elbows, give strong nudges, and the like to make sure that you saw or heard what happened and understood how funny it was. Another word to the wise could be: never hold a beverage while watching a movie with my father.
what this project is:
In late July of 2012 I began to list characteristics, quirks, and necessary elements of my father's life. My father was a suicide in January of 2010, after which, I began to read and research what I could about suicide: how to deal, what it is, etc. I found Joan Wickersham's book The Suicide Index: Putting My Father's Death in Order published in 2008, 15 years after her own father's suicide. The quote above is from her book which I read after starting the project, but found to be a profound push to continue listing. The quote in it's entirity is this:
"I am going to try to reconstruct who he was, because I'm not sure anymore.
Suicide destroys memory.
It undercuts one of our most romantic, and most comforting notions: that we don't really die when we die, because we live on in the memories of those who love us.
When killing yourself, you're killing every memory everyone has of you. You're taking yourself away permanently and removing all traces that you were ever here in the first place, wiping away every fingerpring you ever left on anything.
You're saying, 'I'm gone, and you can't even be sure who it is that's gone, because you never knew me.'
So what did I know about my father really?"
- Joan Wickersham p. 158 The Suicide Index
The purpose of this blog is to list one or several from the list of rules about my father each day and provide explanation of each. This blog is for those who see the work on my website - www.caitlinpeck.com - and are curious to learn more. Or for those who want to grasp an understanding of creating a portrait of a person through the power of words.
"I am going to try to reconstruct who he was, because I'm not sure anymore.
Suicide destroys memory.
It undercuts one of our most romantic, and most comforting notions: that we don't really die when we die, because we live on in the memories of those who love us.
When killing yourself, you're killing every memory everyone has of you. You're taking yourself away permanently and removing all traces that you were ever here in the first place, wiping away every fingerpring you ever left on anything.
You're saying, 'I'm gone, and you can't even be sure who it is that's gone, because you never knew me.'
So what did I know about my father really?"
- Joan Wickersham p. 158 The Suicide Index
The purpose of this blog is to list one or several from the list of rules about my father each day and provide explanation of each. This blog is for those who see the work on my website - www.caitlinpeck.com - and are curious to learn more. Or for those who want to grasp an understanding of creating a portrait of a person through the power of words.
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