My Dad has always been a part of my life. And he has always taken his roles seriously.
My Dad has been a teacher. He taught me how to tell time, how to ride a bike and how to drive a car. He was even a seventh grade substitute teacher for awhile.
My Dad has been a coach. He always said that even if one of his kids was playing in a tiddly winks match, he would be there to cheer him on. And he was. He was there for football, baseball and basketball, games both very good and very bad.
My Dad has been a fan. He has attended many school plays and band concerts because of us kids. Very, very off-Broadway productions, to be sure.
My Dad has been there for me. He helped me out when I was six and I wanted a parakeet, found me a flute at a pawnshop when I took lessons and helped me find a car when I needed one. Most importantly, he told me that he would hold the church door shut and allow me to run if I needed to before my wedding. There is so much that can be said about that.
My Dad has always been my Dad. Always.
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Spot
I don't remember a lot of New Years Days while growing up. I have a feeling that a lot of the adults in our lives don't remember much of those days either. One New Years Day in particular stands out in my mind - the year we got Spot.
Seems that Grandpa Tolley promised us kids that he would take us out for a dog on New Years Day. This promise was made BEFORE New Years Eve, and to give Grandpa credit, he followed through. He and his hangover took all four of us excited kids out to the humane society, where we picked out the perfect (?) puppy. I don't know why we thought he was the one; he probably knew that we were easy marks.
Spot was part retriever, part dinosaur. This became obvious as he grew tremendously larger. His front legs were shorter than his hind legs, making him look a little like a hunchback as he lumbered along, eating Grandma's cherry tomatoes and then pooping little seeds in the yard. We had many plants growing all over the place, only not in the garden.
Spot was also, as Grandpa later put it, insane. Grandpa had a dog trainer friend from the police department come by to help train him. After working with Spot, the dog expert declared him to be "Not Quite Right," a title that would later be passed on to other pets in our family.
After Spot pulled the basement door he was tied to off of its hinges, his days in our house were numbered. Seems he was going after a piece of food that had fallen to the floor. Or a child. Or a tomato. Spot wasn't very smart.
One day, we were told that Spot was going to visit the farm. I don't know who came up with that, because we didn't know any farmers. "Going to the Farm" became the place that all of our "Not Quite Right" pets went to visit. We imagined them having a good time playing with each other and eating all the fallen food that they wanted because they never came back.
Years later, I became nervous when Fred asked me to visit his friend's farm. I never did see Spot while I was there, but I could see that there were lots of tomato plants, so I knew that he had been there. And it made my little kid heart feel good.
Seems that Grandpa Tolley promised us kids that he would take us out for a dog on New Years Day. This promise was made BEFORE New Years Eve, and to give Grandpa credit, he followed through. He and his hangover took all four of us excited kids out to the humane society, where we picked out the perfect (?) puppy. I don't know why we thought he was the one; he probably knew that we were easy marks.
Spot was part retriever, part dinosaur. This became obvious as he grew tremendously larger. His front legs were shorter than his hind legs, making him look a little like a hunchback as he lumbered along, eating Grandma's cherry tomatoes and then pooping little seeds in the yard. We had many plants growing all over the place, only not in the garden.
Spot was also, as Grandpa later put it, insane. Grandpa had a dog trainer friend from the police department come by to help train him. After working with Spot, the dog expert declared him to be "Not Quite Right," a title that would later be passed on to other pets in our family.
After Spot pulled the basement door he was tied to off of its hinges, his days in our house were numbered. Seems he was going after a piece of food that had fallen to the floor. Or a child. Or a tomato. Spot wasn't very smart.
One day, we were told that Spot was going to visit the farm. I don't know who came up with that, because we didn't know any farmers. "Going to the Farm" became the place that all of our "Not Quite Right" pets went to visit. We imagined them having a good time playing with each other and eating all the fallen food that they wanted because they never came back.
Years later, I became nervous when Fred asked me to visit his friend's farm. I never did see Spot while I was there, but I could see that there were lots of tomato plants, so I knew that he had been there. And it made my little kid heart feel good.
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