I don’t remember mentioning but my father had no physical coordination. He could walk quite normally. I never saw him run.
We never played catch in the yard. He never took me to the park, something I never held against him. He was usually busy, often helping other people. Yup, a chip off the old block 😀
His lack of even the slightest bit of athletic ability probably saved his life. He was drafted into the army during the Korean War. I don’t know how he made it through boot camp. I know he suffered several injuries including broken bones. In the end the army decided he was a lover and not a fighter and sent him to Berlin as an MP, Berlin was still an occupied city.
That was probably one of the reasons my mother didn’t want to go with my father initially. I can imagine she was a very sensible well grounded person. Even when I knew my father he always liked to joke and play around. I can only imagine what he must have been like as a young man.
Oh, word on the street was he had a girlfriend in Germany that he was supposed to bring to the US and marry. Obviously that didn’t happen. Not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing for her.
So since both of my parents came from very traditional backgrounds it was easy for him to have my mother be his doting wife. She ironed his boxers and handkerchiefs for goodness sakes! I only saw that woman for a brief period because by the time I was 10 all of our lives were going to be very different.
My father was a lover, not a fighter. My mother was a fighter. I think it was around the time when I was in high school my oldest sister told me of my father having affairs. I do recall a time when I was 6 or 7 years going to his sock drawer, where he kept change, and getting money for the ice cream man. It was in the top drawer and I couldn’t look down into it, I had to feel around. Under the drawer’s lining I felt something unexpected. I scooped up the unknown and pulled it out. They were polariods of women, most in lingerie. Quite the amature photographer was my father. I put the pictures back. I was confused and didn’t ponder at the time what I had exactly discovered. It was the first time I had gone to his sock drawer for change and the last.
My parents never raised their voices when they disagreed, which at least in front of me was a rare occurance. Even when they would go to their room to discuss something and I would eavesdrop, voices were always calm and steady. Except one time.
At age 9 or 10 the you know what hit the fan. Mom marched dad straight to their room when he came home one night and took him behind the woodshed. I was in the livingroom, farthest I could be and turned the TV as loud as I could and still could not cover the sounds coming from that room. What’s the expression “hell hath no fury…” I was terrified. I don’t remember how long it lasted or where she went after. I finally got enough courage to see the damage. The room was destroyed, except the hanging lamps. I couldn’t see my father amidst the debris, but I heard the sounds of someone who had got the business giving to him.
I hadn’t realized it until now that’s when mom started girls night out at least once a month and Mom and Dad started taking trips to Las Vegas with the same frequency.
My father may have acted the fool, but the man was smart enough to figure out how to turn around and do things right.
He had always shown affection for my mother, but it also increased around that time. I would be mildly embarrassed sometimes. No PDA, but just moments that made me turn my head.
Dad was, in the end, loved by many many people. He served his country as a professional working for the VA his last 30 or so years, helping veterans get through the red tape. He counseled, he drove vans full of vets to offices and appointments they would otherwise not get to. He cared.
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