I spent the entire weekend scrounging up ideas for a Father’s Day post but I was so busy creating new memories that I failed to make time to write! Fortunately and inadvertently it was a Dad themed weekend!
Parades
My Dad and I are the only two members of my family willing to rise early for an experience. My Mom and brother require considerable inspiration to leave the warmth and comfort of their beds. (typically quality time with Dad and Kate is not deemed inspirational – at least not before noon) Also, let’s clarify what I mean by early. For the purpose of parades… 9a? 10a? “Early.”
Every year in Doylestown, PA, there is a parade through town on Memorial Day (oldest Memorial Day parade in the country). It is chock full of local marching bands, color guards, Boy Scout and Girl Scout floats, rotary club members, antique cars, prom kings and queens, clowns, Shriners, Revolutionary war reenactors and veterans. Straight up Americana. Every family has their designated spot in town although I’m sure we’ve been replaced by another family at this point… a family with small children. All the children outfitted with little American flags to waive (little beacons of patriotism), an innocent expression of all American love before we understood what it meant to be patriotic. If only patriotism was actually defined by the simple waiving of a little American flag.
My Dad and I have been devoted to this parade for years. Devoted. Up “early,” rushing around to get coffee, eternally five minutes late to everything, two full grown adults, half asleep, searching for parking and then briskly walking (coffee sloshing over the side of our mugs) to our “spot,” across from the Landmark building (where I had my wisdom teeth extracted) and Nat’s pizza (which supplied a weekly meal for my family), and one block from where I grew up.
The Memorial Day parade is entertaining on many levels (and I’ll refrain from elaborating), but most likely the devotion stems from cherished memories and tradition. The Memorial Day parade spans my entire childhood experience and with each community group that passes by, another childhood memory is evoked.
Fast forward to Seattle (whew, that was a lot of years forward). This weekend I attended a very different type of parade. The Fremont Solstice parade. This parade was chock full of naked people, dancers, aliens, cyclists, puppeteers, drag queens, a recycled coffee cup float and zombies. I love Seattle. I love that parades conjure up memories of my Dad – don’t worry Dad, I thought of you when they tossed tootsie rolls into the crowd, not as the naked cyclists passed by!
Car Show
People go about bonding with their children in a variety of ways. My Dad integrated me into his weekend activities. This dude was busy during my childhood so on the weekend, we had a lot to accomplish. (most likely this brought my Mom a much needed break from the incessant talking she endured all week long)
I anticipated Saturday growing up. Saturday meant piling into the car with my Dad as he completed errands or wrapped up business. We would listen to classic rock, my music education and ability to play air instruments being taken very seriously, and drive about Doylestown going to the barber, the drive-thru beer distributor, the bank, the hardware store and sometimes… we would go to a car show! (in OUR adult life – my Dad ages appropriately with me, just ask my Mom – we skipped the aforementioned activities and headed straight to the bagel shop)
Back to the story at hand, I learned to LOVE and appreciate cars. I grew up in a family of mostly men. All my cousins – men. What did they like? Cars. Sports. What does my Mom like? Sports (not cars). My Dad took me to car shows and I learned about classic cars. I imagined a time when people actually drove them rather than regarded them as antiques to be polished. I learned the beauty a tight curve on a back road in a car with superior handling… anyway; imagine the day I bought my first car!
It wasn’t the car we came to buy but it was love at first sight. Right on the spot. We just KNEW. And we fell hard. We didn’t stand a chance. WE saw it in the parking and looked at each other, knowing that we had no choice but to drive it and if we drove it, we would have no choice but to BUY it. Together, we drove it into the ground. My Mom asked my brother, what is it about this car? My brother responded, the engine Mom, the engine hums.
I found myself at a “car show” this weekend. Several cars had attributes that my father would appreciate but does it get any better than a car covered in squirrels? I think not. That’s a story for another time – THE story about my Dad’s relationship with squirrels. In fact, I might just delegate this story to my brother.
(Un)Photogenic
Finally. I’ve had this picture for a couple months. I have been saving it for my father. I have spent the last 34 years taking unfortunate pictures. Some parents might be disappointed – unable to capture the essence of their beautiful child in a photograph – the photograph to distribute about to friends and family on an annual basis. Nope, not my Dad. Did we forget it was picture day at school? YES! This is going to be great! When will we get them? An enormous source of amusement and pride: my father’s substantial picture collection of my brother and me growing up and it isn’t pretty folks.
This one’s for my Dad:
