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| Me and Dad 2012 in Placerville, CA |
In honor of my Dad's birthday, I played King of the Road for Day #3 of 100 Days of Ukulele. I'm sure I sang it last year on my dad's birthday as well. Of course, I had to wear the San Francisco Giants 2010 pennant hat that he loved so much.
My Dad is forever King of the Road, full of adventure and fun!
I haven't written here for a long time, although I think about my dad all the time, especially on his birthday! He would have been 89 years old if he was alive today. My kids will never forget their "Grandpa Joe" as he was an integral part of their lives.
The other day, I thought of Dad and how I remembered...
Things were not the same after Dad moved out. Shortly after he left, I ran into the bedroom my Mom and Dad had shared and opened up each drawer of the wooden chest of drawers where my Dad kept his clothes one by one. The drawers were empty. He really was gone. The drawers were just like the empty spot in my heart.
Then I dashed into the living room and rifled through the records. I found all the familiar Beatles albums, along with Janice Joplin Cheap Thrills and Surrealistic Pillow, Jefferson Airplane, Bob Dylan, Moby Grape, and the albums from musicals such as Sound of Music, West Side Story, South Pacific, and Oliver! I knew and loved them all, but I also knew that Dad’s favorites were the big band music albums from the 1940s and an album we’d listen to often called “Bill Justice Plays 12 Hits,” all musical songs such as Green Onion, Alley Cat, and Rinky Dink. Then I saw it—one of our favorites which we all listened to together, laughing our heads off. It was the Spike Jones album. I took it out and looked at the fun, crazy album cover—Spike Jones and gang, all with enormous heads and little bodies. The picture reminded me of Mad Magazine.
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| my son Jeremy and Dad |
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| Dad with me and three of his grandkids in the 1980s. |
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| with my brother and family. |
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| Three generations - me, my daughter Melissa and Dad with his special hat. |
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| 1962 with Dad in San Francisco. We were so young! |
I held the Spike Jones record close to me as I remembered the song, “All I Want to For Christmas Are My Two Front Teeth,” which Dad had played for us repeatedly. Still holding the record close, I hid it in one of my dresser drawers underneath clothes, figuring that as long as the record was still here, Dad would still return.
Dad showed up to visit us the weekend after he left. He was supposed to arrive at 10:00 a.m. but showed up at around 11 am, and
When we opened the door, he smiled at us with that handsome childish grin and said, “Running a little late folks!” We didn’t care that he was late. We were just happy to see him. I knew Mom was annoyed because Dad was late so much.
The “Running a little late folks” statement became a running joke between all of us. Every time Dad called us on the phone, he’d say, “Running a little late folks!” and we’d laugh.
Many times, we had no idea where we were going or what we would do that day. It was always an adventure. I think Mom gave up asking after a while.
Dad took us on adventures almost every weekend.
Sometimes if it rained, we’d go to the office where he worked by the San Francisco Zoo, play board games and cards, and wheel the office chairs around the office. He’d take us to the movies, and to Frontier Village in San Jose. We only got to ride in a car when Dad visited because my mother did not drive. When Dad dated other women, he would introduce the lady to us and ask us later what we thought of her. We always gave honest opinions. “Oh Dad, that woman is a little nutty.” Or, “Dad, she’s really nice.” Our favorite girlfriends were Jean and Melania. Not only were they pretty, but they were always nice to us kids.
He also took us hiking at Mt. Tamalpias, to the Santa Cruz Boardwalk, and to fancy restaurants at Fisherman’s Wharf for our birthdays. My brother tried buffalo stew at Tommy’s Joint, which became a regular place to eat for us, or Pasquale's Pizza on 8th Avenue and Irving. Or wherever we happened to be.
At night, we’d go for drives through Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. Dad would always turn off the car lights on this one particular stretch of road that had no street lights. In the pitch dark of the car, he’d yell out this creepy, dramatic laugh that always made us jump, even though we knew what he was going to do.
Dad always wanted to be an actor from the time he was a little boy. He said he’d read comics to his Mother and use dramatic voices for each of the characters. He’d go to the movies every week, and when he was 14 years old, he landed his very first job as an usher at the movie theater. Then he dragged us to plays and musicals, especially the ones he acted in.
My Dad showed up.
He also showed up for my kids whose Dads, unfortunately, did not. "Grandpa Joe" was more of a father to them than their own fathers were. I'd drive with the kids down to California from Oregon every summer and we'd spend a week at Dad's one-bedroom apartment in Sunnyvale. He'd take the week off work and we'd go on adventures just as we did growing up.
Damn it! Dad showed up. He had some issues, sure, I have many as well. Some people thought he was a "Disneyland Dad" because we always had fun. Maybe he was or maybe he wasn't. I don't know and I don't care. I will forever love and appreciate my dad, not just for his sense of adventure and fun, which I know I inherited from him, but because he showed up, stepped up to the plate (he was a huge baseball fan!).
When I moved back to Oregon with my kids, we didn't see Dad for almost two years because he was in California. He had no idea how much I struggled that first year or so because I didn't tell him. When I finally got a car and a decent job, I drove down to California with my kids to visit Dad. And when I moved back to California after Mom died in 1997, I managed to land a place in Mountain View, super close to where Dad lived because my new job was in Palo Alto, California. But that is another story.
Today I smile as I remember my dad and "Grandpa Joe" as my kids lovingly called him... Thank you Dad for showing up. I love you forever.
