Schlafzimmergangster

Sometimes I'm lucky enough to get a rare glimpse into the woman mom my was when she was very young.

My mom met my father when she was a nurse in Wiesbaden and he was stationed in the Air Force in Erbenheim. Erbenheim was my mom's home town, and was about an hour train ride from Wiesbaden. They had one date, declared their love for each other, then wrote letters back and forth until they decided to marry.

This is an excerpt from one of those letters.




I can't tell from the letters what happened on their previous date that she references at the top. And it breaks my heart that I can't ask her.

But I will always chuckle when I see that my mom called my dad her "bedroom gangster".

Dad Stories

My aunt posted this lovely response to the video I posted of my dad singing Hound Dog. This is so like him, and it's heartwarming to know that the video wasn't of him singing some unknown version of the song, but his own application of the lyrics:

While Kenny was working at Hawkins Petroleum Equipment Co., every now and then when everything was quiet in the office, he would cut loose with the actual rendition of "Hounddog", about as loud as he could. It would certainly wake us all up! Then one day he was experimenting and found that the words to "Hounddog" would lend themselves to several familiar gospel tunes. I think the only tune that he couldn't get to work with the "Hounddog" words was "Amazing Grace". Fortunately. That's my story for today.

My favorite part of this is her the "Fortunately." I love my family.

Just Another Day

This morning I was sitting in my office producing a report that I update each week. As I changed the date, I was hit with the reminder that my dad's birthday is tomorrow.

October 19. Tomorrow. Dad's birthday. 

The best way I can think to describe what happened in that instant is that the reminder somehow physically and mentally knocked the wind out of me. I felt like I'd just taken a hard fall. I couldn't inhale or exhale. Time just stopped for a minute.

October 19.

I don't think I actually realized that I had stopped breathing until I finally heard myself gasp a bit for that next breath. I had to go into a meeting, so I told myself it was just another day, shoved it back down, and went on with my work.

~~~

I don't understand why it happened so suddenly. For the last week I've been informing people of an October 19 deadline, creating meetings for Wednesday, and discussing timelines. It just hadn't occurred to me yet. Now, though, even typing it hurts.

~~~

My dad and I didn't talk all that much, but October 19 was different. Even if we were really upset with one another or our lives were so busy we couldn't make time, I always called him on his birthday.

My dad would have been 73 tomorrow. I would have called him and asked him what he did for his birthday. Most likely he would have just had a nice lunch at home and spent time on the farm - like any other day. I'd tell him to make sure and treat himself to something special, and he'd tell me that my brother and sister called and pass along updates. After a pause in the conversation he'd slowly say, "Well, I reckon I better get off here," and we'd end the call with assurances that we'd keep in better touch.  For a few days after the call, we'd text each other quite a bit. The quick hellos and silly dad jokes would come less frequently as my response time increased over the following week or two. I'd let it slide knowing that we'd have another call on Thanksgiving for sure. I would feel a little badly that we didn't talk more, but I'd get wrapped up in my life and move on.

But tomorrow we won't do that. We can't do that. Tomorrow is October 19, and for the first time in my life that day will pass without my talking with him. 

I'm trying to tell myself it's just another day. It is, ultimately. 

And yet, looking at that date, 

October 19

I just can't breathe.