- Joined
- Nov 2, 2012
- Messages
- 7,710
- Points
- 113
Fat Dad
When I was seven, we drove to my cousin’s for dinner and to show off Fat Dad’s new car, a 1960 Ford Fairlane. I fell asleep on the backseat; my folks left me sleeping. When I woke up, I stumbled out of the car and headed for the porch.
Woof. OWWWOOO. I was surrounded by a pack of black-and-tan hunting hounds. My heart jumped. Then so did I - to the trunk and then the roof of that new car.
I was frozen like a treed raccoon. I was bawling and screaming. The hounds were circling and howling. An ugly one-eyed dog clawed and scratched its way onto the trunk, its yellow teeth snapping and foaming. I was standing in water—it was mine. He screeched and slipped on the glass when I heard—SON! I dove at the voice—to be caught in Fat Dad’s arms. Safety was a flannel shirt that smelled of cherry tobacco—and a bellow that scattered hounds like cottonseed on the wind.
The next morning I saw Fat Dad trying to buff the scratches out of his new car. I said, “Fat Dad, I’m sorry you had to rescue me.” He scooped me up in his big arms and said, “Son, in life sometimes you’re the catcher, sometimes you’re the caught. When you love somebody, their trouble is your trouble.” The lesson was love.
Fat Dad was my Daddy. That loving nickname, “Fat Dad,” has been handed down through four generations to the men in my family.
When I was sixteen, Fat Dad bought me a 1963 Volkswagen Beetle—wide tires, chrome wheels. I was driving one sunny afternoon listening to Simon and Garfunkle on the eight track, singing “Cecelia, you’re breaking my heart,” when a humungous horsefly shot through the window, in my mouth and down my throat. It came back up, lodged in my right nostril. What would you do with a horsefly buzzing in your nose; taking bites the size of Texas? I steered with my knees—tried to fire that bug from my nose.
The car shot to the left. Then catapulted to the right. Chopped down Morison’s fence. Sailing across their yard—right at Mossburger’s fountain where Mary Poppins stood—pouring water from a can. I hit that fountain so hard I launched it like Sputnik. Mary Poppins hovered briefly, then went down faster than a spoon full of sugar. The Morisons and the Mossburgers were a bit excited. Not Fat Dad. He rode in like the cavalry—made peace with the neighbors.
I sat on a rock—in shock. As Fat Dad put his arm around me, I burst into tears. “Shhhh. We can fix the fence. I’ll buy another fountain. We can even replace that old car. But I could never replace you. Besides the town will be talking about this for weeks!” The lesson was love.
Teenage boys don’t always think about cars. Sometimes they think about girls. Fat Dad overheard me and my buddies bragging about our adventures with women! Not being the shy type he joined right in. Listened for a while, then like ice water thrown on you in a hot shower said, “Boys, real men love for a lifetime--not for a moment.” Ruined the whole conversation!
Fat Dad loved my Mama. When they were walking in the garden, or sitting on the sofa, their hands always seemed to find each other. When Mama would sit in her chair watching TV, Fat Dad would come up behind her, wrap his strong arms around her, rest his chin on her shoulder and kiss her on the cheek.
Ooh! As a teenager, I couldn’t believe old people carried on like that.
But Fat Dad’s love for my Mama was more than romance. When Mama battled the cancer that eventually took her life—Fat Dad—like a good Shepherd caring for a wounded lamb fed, bathed, read and sang to her. When my Mama’s sunset fell and turned to starlight, Fat Dad held her close. He whispered words of love and faith to calm her fears.
Fat Dad’s love for my Mama was a gift to my wife and children, because watching him I learned to love them for a lifetime. The lesson - love.
This year I had my first Father’s Day without Fat Dad. I miss him. But the lessons he taught me will last a lifetime. When you love, sometimes you’re the catcher; sometimes you’re the caught. When there is trouble, love rushes in, wraps its strong arms around you. Real men—well—they love for a lifetime, not for a moment.
The lesson is love, and today my heart overflows when my children call me FAT DAD!
When I was seven, we drove to my cousin’s for dinner and to show off Fat Dad’s new car, a 1960 Ford Fairlane. I fell asleep on the backseat; my folks left me sleeping. When I woke up, I stumbled out of the car and headed for the porch.
Woof. OWWWOOO. I was surrounded by a pack of black-and-tan hunting hounds. My heart jumped. Then so did I - to the trunk and then the roof of that new car.
I was frozen like a treed raccoon. I was bawling and screaming. The hounds were circling and howling. An ugly one-eyed dog clawed and scratched its way onto the trunk, its yellow teeth snapping and foaming. I was standing in water—it was mine. He screeched and slipped on the glass when I heard—SON! I dove at the voice—to be caught in Fat Dad’s arms. Safety was a flannel shirt that smelled of cherry tobacco—and a bellow that scattered hounds like cottonseed on the wind.
The next morning I saw Fat Dad trying to buff the scratches out of his new car. I said, “Fat Dad, I’m sorry you had to rescue me.” He scooped me up in his big arms and said, “Son, in life sometimes you’re the catcher, sometimes you’re the caught. When you love somebody, their trouble is your trouble.” The lesson was love.
Fat Dad was my Daddy. That loving nickname, “Fat Dad,” has been handed down through four generations to the men in my family.
When I was sixteen, Fat Dad bought me a 1963 Volkswagen Beetle—wide tires, chrome wheels. I was driving one sunny afternoon listening to Simon and Garfunkle on the eight track, singing “Cecelia, you’re breaking my heart,” when a humungous horsefly shot through the window, in my mouth and down my throat. It came back up, lodged in my right nostril. What would you do with a horsefly buzzing in your nose; taking bites the size of Texas? I steered with my knees—tried to fire that bug from my nose.
The car shot to the left. Then catapulted to the right. Chopped down Morison’s fence. Sailing across their yard—right at Mossburger’s fountain where Mary Poppins stood—pouring water from a can. I hit that fountain so hard I launched it like Sputnik. Mary Poppins hovered briefly, then went down faster than a spoon full of sugar. The Morisons and the Mossburgers were a bit excited. Not Fat Dad. He rode in like the cavalry—made peace with the neighbors.
I sat on a rock—in shock. As Fat Dad put his arm around me, I burst into tears. “Shhhh. We can fix the fence. I’ll buy another fountain. We can even replace that old car. But I could never replace you. Besides the town will be talking about this for weeks!” The lesson was love.
Teenage boys don’t always think about cars. Sometimes they think about girls. Fat Dad overheard me and my buddies bragging about our adventures with women! Not being the shy type he joined right in. Listened for a while, then like ice water thrown on you in a hot shower said, “Boys, real men love for a lifetime--not for a moment.” Ruined the whole conversation!
Fat Dad loved my Mama. When they were walking in the garden, or sitting on the sofa, their hands always seemed to find each other. When Mama would sit in her chair watching TV, Fat Dad would come up behind her, wrap his strong arms around her, rest his chin on her shoulder and kiss her on the cheek.
Ooh! As a teenager, I couldn’t believe old people carried on like that.
But Fat Dad’s love for my Mama was more than romance. When Mama battled the cancer that eventually took her life—Fat Dad—like a good Shepherd caring for a wounded lamb fed, bathed, read and sang to her. When my Mama’s sunset fell and turned to starlight, Fat Dad held her close. He whispered words of love and faith to calm her fears.
Fat Dad’s love for my Mama was a gift to my wife and children, because watching him I learned to love them for a lifetime. The lesson - love.
This year I had my first Father’s Day without Fat Dad. I miss him. But the lessons he taught me will last a lifetime. When you love, sometimes you’re the catcher; sometimes you’re the caught. When there is trouble, love rushes in, wraps its strong arms around you. Real men—well—they love for a lifetime, not for a moment.
The lesson is love, and today my heart overflows when my children call me FAT DAD!
