Category Archives: Dad – as in “You’re Dad was quite a character!”

Felix Navy-Dod

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Even though my dad was a college educated, well-read person he insisted on mis-pronouncing many words or leaving off the last few letters.  Since his nickname was “The World’s Laziest Man,” I often said he was to lazy to finish an entire word.

As Dad aged, more and more of his friends developed Alk-himers, as he called it.  No amount of discussion on my part could change his mind on it’s pronunciation.  Eventually he’d say “A friend of mine has the-disease-you-say-I-say-wrong-but-I-know-I’m-saying-right.”  And, of course, I knew exactly what he was talking about.

He had a very expensive set of hearing aids that he refused to wear.  So, at restaurants, or pretty much every time he couldn’t hear, he’d look at me – roll his finger around in circles next to his ear, then point from the waitress to me and begin rolling again.  This is usually the universal sign for ‘That Person Is Crazy,’ but in Crazie Language it meant, ‘I can’t hear what she’s saying.  You listen and yell to me what she said.”

My Aunt Kathleen has a couple of interesting words in Crazie Language.  “I’m going to the store to buy some more of that Lilac Pot-Porry and maybe I’ll stop at the market and pick up some tore-tillies.”

I’ve decided to put this blog on hold until after the holidays.  So, as we say in Crazie Language:

Felix Navy-Dod! 

 

Gotta Call a Professional

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“Everybody quit talking, Teresa’s here.”

Those are the first words I heard when I climbed out of my car to join my family at our Labor Day bonfire.  It has finally dawned on them, after 18 weeks of blog posts, that they are the main cast of characters in Crazie Town.  They were, therefore, on their best behavior – which means, no story for this week.

Just kidding, Strangely-Normal Family, I have plenty of old bonfire stories.

This is one of my favorites that my niece Kim shared with me.  She’d asked my dad if she could invite a bunch of friends from college out to the farm to have a big bonfire.

“We’ll take care of everything,” Kim said.  And like all good teenagers, they showed up after dark, with all the necessary supplies – graham crackers, chocolate bars, marshmallows and beer.  After several attempts to ignite a log using a Bic lighter, Kim went inside to ask Dad’s help.

“Just pour some diesel fuel on it,” Dad said, never budging from his rocker in front of the TV.  “It’s in the red can in the shed.”

When she had no luck locating the red can, she returned to the house.  “Can you pleeeeease help us?” Kim asked in her best ‘I’m your only granddaughter’ voice.

“Wrasser, frasser,” he mumbled. (Did anyone else’s parents use those words?)  Dad stood up, re-fastened his jeans and lumbered outside.  He rummaged around inside the shed and found the red can.  It was empty, so he did what every good farmer does – he grabbed a gas can and a hose, walked to his truck and siphoned enough gas to fill the can.  He walked over to the pile of logs and splashed the gasoline in the general direction, picked up the lighter and VOOM!,  lit the fire.

Dad tossed the gas can a few feet from the fire and walked back into the shed.  He came out carrying two quarts of oil, which he proceeded to pour onto the blaze, tossing the empty plastic bottles into the fire.

Kim’s friends sat frozen in place, with the mouths agape and motor-oil-fried marshmallows dangling from their roasting sticks.

“You want something done right, you gotta call a professional,” he said and retired back to the house to finish watching his basketball game.