that's what my Dad always used to say (in a sort of sing-song voice) when we pulled into the garage of our house, when I was a kid. and when we left home, he often would sing the first few words of that air force song, "off we go, into the wild blue yonder, flying high, into the sun..." He was in the army air corps (there was no air force yet) during WWII, although he spent the whole time in Ohio, as I was quick to add when discussing the subject with my Japanese friends over the weekend.
anyway, I'm home--back to the land of the lovely lovey Loopy, and also of tornado warnings and muddy dogs.
*sigh* I barely remember the old Dad of the "home again home again" days. He's been foggy and getting foggier ever since sometime when I was in college, when he forgot his wallet at the post office, which totally rocked my world because (I can't remember him this way at all anymore, but) he was always extremely organized and never, ever, forgot anything, made a mistake, etc.--he was sharp, super-sharp, always won at scrabble, kept a diary in the car of the gas input & odometer reading.... so when he forgot his wallet, I knew that was the beginning of the end, because he had never, ever, ever done something like that before.... EVER. I can't imagine being a person who had never lost her wallet.
I don't remember that Dad very well. I do remember a lot of silly little sing-song phrases he used to say, little habits... like when I told him dinner was ready (messenger sent from Mom) he would get up from his desk and walk toward the dining room, clapping his hands and rubbing them together as if very excited, and say, "Oh boy.... oh boy!" to show how much he looked forward to Mom's cooking. God, he was a goof... sometimes he would say "Oh girl!" just for variety's sake. If he was the one calling me to dinner, he would always say, (again in the sing-song voice), "Come to dinna, sister Ginna!" It's funny (but I guess not surprising) that this silly stuff is all I can remember, because it's like that's all that's left. well... actually... he doesn't say any of those things anymore. But they are consistent with who he seems to be now. It's almost like the other Dad was a veneer that came off over time...
I remember a few little things that show the "sharp" Dad, but I don't have a sense of him; for example I remember a game where I would look at the old globe we had, and read off the names of cities; he always could tell me what country they were in. I was always amazed that he knew every city in the whole world... (although that's funny in retrospect, because of course, to actually be shown on the globe, the cities would have to be especially large & important, so probably I know them now too...) I also remember hanging out with him in the pool... I would rest my arms on his arms, and he would stand up and I would float, and I would ask him questions... I remember asking him, "Daddy, what's paint?" and he explained that it was little particles of color suspended in a medium, which could be oil- or water-based.... and I remember him reading to me, book after book after book. It's coming back to me a little bit now, when I think about the reading. When I was really little I would hold his hands and "walk" up him to sit on his shoulders. I can't really connect that vital, strong, powerful person with this Dad that I see now. I don't really remember him. Anyway I guess he's gone.
I'm distracted now by "Dawson's Creek," where Pacey is trying to get Joey into bed. Must go watch that.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
I don't know when someone is all gone. I mean, especially now with Alexa, all those memories are surfacing, body memories of me being little with my parents the all knowing invincible people. My Dad isn't able to stand me on his shoulders in the pool, but he's still the same Dad who would do that and I'm still the same little girl who revelled in it.
I suppose there does come a point where that person is functionally indistinguishable from the next memory impaired old person, but I hope that until the last spark goes away, that Dad's still there somewhere. Chip's grandmother knew the sound of his granddad's voice from down the corridor even towards the end when she was forgetting how to eat. He always knew she was his Dorothy.
This part of our lives is heavy, isn't it?
i don't think the person would ever be completely indistinguishable from others. there are always things that are uniquely him. in fact that was kind of what i was getting at when i said "it's like the other Dad was a veneer that came off." All that's left is whatever is at the core.
what i didn't say, or actually i did and then erased it, is that for some reason, i want him to be gone. i don't really want to remember the super-sharp Dad. i like this one. not delving too deep into that at the moment; i will think about it in another decade or two.
Post a Comment