You've Gotta Have Heart

Recently written and published as part of The Blog Exchange, this month. I post this piece again in honor of my Father on Father's Day, and for his ease in finding it, right here on the front page of my blog!

"My Pa can light my room at night
With just his being near
And make a fearful dream all right
By grinning ear to ear...

When I was a little girl, and would wake with a nightmare start, tears streaming and little shoulders shaking, my dad would walk me through a middle-of-the-night ritual. It always began with a story about the "little man" who lived inside my head, in a neighborhood called The Saab Konchus. While I slumbered the night away, this little man, who was inconceivably, unbelievably bored, would wander through the corridors of my brain kicking open doors as he passed them. Behind the doors is where my thoughts and ideas were stored. Most of the time, when the doors were opened, lovely thoughts fluttered out; flowers and butterflies and dancing faerie kind of ideas. However, sometimes, when little kicking man popped a door open, behind it would be scary things. Ugly things. Bad things. Things from which NIGHTMARES are made. The doors would fly open and the stuff would fly out. That is when I would wake up crying. And my dad would be there, always, ready to sprinkle "magic whiffle dust" into my ears. Whiffle dust had the power to make the door close on the bad things, and I could sleep again without fear. I loved whiffle dust being sprinkled in my ears. I still believe I could actually feel its enchantment working as it settled inside my brain. I remember its very real effects even though whiffle dust itself is an unseen substance without texture, weight or smell. Magic is what it was, pure and simple daddy magic.

My Pa can do most anything
He sets his mind to do
He'd even move a mountain
If he really wanted to...

When I was 20 years old, residing and adventuring a long way from home, I got a post-card from my parents who were traveling in Texas at the time. It was a short announcement that they were considering leaving Utah and moving to that "whole 'nother country" down south. I could not have been more shocked than if they had told me the planet Mars had just started a subdivision and they had decided to purchase a spec house. Texas? But we were lifetime UTAHNS! What in the world was my pop thinking?

He swears by the fact, that it was not thought at all which led them to Texas. Rather it was feeling. Logically, it made no sense, since they didn't have a job, a home, or even prospects in Texas. However, as he tells it, he could not have felt more called to make the move. Therefore, they did. After a near lifetime in the Beehive State, where they had practically completed raising six kids, they sold the businesses, packed their possessions and relocated in the Lone Star State.
It was not a seamless transition but certainly, it was a worthwhile change, and my dad is the perfect model for being willing to toss it all in and voyage into something new. Yet, you may wonder where I got the gumption to move across the ocean with my husband and our kids.

My Pa can sweeten up a day
That clouds and rain make gray...

Winter in The Netherlands is one of the hardest things I have ever had to face. The heavy skies, the relentless rain and the lack of sunshine really take a toll on my psyche. In the midst of the long season this year, I confided to my dad that I was really struggling with it all. I just could not feel happy. And I was frightened. This time around, he did not produce whiffle dust to sprinkle in my ears, but something nearly as magical. In short order after our initial conversation a package arrived at my house. A light therapy box designed and marketed to help folks like me who suffer from SAD, or the winter blues if you will. It is a daily dose of sunshine in a convenient portable box. Truly, it is brilliant— all puns intended— and once again, I can credit my dad with giving me light.

And tell me funny stories
That will chase the clouds away...

The six of us grew up on my dad's stories. Imaginative adventures, starring us, the Mighty Six who, as ordinary children most of the time had the power to slip into our superhero selves at a moment's notice, just so we could save the world. Yes indeed, Rocket Man, Jet Mouse, Flash Girl, Mighty Min, Runnin' Red, and Jumpin' John could handle any situation no matter the circumstance and notwithstanding the danger. If anyone needed help, why, we were ready. We six were champions of humanity in extraordinary form!

A repeated favorite is the story he tells, complete with an affected speech pattern--his tongue stuck inside his lower lip as he speaks--about his "pet" tiger named Herbert. Oh, how I wish I could videoblog it at this very moment. I promise you would not be able to stop chortling.
This legendary tale has now reached the next generation of listeners and at every family gathering there are repeated requests for Grandpa to “puh-leeeeeaaaaze tell the Herbert story?”. It doesn't matter that we all know the punch line. The entire clan will sit stock still in rapt attention at his feet as he conveys the naughtiness of his (imaginary) pet tiger.

My Pa's the only one on Earth I can tell my troubles to
His arms are house and home to me
His face a pretty poem to me...

Pardon the repeat of a story told once already on my blog. However, no tribute to my dad would be complete without this one.
We were living in Salt Lake City, Utah and it was a summer storm. I remember grand flashes of light and tremendous rolls of thunder shocking and blasting through the sky. I was terrified. I remember trembling and howling. Big shoulder heaving sobs escaped me as I searched to find a spot where I could hide away from the chaos of the storm. My best option for refuge was to wrap myself into the full-length drapes hanging at the windows in the living room. Possibly, if I couldn’t see the lightning, I wouldn’t hear the thunder. Perhaps then, I might feel safe. That is where I was when my daddy found me; curled up and shaking, tear streaks running across my cheeks. He pulled me from my hiding place and asked me about my troubles. I am sure that what poured forth from my five-year-old self was succinct and poetic as I explained the sheer terror I was feeling on account of Mother Nature’s outdoor demonstration. I cannot recount the actual conversation we shared but I can vividly recall the feelings of the day. My dad and I sat together there in the living room; my arms wrapped around his neck, and watched the storm. I learned that day about measuring the distance of lightning by counting the seconds between the strike and the thunderclap. Counting with him was a good distraction from the tears, still perched at the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall. I am sure we sat there counting for a good long time, or at least 15 minutes. Then, when the lighting and thunder show had ceased, and the rain was falling in earnest, my dad and I took a walk. A long walk in the rain together, hands joined. We walked in the rain, and we talked in the rain. Timid at first and then braver as the journey continued, I remember being amazed by just almost everything I saw. I remember getting wet—very wet—as in drenched and dripping with rainwater. It was marvelous. I do wish I could call up any actual words he said to me, as I have no doubts that they were perfect and profound as he talked to me about rain and life, teaching me things it would take me decades to fully understand. All I know is I felt strong and brave walking with my dad that day and I was no longer afraid. Not of the rain. Not of anything.

My Pa's the finest friend I ever knew
I only wish that you could know him too."*

Happy Father's Day Daddy. My heart still belongs to you.

*Barbra Streisand - My Pa
Lyrics by M. Leonard & H. Martin

Plaid for my Dad

I am Karianna of the Karianna Spectrum, a ClubMom blog dealing with autistic spectrum disorders; and of Kari’s Couch, a personal blog dealing with whatever is on my mind.

Looking for Jenn? She is hanging out on my (PLAID) couch! I am so happy to have had the time to visit Something to Say: About Life in the Netherlands.
Thank you to Jenn in Holland for allowing me to borrow her blog today!
Click here to check out the other exchange entries this month, and to get more info on the blog exchange.

When I was little, my dad wrote me little notes. I wrote him back. This was so I could practice reading and writing. He also gave me a couple sips of beer so that the mystery of what it might taste like would be gone. I had no urge to drink, except for that inopportune moment at age four or so when I popped open a Coors in front of a babysitter because I was thirsty. (My dad has subsequently graduated from Coors to much better brews, whew!)

He built me a customized dollhouse, even making little pieces of food for the refrigerator out of clay. He constructed a baby doll cradle with my name on it. He painted a rainbow on one side of my room.

When my dad moved from one law firm to another, I worried that something bad would happen to him. “What if they hired him to kill him the first day?” I wondered to my mom. Of course, that didn’t happen. Who knows about attorneys, right? But these were kind people for whom my dad worked for awhile.

Still, when he had his appendix taken out, I thought that rather than visiting him in the hospital, we were there to pick out a new daddy. But then when I went to the hospital for my various surgeries, I knew he’d be there when I woke up.

I started stealing his clothes early. He had some thin rubber galoshes that I loved placing over my own shoes. The texture was magnificent. And his leather-soled slipper-socks were so soft that I later got myself a pair of the same brand that actually fit.

During high school, I stole his sweaters on cold mornings. Sure, they were large, but bulky was in style those days! And then I stole a few off to college as well. I have about four or five in my closet right now.

When we moved into our current home, my dad re-upholstered an old sofa and piano bench. He sewed pillows to match and constructed a sitting area out of an old crib.

My dad has been very important in getting our house ready to sell, and I cannot thank him enough.

Of course, since we’re trying to stay out of the house to keep it clean, we’ve been hanging out at my parents’ house. It was rather chilly the other day, so I raided his closet. If anyone wonders where I got my affinity for plaid, they now know the answer!

Happy (Early) Father’s Day, Plaid-Dad!

You have done more than I can ever thank you for.