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Posts Tagged ‘birthday’

September Fifteenth

Today is September fifteenth and I am reminded that we used to eat fried chicken gizzards on Sunday nights . Normally the house smelled like popcorn at night, but occasionally, on Sundays, it was about gizzards. Dad would fry them up. I was convinced they were a delicacy.

It is September fifteenth, this is Dad’s birthday. I am reminded of a day when he came home talking about Johnny Cash and a song he had heard on the radio. He was cracking himself up while talking about “A Boy Named Sue.” Dad loved Johnny Cash. Occasionally, without warning, he would say something like “Hello, my name is Johnny Cash.” He liked picking up a guitar and playing the only lick he knew, that part of Orange Blossom Special where the lyrics went “I don’t care if I do-die-do-die-do-die-do…”

It is Dad’s birthday and I am reminded how he liked to stuff the grandchildren into the mailbox so he could photograph them looking like they were just delivered by the U. S. Postal Service. He never stuffed me into a mailbox but he did once put me under the water and pull me out again in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Spirit.

Today is Dad’s eightieth birthday. I suspect if he were here he would probably be on the deck at Teaberry Lane with a cup of coffee and watching the birdfeeders. I suspect he would have his camera in his hand and a bb gun at his side. He would be taking pictures of anything that moved. If nothing was moving, I suspect he would have photographed his cup of coffee. He once took a picture of a plane flying overhead with his zoom lens and was very pleased that you could see the pilot. I suspect if things were real slow he would lay the bb gun across his lap and act as if he was keeping some outlaw off the property.

On his birthday he sometimes went for a bike ride just to say he did it. I suppose he would take credit for teaching me to ride a bike. He bought me a bike. I remember him being there while I was trying to ride. I remember his advice sounding something like “if you want to learn to ride a bike you have to get on it.”

He did teach me to bait a hook and cast it into the lake. I remember on one of those trips he was bloodied by a catfish. It prompted me to be very careful when removing a catfish from the hook. My earliest hunting memory included Dad shooting a squirrel and giving it to my uncle Gale who claimed he would make soup out of it. I remember days when he would throw a ball high into the air and tell me to catch it. I remember when we went out at night and threw a ball into the air just to watch the bats swoop at it. Dad was the kind of guy that would stop the car to pick up a turtle alongside the road. I am pretty sure I did not learn my letters at school but from Dad.

Dad would salt his tomatoes and salt his cantaloupe. I remember how excited he became when there was Maple Walnut or Butter Pecan ice cream in the house. Probably the reason I like Maple Walnut and Butter Pecan ice cream. Dad enjoyed making a breading for frying things. One day when talking about frying fish and green tomatoes and mushrooms and chicken gizzards, I remember telling him I was raised to think chicken gizzards were a delicacy. He assured me they were.

Happy Birthday Dad!

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Happy Birthday

There has been an osprey hanging around at Wildwood Lake. It has attracted a lot of photographers. It’s the kind of thing Dad would have liked. Today is Dad’s birthday. We have often went out to eat to celebrate birthdays and we often would wind up at the Olive Garden for Dad’s. Dad would always order spaghetti and meatballs. I am not sure if we ever liked the Olive garden or if we liked hearing Dad order his food. Spaghetti please, sauce on the side. Meatballs, also on the side. Soup or salad? Salad please, dressing on the side. Sometimes we would add. Garlic bread please, garlic on the side.

I will miss this. I will miss the way he would record conversations and play them back for people later. (True story, if you have spent time with Dad, there may be a recording of you lying around somewhere). I will miss the story about slicing fresh pineapples in the field with his knife while stationed in Hawaii. (This is actually a story protesting the taste of canned pineapple). I will miss him thumping his chest and saying “170 lbs., same as when I got out of the Marine Corp.” (A story we have not heard him tell in recent years). I will miss the story about lassoing a groundhog. (I am still not sure this is a true story). I will miss the way he tried to act like he didn’t want us to tell how he lost his teeth while swimming in Dominica. (This is a true story).

I think I might stop by Wildwood Lake today and look for the osprey. And then I might just go out to eat spaghetti. Maybe I should order my sauce on the side.

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