Since I have no father memories of my own, I’d love to hear about yours today…tell me about a memorable moment with your father…and if you’re a father, tell me about a memorable moment with your child.
And if you’re one of those folks who had a rocky relationship with your father, it’s okay to share a not so great memory.
My dad and I have not had the best relationship. It’s all very complicated. Still, one of the things I’m thankful for is my love of music, which I give some credit to my dad for.
I have this one memory from when I was young, maybe five or six? I had been tucked into bed, and I could hear music coming from the family room. I got up and listened, and it was Peter, Paul and Mary, and I’m not sure if it was a specific song I knew or what (Puff the Magic Dragon was a favorite of mine), but I ran out and crawled into my dad’s lap, and together we listened to a few songs, before he went and tucked me back into bed.
Lovely memory, Lisa, thank you.
(Puff was a big favorite of mine too but I LOVED The Marvelous Toy.)
That’s my dad’s favorite as well. 🙂
When I had braces, I’d take the bus downtown to my appointment. Then my father would meet me at the orthodontist and take me out for a big chocolate malt afterwards. One time the waitress even had our malts waiting for us.
Oh, I love this! Love that malts would be waiting for you!
Hmmm…seems like father memories are triggering mom memories for me (should be no surprised) My mom would would take me out for ice cream after the dentist.
Yes, ice cream links a lot of good memories together1
On long car trips, my dad used to entertain us kids by reciting 19th century British poetry; Charge of the Light Brigade, The Highwaymen, anything by Kipling. He had a deep voice, sort of rough around the edges, which always seemed to add to the drama of the poems.
To this day, I am astounded at how many poems he had memorized!
I love this image! Past generations seemed to do more memorizing than we have done. I wonder why? I would love to have a collection of poems memorized that I could pull out on needed occasions.
Thanks for sharing your memory.
Dads sometimes say I LOVE YOU in non-verbal ways ~~
When my first son was born, and my hospital room was filled with family, my father stood silently at the end of my bed holding my sheet covered foot.
When everyone rushed off to see the baby, he sat with me. And didn’t say anything.
My father is retired NYPD. He wanted to be an architect, but I was born. He is 6’4″ and a strong german. He adored my mother and took amazing care of her when she was sick. He wanted to die when she died. He is not a cuddly grandpa. He prefers grandsons who are old enough to share a beer, instead of only old enough to watch disney movies. He says what he thinks and sometimes he is mean. He takes care of people. He stopped taking care of me a long time ago. Maybe because I can take care of me.
He is not easy. He has taught me to be tough. If I could stand up to him, I could stand up to anyone. My sons learned how to deal with difficult people, because they had to learn to deal with my difficult dad. That is something I guess. Love and Lessons, all any of us can give.
Re: Dads sometimes say I LOVE YOU in non-verbal ways ~~
Okay, you are the first to make my eyes go wet. This is a beautiful memory. Yes…they all show it in different ways and many are non-verbal. That’s the way it was with the dad in Hugging the Rock…he couldn’t say what he felt but he could show her.
Sometimes the lessons our parents teach us aren’t the ones they meant to teach but are the ones we most needed to learn.
My sister and I sing.
One day, when Dad was playing chauffeur, we were in the back seat, singing along to the radio.
From the front seat, he told us “I can’t tell you how weird it is to hear you two singing along *in harmony* to the radio.” We told him it was just like having surround sound, like the movie theaters.
Another time, he asked us if we’d ever heard the Diana Ross song, Touch Me in the Morning. (We were twelve). Unbeknownst to Dad, we’d been rehearsing the song to surprise our parents at the choir concert at school.
We looked at him and launched into it, harmony, who sings what, even 12 year-olds’ version of choreography. After Dad picked his chin off the floor he said we were “very good”.
Sounds are so distinctive in our memory (and in our writing.) I love this memory. Thanks for sharing.
Before my parents divorced when I was nine, my dad would wake up on Saturday mornings and turn on the radio. We’d get up and head into the kitchen and my brother, sister, and I would help my dad make biscuit donuts. We used baby bottle caps to make the holes, and we’d roll them in powdered sugar when they came out of the oil.
When he moved out, the donuts stopped–I’ve missed it since then. Now I make them with my kids every now and then.
Lovely memory. I love the baby bottle caps! Thank you for sharing.
My father was the only one–including me–who predicted I would be a writer some day.
When I was seven, he told me I should write tv sitcoms. I replied, “I can be funny sometimes, but it’s hard to be funny all the time!”
When I published my first article, a drama review in the university newspaper, he would force visitors to read it before they did anything else.
I just know that he would have taken many needless flights on Air Canada to get extra copies of my enRoute cover story, and would have forced the people on board to read my article first. 🙂
Oh how much do I love that he predicted you would be a writer? Lots! I love that you had that support early on.
I never felt close to my dad. Even now further away then ever. I guess when you always have a person telling you that you will not be good for anything. That you CAN’T do anything. You were not worth teaching anything to. It kinda drained all my confidence and self esteem. I still feel so much anger and bitterness, that sadly will probably still be there long after he is gone. He could not even write us a personal letter he wrote the same one out 5 times and let me tell you the things he wrote were not nice. I know you are looking for a nice Dad story but I am afraid I am not the one to give it to you and sadly you weren’t even given the chance to see if you had one of those one in a million dads. The kind we could have only wished for. xxx
I didn’t ask for just happy stories, Anne, because I know not everyone has them. I’m sorry yours was so rough. Thanks for sharing.
Oh, Susan. I don’t know where to begin.
It’s okay, Melodye, really. This actually is helping me stir up some ideas for my WIP which is good.
That hug was as much for me as for you. I’m glad, though, that this is exercise is helping your writing.
When I was a kid, and even older, like in my teens, my Dad NEVER came upstairs in our house. Neither did our German Shepherd. If Dad was upstairs, it meant something was wrong, usually with the upstairs bathroom. Our parents’ bedroom was downstairs, and the two and a half bedrooms and a bathroom, plus access to the attic, upstairs were really not Dad’s concern.
I guess I was maybe about seven or so when I had strep throat. I know I was in bed all day, maybe for a few days. I remember Dad came upstairs once, when he got home from work, to check on me. I think I awoke to his hand on my forehead or something like that.
The other thing about my Dad is that he could sing, really well. A favorite of his, and mine too, was O Holy Night. He could also play it on his harmonica. Which he sometimes did.
In the bathroom.
I have his harmonica now. When he died, it was the one thing I asked for.
I don’t know what hits me in the heart more, the idea that he didn’t come upstairs or the harmonica. Thank you.
Hmmm…maybe I should have clarified.
Dad never came upstairs because it just didn’t seem to be his “domain.” I think the mess in our rooms would have bugged him a lot. It’s like some people never set foot in the kitchen, or the yard, or something.
Re: Hmmm…maybe I should have clarified.
No, I got that, which is why it was that much more powerful when he did go up.