Want me to fix that? (polite pass)

– Random Writings: Column by Rebecca Lindquist –

A day doesn’t go by, that I don’t think about my dad. As fathers were recently feted and celebrated across the globe, it had me thinking about him more than usual, remembering some of the fun and goofy things he would come up with, as well as being sweet and thoughtful, and, although he always had the best of intentions, somehow, things occasionally seemed to go awry.

Dad suffered with abscessed teeth and ended up with a full set of dentures at a fairly young age (he was 36) and, after the surgical procedure, the difference it made was readily evident. He was noticeably less irritated, measurably less tired and in a teasing, jovial mood once again.

His favorite thing to do, sans his original teeth, was tilt his upper plate sideways and partially upside down in his mouth, cross his eyes and throw his arm around one of us girls when we were out in public, and loudly say, “This is my daughter!”

My sister, Bethie, was mortified, every time he did that, but all I did was laugh. Even with that outlandish visage, he was still the most handsome man, made even more so by his eyes twinkling devilishly with merriment.

I especially love the story Mom told of the day she and Dad brought their first-born, my brother, Tim, home from the hospital. While Mom was still in the maternity ward, Dad decided to clean the house thoroughly. One of the items on his list was to sweep and mop the floor to surprise Mom.

Vinyl no-wax flooring wasn’t invented until a year later, so waxing vinyl periodically, helped keep it clean and shiny, and also protected wood flooring. Mom took one step into the kitchen and her feet went flying out from under her. She was definitely surprised all right.

She said the floor was so shiny, you could practically see yourself in it. Dad had applied so much wax, it resembled an ice skating rink. He was so pleased with himself, she didn’t have the heart to chastise him. Though later, I think she secretly stripped the wax build-up off the floor and reapplied a fresh coat, while he was at work.

Dad had a propensity for doing “helpful” things like that. We had a metal drop-leaf table with a brown Formica laminated tabletop. At some point, someone had set a glass on it that left a Kool-Aid ring. One day, leaving Dad to his own devices at home, we left to get groceries while he was napping.

Upon returning home, we discovered that when he woke up, he decided to eradicate the bright red Kool-Aid mark from the table, by using a Scotch-Brite sponge and Comet cleanser (only two of the harshest, most abrasive cleaning agents in existence on the planet). He just beamed from ear-toear, when he showed Mom what he had done.

He said it took a really long time and a bunch of elbow grease, but he had completely gotten rid of the stain…not to mention all the brown grain covering the tabletop, too. He had scrubbed it right down to the white component underneath the laminate. That little old table never fully recovered and carried that “lovingly scrubbed” spot thereafter.

We came home one time, to witness his latest self-appointed project. He had spent considerable time straightening a drinking straw. Krazy Straws were a popular fad in the early ’80s. They were manufactured with multiple loops that wound around, and wove in and out of the circular design.

Dad thought one of us kids had bent the straw and tied it in knots as a joke. The poor little bendy thing was never quite the same after that, but on the bright side, the straw was fairly lengthy straightened out, and one could easily stand inside our house and use it to drink from a bottle of soda sitting inside the neighbors’ refrigerator next door.

Recounting these unforgettable moments still gives me the giggles. Dad good-naturedly withstood our ribbing, because we couldn’t possibly pass up any opportunity to tease him mercilessly about his innocent blunders, over and over again.

The best part is, he laughed harder and louder than the rest of us.