And In The End...

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Writing about my dad on Father's Day seems like a natural fit, but I'm not sure I'm up to feeling too many intense feels. As my dad died just over four years ago and was a bit of a "character," the danger of being maudlin and also slipping into PG-13+ uncomfortable territory is rather high. But with a little discretion I think I can safely share some memories of my dad (in no particular order).
  • I used to love going to the Sherwood Inn outside of Fall Creek (sadly, now closed) with my dad for pork hocks and sauerkraut. Clearly, I did not start out life as an almost vegetarian. I think I may have been the only family member willing to eat this delicacy with my dad. I still have a pretty high food gross out tolerance to this day
Yep, I went there. I don't think we had any parsley though....
I still love sauerkraut.
  • My dad was a good tipper and always polite to wait staff. At least I remember my mom frequently complimenting my dad for that trait (and perhaps only that trait) so I try to emulate it.
  • My dad was the cook of the family. This was rather unusual for dads of the 1970's, but he was an army cook during the Korean War. One of his specialties was SOS (Shit On a Shingle). He also made great fried egg sandwiches and pancakes shaped like men (I'm pretty sure he didn't learn that in the army). 
  • When I got really drunk at the family home on Christmas Eve when I was 18 and threw peanuts at my dad, he thought it was pretty funny (he was not a hypocrite). 
  • My dad voted for Jesse Jackson during the 1988 primary. He was NOT a Democrat or all that enlightened about race relations, but he thought it was funny to "shake things up." (Yeah, he probably would have voted for Trump.)
  • Whenever my mom went to have her hair "done" my dad said she was going to the hair saloon (instead of salon). I never figured out if he did it on purpose but it always pissed her off which I'm pretty sure he enjoyed. 
  • My dad was super tolerant about letting me "style" his hair and give him a Kewpie doll 'do. 
  • My dad (normally a man of few words except for the well-timed deadpan zinger) introduced me to the saying "There are no atheists in foxholes." I guess we were talking about religion and he was telling me that I would start believing in God if I knew the end was near. 
  • One time when I was in my twenties and we were watching TV, there was an infomercial on about astronomy books and the origins and demise of the universe. My dad said, "It makes you wonder how it's all going to end, doesn't it?" I was stunned, because I just never thought of my dad as that philosophical. 
Today is also Paul McCartney's 75th birthday, so in the perhaps rather tortuous way that my mind makes connections, thinking about my dad musing about "The End" makes me think of the closing lyric to the last song on Abbey Road: "And in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love you make." 
I find that line both inspiring and terrifying. I won't even try to calculate how my dad's life added up, but I'll try to appreciate finding life and love in pork hocks, pancake man, and other unlikely places. (That's all a metaphor of course...vegetarian and low-calorie concerns still apply). 

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