Green Thumb (SOLSC 6/31)

This was a piece I originally wrote in June of 2022 for a Garden Party themed writing challenge (though Teach Write as usual).  I have not posted it to my blog before and wanted to do so now.  Especially since today is my dad's birthday and this seemed like a great way to honor and celebrate him!  The style of writing is called a "haibun" which is a form of poetry that combines prose and haiku.

Happy 62nd Birthday Dad!

Four Father

As much as my father and I differ in our beliefs, there are still many traits that I know I have either inherited from or learned from him. This revelation usually comes after I have performed a particular action that triggers the thought: "Oh, this is exactly what dad would do." And, since today is Father's Day, I thought what better way to honor my father than by sharing those particular traits.

After all, my parents have always been rather insistent that we not get them money or gifts for the various holidays that are meant to honor them, like Father's Day. It's difficult, because I want to celebrate them, but I also want to respect their wishes. Often times I have gotten around this little stipulation by falling back on my own skills: writing.

So here I am.  Writing the four ways that I am like my father in celebration of Father's Day:

1. The way we tell stories.

My dad may not be a writer, but he definitely has a love of sharing stories.  If you ask him about a relative or a location, he'll talk for quite awhile about his memories of the person or place and what it meant to him.  Sometimes he'll even tell you multiple times without prompting.  I have found myself doing the same thing: repeating stories to people I have already told them to multiple times.  

However, I also have found myself more and more writing about my memories of relatives and locations as a way to capture those moments forever.  I didn't put it together before now, but I believe my love of writing stories stems from the same love that my dad has for telling stories.

2. The way we find humor in things.

One of my dad's common sayings (Jerry-isms?) is that he is a "fun loving and jovial" person.  While the rest of my family may not always agree with this assessment, I will say that there are times when dad can be quite funny.  Sure, he may tell some of the same jokes over and over and over (just like his stories), but I can hardly fault him for that...because I do it do.  

However, the real reason I included this trait was I wanted to comment on his love of puns and jokes that would make you groan.  It may be a dad cliché (a daché?), but it's true. I can't remember what I said exactly, but there was an exchange I had with mom once where I made a joke and immediately we looked at each other and agreed that it was the same kind of joke dad would make had he been with us in the room (side note: I don't remember where he was at the time either).  Yes, puns fall under the category of typical dad jokes -- but I'm not a dad and tend to tell the same kind of jokes, so it can't be just a dad thing.

3. The way we show love through action.

I remember growing up and finding my dad out of the house most Saturdays as he visited both his mom and my mom's parents to mow their lawns.  In more recent years, if I ask where dad is sometimes I'm told he's gone over to one of my aunt's or a neighbor's house to help with some kind of maintenance issue or a project.  My dad lives to help others using the skills he has and that is one of many ways he shows that he cares about others.

It was as I was driving to help a friend organize and sort their stuff that I realized it was the exact sort of thing my dad would do.  He's a helper and he's at his best when he is involved in a project that makes someone's life just a little bit easier.  If I hear someone talking about a problem, one of the first things I will often say is "How can I help?"  As I drove to my friend's house, I realized that this must be another trait I inherited from my dad.  He is always helping others, often not because they asked him to, but because he has stepped up to do something that is in his ability to do.

4. The way we leave our coffee to grow cold.

This fourth category mainly started as a joke.  When I am visiting home, it's not uncommon to find a cup of coffee abandoned somewhere with no drinker to be found.  My mom and I will usually laugh and remark how dad will be back for it eventually.  However, it was this past school year that I often found myself doing the same thing in the classroom.  One minute I would be sipping my coffee, the next I was wrapped up in helping students with their writing and I would not be able to return to my coffee until it was much too cold.  

The only person I can think of that does this same thing is my dad.  One minute he is sipping his coffee, the next he is starting his next project or looking for a picture he misplaced because he recalled a memory he wants to share with the rest of us.  Before you know it, he's started cleaning the bedroom and mom and I are left to sip and chat our coffee without him.

But, as I write this, I realize it's not necessarily just a quirky trait we have.  It ultimately connects with number three above.  Because we are helpers, we also both suffer from the problem of getting so caught up in others that we often don't take time for ourselves.  The abandoned coffee cup is the tangible proof of that, but I can already think of others.  Like how my dad will often work himself to exhaustion to get projects and work done around the house.  I am not quite at that extreme, but I certainly like to finish a project once it's been started as opposed to putting it off to finish another time.  Perhaps I've learned from his mistakes on that one.

In the end, I am glad I share these traits with my dad.  It's reassuring to know that as I engage in these behaviors -- whether it's accidentally letting my coffee get cold, helping others in need, telling bad puns, or stories -- that I'll always have a little part of him with me.

Weekend with my Momma

 "Got any weekend plans?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna see my momma."

Weekend Coffee Share | Patio Make Over

Welcome back, friend.  

I'm glad you could stop by and visit.  Did you notice something new?  Well, my parents were by this morning and we were able to spruce up my apartment patio area with flowers, plants, and a new set of windchimes.  Best of all, my mother gifted me a cafe table and chair that she had originally found by the side of the road.  I had mentioned how I wanted to write outside more, but my furnishings at the time were less than ideal for it.  

Cue my mother saying "Oh.  I have a table out back that might work for that."  

And, sure enough, it fits perfectly on the patio and is the right size to hold my laptop, a cup of coffee, and allow me to actually sit up in the chair instead of slouching over my portable lap desk.  

My dad contributed to my patio make over by putting up some mesh wire so that my dog could not slip out between the bars and as of this writing he's currently lounging out here and enjoying the view with us. 

#SOL21 | 09 | Blue Choir Robes

Growing up I attended church and, when I was old enough (early teens), I was allowed to join the adult choir with my dad. I don't share many hobbies or interests with my dad, but we did share this.  

Every Sunday morning the blue robes came on over whatever dress I happened to be wearing that day.  I always felt special donning the heavy blue robes, turning to see other members of my church -- all much older than me -- wearing them as well.  I liked how the sleeves draped and swished.  I liked that it made me feel grown-up.  I liked that I was part of something bigger.

I would tuck the thick, brown hymnal under my arm and follow the rest of the choir out into the halls of our church.  We would wait for our cue and then file in to stand before the church congregation to sing, led by our choir director.  Of course, since I was sitting in full view of the church I had to be on my very best behavior, but it was a lot easier to stay awake up there than it was in the pews.

Our choir director would usually introduce the song.  The piano, keyboard, and organ would play their opening notes, and we would rise up and sing.  Everyone at my church sang, following along in their own hymnals, but I still felt special standing up at the front with the rest of the choir.  Most of my family sat out among the congregation, but my dad and me were joined together in a sea of blue choir robes.  It was something special between the two of us.  

Unfortunately, it wasn't to last.  The church membership dropped, the church moved locations (twice), more members left, the choir was disbanded, and though singing at church still occurred it wasn't the same without an official choir.  Eventually even the hymnals disappeared, replaced by projected songs on a screen.

There were a lot of reasons I stopped attending church, but writing this slice made me wonder if one of those reasons was because of the lack of a choir.  I also have to wonder if this was the beginning of my fractured relationship with my dad as well.

#SOL21 | 06 | Dad's Car Wash Song

There are many things I associate with my dad: coconut, unsweet iced tea, blue choir robes, snow coming down in March and car washes.  

I don't necessarily remember this, but apparently when I was very small I used to be afraid of going through the car wash.  Perhaps it was the noise or the impossibly large brushes that descended upon the car like a monster's claws -- whatever the reason I was terrified.  I would cry and squirm in my little car seat.  I've been told that sometimes one of my parents would get out of the car with me while the other one went through the car wash alone.

Eventually, my dad made up a song that helped make it easier for me to handle.  This is what I remember:

Swish swish 

(His hands would move along with the words, a pair of pointer fingers turned windshield wiper blades.)

Swash Swash  

(Now his hands would go the other direction.)

Now we're at the car wash

(Clapping hands.)

Car wash! Car Wash! CAR WASH!  YEAH!

(And now jazz hands, with each cheer bringing his arms higher or wider until the end).

Actually, calling that a song seems a bit generous -- but it still helped and it's stuck with me all these years.  If there's more to the song, I don't remember it now.  But that little ditty and apparently the classic "Great Balls of Fire" were enough to calm me down when I was upset at the thought of the car wash.  I guess music really does soothe the soul...