Happy Talk Like a Pirate Day!

Today is International Talk Like a Pirate Day.  In honor I'm going to tell a short story I remember from being a young buccaneer.

Do NOT try this at home, ARRRR!

One evening at dinner for some reason I put my knife in my teeth.  We were having steak and potatoes, one of Dad's favorites.

When I put the knife in my teeth Dad said, "Don't do that, you'll cut your tongue."

I took it out but I protested, "But pirates always carried their knives in their teeth."

Dad said, "Why do you think they talked so funny?"

I can say categorically that Dad was not always ahead of his time, but, there you have it, Talk Like a Pirate explained about twenty years before it became a thing.  

Have some rum (maybe some Stoh rum, ah but that's a different story for a different day) and enjoy the holiday ya scurvy dogs!!!

Trick of the Teeth

I went to the dentist today for only the second time since I got my braces off in high school and it reminded me of this story.

This is going to sound like my story, but stick with me and I'll explain why it's really Dad's story.

When I was about thirteen I got braces.  Before they could put them on they needed to pull eight baby teeth.  These teeth were never going to come out on there own.  They had full roots and were not deteriorating like normal baby teeth do.  They had to put me under and perform oral surgery to remove them.

Dad, Mom and Brace-face

They used a general anesthesia and put me to sleep.  When I was coming out from under the anesthesia Dad was waiting in the room there with me.

"How'ya feeling, son?"

I suppose I mumbled something like David After the Dentist.

"You know," he said, "they x-rayed your skull.  They needed to find out how much your skull has knit together to see how much growing you are still going to do."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes.  They said you were [unknown to me now] % grown.  By that calculation you will grow to be six foot eight."

"Six eight?  Wow."

"Well, that's just a potential.  You might get to be that tall if you don't do things that would stunt your growth."

"Stunt my growth; like what?"

"You know, like drinking and smoking.  If you want to grow to your full potential no drinking or smoking for you."

I was only thirteen, but I took it to heart.  I did not have any alcohol until I turned twenty one, and I didn't really ever smoke.

Did you spot the Dad part of that story?  I figure they never told Dad any such thing.  He knew me and knew just the challenge I would take up (nearly any) and stick to doggedly.  It was a golden opportunity and Dad never let those pass him by.

Showers in the Rain

I have a very short one today.  It is inspired by a conversation I had with my daughters about showering in rainwater.  

I remember a time in my youth when it was raining cats and dogs.  The downspout off the front porch broke, or the gutter just overflowed from the volume of water.  We were all quite frightened by the rain and lightning.  It was a very intimidating summer storm in the middle of the afternoon.

I think the power of the storm and our fear of it was partially why Dad did what he did.  He said rainwater was the best for washing your hair.  He ran into the house and came back with is swim trunks on and a bottle of shampoo.  He stuck his head under the waterfall that was coming past the front porch and happily washed his hair.

It was a little nothing, but very Dad and it stuck with me for some reason.

Does anyone else remember this?  Can they elaborate on it?

It also reminds me of the story about the impromptu shower he and his USMC unit took when they were finally relieved on that island off Taiwan.  

1976 Georgia crew heading home

It also reminds me of the time we were driving back from Dad attending Signal Officer Basic Course in Fort Gordon.  It was late spring  1976 and the snow run-off was still pouring off the mountains.  In Tennessee we stopped along the side of the road and Dad filled up a large thermos of ice cold water.  It was some of the best I ever tasted.

Happy F@#king Birthday, Dad!

I'm imagining it's an ice cream cake

Today would have been my Dad's 72nd birthday.

I've told you about Dad's day of birth, and how he celebrated at Owasippe.  Now I'm going to tell you about one of the most memorable of Dad's birthdays: the first time I ever heard him drop an F-Bomb.

I told you about our 1981 Appalachian Trail trip.  When it was all over we were driving home for two days.  We had Mr. Zaremba's van, mostly loaded with gear; and Dad's van, the "Rally STX" or "The STX" for short (pronounced either "stix" or S-T-X).

On the morning of the first day, after driving a few hours we stopped for breakfast.  It was Dad's 39th birthday and Mr. Z took him in a dinner for a nice breakfast while the youth stayed out in the van and ate leftover trail breakfast.

Trail breakfast is mostly breakfast bars so it went pretty quick.  While we were waiting for the adults to finish, my brother Shawn took a bungee cord and hooked on end to the bottom of the open sliding door and the other end on the top rain gutter.  Then he started strumming it like a standing bass.

Bum bum bum bum bum bum SNAP!

The top metal hook slipped off the roof gutter and smacked him right in the eye.  He collapsed on the ground clutching at his eye.  We knew he was badly hurt so I ran into the restaurant to get Dad and Z.  We came out and everyone was crowded around Shawn, who was sitting on the ground holding his eyes in his hands.

The STX in all her glory, and some other people

"I can't see, Dad." Shawn said.

"Uncover your eyes, son," Dad said.

Shawn did and looked up at Dad.  Dad said his one eye was completely red.  It had filled with blood.

He told us to all get in the van and he would try to find  a hospital.  We were in the middle of Somewhereville, Tennessee or Kentucky.  Dad found a medical clinic.

They clinic said they couldn't do anything for him, but they did call and talk with our eye doctor back in Chicago.  Our eye doctor said it could be treated, but he would have to get back right away, and he shouldn't fly because the change in pressure could cause more damage.

Shawn and I got in Zaremba's van.  The plan was for Z to drive like a bat out hell, trusting on Police professional courtesy to get out of any potential tickets.  The thought was that the van with few people should take the speed risk while Dad, with the bulk of the "children" should drive slower and more cautiously.

We drove straight through.  Shawn had both eyes bandaged over.  We had a pot full of corn on the cob that had been made the night before and to stay awake, and avoid stopping for food, we ate it.  Zaremba would hold the cob in both hands and steer with his elbows as he ate each individual kernel off so clean there was nuthin left for the hogs.  And he did all this while singing barbershop quartet songs and driving well over 90 mph.

We got to the hospital late at night.  They fixed Shawn up, but he spent a week in the hospital with both eyes bandaged.

What about the F-bomb?  Oh, while we were looking for a hospital Dad looked over at Shawn and said, "Why the F@#k did you do that?"

Happy Birthday Dad, and you know what, we ARE impressed.

A Double Happy Father's Day

I've now lost both my Father and my Father in Law, so I wanted to share this story.  It's not really much of a story, but it means a lot to me and my wonderful bride.

Because Dad had no daughters (at the time) he thought he would never get the chance to walk a daughter down the aisle.  When we were about to be married he made a very special request of my Father in Law to be.

Because he loved Maria and was as excited as anyone to have her as part of our family he asked if it would be possible to show that by meeting my Father in Law and my bride half way down the aisle, and walking with them the rest of the way.

I didn't learn until years later that my Father in Law was very uncomfortable with this but he loved his daughter and my wife loved my Dad and wanted to do this for him.  He reluctantly agreed.

I am eternally grateful to my Father in Law for doing that for my Dad.

Dad always was, well, let's say, a rule bender.  I hope the two of them are together somewhere now enjoying the memory because I sure am.

Happy Father's Day, gentlemen!

Xanadu Fighting

No, not this one

"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:"
- Samuel Taylor Coleridge

When I was about in 8th grade my Mom dragged us all, my three brothers, my Father and me to see a movie.  She was a fan of disco and roller skating at the time (she and my Dad even both bought roller skates (hers, white; his, black)).

The movie was Xanadu.  I won't go into what the movie was here.  If you don't know about it you can check Wikipedia.  What I will tell you is that is was a disco-roller-movie and of course the only one happy to go was my Mom.

Not this one either

Behind us, about two rows were two men.  If I remember correctly they looked like toughs, bearded, leather jackets, tattoos, each about 200 lbs.  I don't know why exactly they were there, I won't even take a guess at the several ideas that immediately spring to mind.  The only thing I know for sure is that they were not there to enjoy the movie in silence.

They talked loudly through the movie, and not to each other.  They complained how bad the movie was to the screen and they berated the audience.  I'm pretty sure they used words not in our First Communion books (if you know what I mean), but I have no clear memory of that.

My Mom kept shushing them.  Then she would lean over to my Dad and tell him to do something about them.  I don't remember what my Dad said.  I'd like to think he said something like, "What do you want me to do shoot or arrest them?"  All I remember is that he didn't do anything while the movie played.

At the end of the movie my Mom stood up and gave them a piece of her mind.  They stood up and challenged my Dad.  He stood up and said something about them leaving quietly.

The thing I remember so clearly and what amused me to no end was that when my Dad stood up and it looked like he was going to have to step outside with these two; several other men, most likely other fathers or husbands who had been drug to this horrible movie by their wives, who had been sitting and steaming at just having to be there; stood up behind my Dad.

I heard one of them say, "We got your back, man."

Several angry father/husbands just looking for something, anything to relieve them, to clear their minds of this roller-disco experience against these two loud-mouths.  They decided discretion was the better part of valor and left quietly.

I don't know about the adults, but that made the movie for me.

A Smell Memory

This is more a vignette then an actual story.

When I was young my Dad had a workbench near the basement door.  In that area was also a radial arm saw (that sort of defined the space, as it was the last thing before the washer and dryer), the brick chimney and a wood burning stove.

My Dad kept a scrap barrel.  All the little pieces of wood that he cut off, or pieces he cut wrong, or extra pieces he put in that barrel.

Probably a couple of times a year he would clean up the work area.  Mostly it had been made completely disordered by us.  He would set aside some Saturday, usually in winter or late autumn.

He would start a fire in the old wood stove and burn all the scrap.  He would clean things up and hang up the tools.  Eventually he would sweep up an the whole place would be clean and cozy.

I loved those days.  We would work together to clean up and in the end the results were dramatic.  It made you want to start a new project.

Happy Fathers' Day

When I joined the National Guard I was looking to fly helicopters.  I enlisted and became a helicopter mechanic (MOS 67N Huey Crew Chief), but after I enlisted and before I started ROTC the Army tightened the requirements for helicopter pilots so that they needed 20/20 vision to start flight school.  I needed glasses.

I quickly looked around for another military career path and decided on Signal.  I won't get into that decision now.  Dad was Signal Officer qualified, but he was also Infantry qualified, Chemical qualified, Medical Services qualified and MP qualified.  At the time of my decision I think he was with the MP Battalion.

I decided on Signal and started drilling with the Signal Battalion as a Cadet.  A few months after that I went to one AT (annual training, or summer camp) with them and was stuck in an officer position with almost no training whatsoever.  Needless to say, it was very stressful.

At the time my Dad had just come back to the Signal Battalion as the Executive Officer (XO).  One day when I was almost at my wit's end Dad happened to stop by.  He told me a funny story about the Battalion Commander.  It cheered me to think that the Old Man had troubles too, and it cheered me just to know that here was a guy I could disappoint and fail, but he would still love me.  That was enough.  He didn't actually cheer me up with a pep talk or anything like that.  He told me the story, told me he loved me and left.

Two years later I was a commissioned Second Lieutenant and a Platoon Leader in the Signal Battalion.  Dad was the commander and I was attending Signal Officer Basic Course in Fort Gordon, GA.  We were having a class on Officer Evaluation Reports (OERs) and discussing conflicts of interest.

For OERs you have a Rater, an Intermediate Rater and a Senior Rater.  The Rater is self-evident.  The Intermediate Rater just makes sure the paperwork is filled out correctly.  The Senior Rater is your commander's commander and is very important to your rating.

I asked the instructor, "What if your Senior Rater is your father?"

He never answered me.  He just slowly turned and said, "You're in the Guard, aren't you?"

Dad had it covered already.  He had the XO be my Senior Rater.  I know that could have been questionable, but she was a real hard@ss and those were some of my toughest evaluations.

Happy Fathers' Day.

Happy Father's Day Dad

1966, First Christmas and first Christmas as a Dad

Happy Father's Day Dad.  I know this story is about me, but in a way it's also a story about you.

When I was still an infant Mom took me to the neighborhood grocery store.  It was on the corner of Kostner and Montrose.

Some woman stopped my Mom while she was walking around with me asleep in the cart .

"Well, I can only assume that you are Mrs. La Fleur, because I've never met you, but that baby sure is Bill La Fleur's.  There is no doubt about that."

Papa's Day Off

This weekend I had a dream about Dad, my oldest took the day off today and I'm writing on a lap desk Dad made for us, so I thought I'd share a little thing my Dad used to do.


Every now and then he would call us out of school and take us for a walk in the woods. He called it Family Time, though my Mom never came with us.

I never knew if it was because he had had a particularly harrowing experience, or he just wanted to spend time with his boys.

We would go to La Baugh Woods or the Forest Preserve off Milwaukee and Elston, near Superdawg.

I loved those days. We called them hikes, but they were probably just a short walk in the woods. We were young and he captured the time. Sometimes he could be very wise.

Life moves pretty fast and we stopped to look around once in a while, so we never missed it.

Papa on the Forth of July

I know this post is coming at the end of July, and I will offer no excuse.  Next year and years from now we will read this on the right date so here goes.

Papa never had a problem bending the rules.  He used to say, "I do not lie, cheat, or steal, but I am sly, cunning and alert."  He was also a big stickler on safety.  So when it came to Fourth of July we never had fireworks.

There was a police officer down the street who used confiscated fireworks.  Papa's safety urge battled with his competitive streak.  He told me that it wasn't right to use those fireworks, but it also wasn't right that when he went to his National Guard annual training period (which he always called, "Summer Camp") he used pyrotechnics, like artillery simulators and even nuclear bomb simulators which put all the other cop's stash to shame, and he couldn't use them at home at all.

One summer he brought home a smoke grenade.  He reasoned that although it was a pyrotechnic, it did not explode and was therefore safe.

It was a purple grenade and he let me pull the pin, let the spoon fly and place it on the sidewalk behind the house (where Collum transmogrifies into Kenneth ).

You'll see in the photo what we expected it to look like, and how it did indeed start.  However, it expands from what you see here and the photo is probably in a pretty good breeze.

That day there was no breeze at first and the cloud built up and expanded.  Then the very slightest of breezes crept up and gently guided the purple cloud of non-visibility across our little street, up the slight rise and onto the Kennedy Expressway (one of the busiest thoroughfares in the country).

It wasn't quite this bad

Traffic instantly stopped.  Under our own smoke screen we snuck away, never to deploy any types of fireworks on Independence Day again.

A Father's Flagpole

I was born in Garfield Park Hospital in Chicago.  My brother Shawn was too, and so was one of my brother's that couldn't stay with us.

Don't look for it, the hospital is gone now.

When they were tearing it down Dad drove by one day.  He noticed that they had not removed the flagpole yet.  He approached one of the workers, the one with the bulldozer.

"I'll give you $50 bucks to knock that flagpole down and if you deliver it to my house I'll give you another $50."

The guy agreed and took Dad's money.  He hit the pole with the bulldozer and knocked it over.  Then he moved to the other side and pushed it again the other way until it snapped at the base.

Dad left and didn't hear from the guy for a couple of weeks.  Finally one day there was a ring at the doorbell.

When Dad answered the door there was a man standing on the porch and there was a truck parked at the curb.  There was a 40 foot pole sticking out the front and back of the truck.

"Where do you want it?"

Dad asked him to drop it in the front yard.  He did and never collected the rest of the money.

Dad planted that pole in the front yard and it is standing in front of my brother Shawn's house to this day.

From Garfield Park to Kostner Avenue