99 Years Ago
His friends and family knew him as a hard-working man; honest to a fault with a quick wit and a great sense of humor.
His was intelligent: an avid reader of World Book Encyclopedias, "how-to" books and novels. A prolific writer. Always doodling with some sort of brain-teaser or mathematical problem.
He served his country with distinction as a decorated veteran in World War II.
He loved music, although he couldn't play an instrument. He rarely sang, but he always knew the words.
He enjoyed a cold beer and good conversation. No one ever remembers him turning down an Old Milwaukee.
He was a grandfather at the age of 53.
Then at the age of 54, he had the shock of his life: he became a father for the third time.
He was born 99 years ago today and I wouldn't be here without him. You see, I was this man's third child.
Even though I am ten years younger than my dad was when my mom broke "the news," I can about imagine how speechless, how utterly flabbergasted they both were when they found out they were starting all over again. After raising two boys, both of them now grown and moved out of the house, and having a new grand daughter... guess what?
Just when you think you've got it all figured out. But that's life, isn't it?
It's hard to believe that it's been 17 years since I've heard his voice. One of our last conversations, when he was still 100% coherent and cancer hadn't taken complete control of his being, was about our favorite topic: football.
Our archrival Packers had just won the Super Bowl, so naturally we were talking about it.
Dad, ever the optimist, was philosophical: "That makes the Vikings look good," he said, "because the Vikings beat them."
It's true: one of the Packers three losses came on September 22, 1996 at the Metrodome. Jake Reed had seven catches for 129 yards and a touchdown in that game.
I had never thought about it like that. That makes the Vikings look good... My dad always had a way of making me feel better about things.
We talked about what the Vikings might do next year. Dad was convinced Brad Johnson was the answer, not Warren Moon. "That Johnson's a good quarterback," he said. "That Moon is too old."
"But I don't think that coach [Denny Green] knows what he's doing," Dad said, shaking his head.
Six years later, Brad Johnson won a Super Bowl with the Buccaneers. You were right, Dad.
Unfortunately, Dad didn't get to see "next year." He passed away less than a month after this last conversation. But I will never forget our talks.
So Happy Birthday, Dad. I will always remember our conversations, you and me sitting in the yard, puffing on Swisher Sweets, solving the world's problems. I so miss coming over for "a visit." I wonder if you miss it as much as me?
His was intelligent: an avid reader of World Book Encyclopedias, "how-to" books and novels. A prolific writer. Always doodling with some sort of brain-teaser or mathematical problem.
He served his country with distinction as a decorated veteran in World War II.
He loved music, although he couldn't play an instrument. He rarely sang, but he always knew the words.
He enjoyed a cold beer and good conversation. No one ever remembers him turning down an Old Milwaukee.
He was a grandfather at the age of 53.
Then at the age of 54, he had the shock of his life: he became a father for the third time.
He was born 99 years ago today and I wouldn't be here without him. You see, I was this man's third child.
Even though I am ten years younger than my dad was when my mom broke "the news," I can about imagine how speechless, how utterly flabbergasted they both were when they found out they were starting all over again. After raising two boys, both of them now grown and moved out of the house, and having a new grand daughter... guess what?
Just when you think you've got it all figured out. But that's life, isn't it?
 |
| Dad giving me a "horsey ride." The date on the photo is 1972, so I was about three years old. Dad is wearing his work clothes. He worked at the creamery making butter for many years. |
 |
| One of my favorite pictures of me and Dad (with "Bootsy"). My face and shirt are covered in spaghetti sauce. Once again, Dad is in his work clothes, having just got home from his job at the creamery. |
 |
| Fast forward six years: May 1978. Dad, me and our beloved "Pepper." Dad wanted to call him "Watergate" after he peed on the kitchen floor as a puppy. Mom answered with a firm veto. |
It's hard to believe that it's been 17 years since I've heard his voice. One of our last conversations, when he was still 100% coherent and cancer hadn't taken complete control of his being, was about our favorite topic: football.
Our archrival Packers had just won the Super Bowl, so naturally we were talking about it.
Dad, ever the optimist, was philosophical: "That makes the Vikings look good," he said, "because the Vikings beat them."
It's true: one of the Packers three losses came on September 22, 1996 at the Metrodome. Jake Reed had seven catches for 129 yards and a touchdown in that game.
I had never thought about it like that. That makes the Vikings look good... My dad always had a way of making me feel better about things.
We talked about what the Vikings might do next year. Dad was convinced Brad Johnson was the answer, not Warren Moon. "That Johnson's a good quarterback," he said. "That Moon is too old."
"But I don't think that coach [Denny Green] knows what he's doing," Dad said, shaking his head.
Six years later, Brad Johnson won a Super Bowl with the Buccaneers. You were right, Dad.
Unfortunately, Dad didn't get to see "next year." He passed away less than a month after this last conversation. But I will never forget our talks.
 |
| My dad and me (yes, that's my real hair) during a visit back home in autumn 1988. My mother took this picture (and all of the above pictures) with her trusty Polaroid Colorpack II. |
 |
| The Boy with his grandma's camera, the very same one that took all of the pictures on this page. This camera alone documented my entire youth. |
So Happy Birthday, Dad. I will always remember our conversations, you and me sitting in the yard, puffing on Swisher Sweets, solving the world's problems. I so miss coming over for "a visit." I wonder if you miss it as much as me?
