Getting down, Dad
Inspired by this post.
This started as a comment, but so much came to mind I wanted to expand.
My dad had the most lovely, all encompassing belly laugh and bright twinkling blue eyes. You couldn’t help but feel sunshine pour into the room when he was particularly tickled by something.
His bottom two front teeth never came in and he was very self conscious about the two tiny baby teeth that would peek out of his mouth if he smiled too big. He always looks stern in posed photos, but it was all to hide the teeth.
Whenever he cooked he made enough to feed ten armies, even when he only needed to feed himself and my sister. There was no halving recipes for him.
He had a special dimple on one cheek. When he was a young man, a motor from a boat fell on him, although I can’t remember the exact circumstances. I just loved that dimple.
I never saw him without a beard. Although his hair never turned gray or fell out, his beard was salt and pepper and got whiter with age.
He was a competent ballroom dancer. I wish now that I could have kept up.
He had a lingering distaste for kimchee from his tour of duty in Korea. Every year his sister would buy him a jar and for a year, we would live with an untouched jar of kimchee in our fridge until the next Christmas brought its replacement.
Thanks to his excellent green thumb, I have childhood memories of running through corn fields and eating fresh fruits and vegetables off the plants in our back yard.
He loved a good story about his girls and when he found one that seemed to be a hit, he would perfect it and retell it every chance he got. In my story, he caught me on top of the upright piano in the famly room and asked me what I was doing. My reply, at the tender age of 3, was “Getting down, Dad.” He had to make a hasty retreat to the basement where he laughed until he cried before coming back to scold me. Every time he told this story, he would repeat “Getting down, Dad” as if it were the cleverest thing he’d ever heard and I would secretly beam with pride that I could make him laugh, even when I was the horrible age of 14 and pretending to be mortified.
We had a standing phone date on Sundays while I was away during high school and college. This made for some awkward conversations when he started calling my college dorm room at 6am because “it was the only time he’d be sure to catch me in my room.” If my roommate answered, he always introduced himself by his full name. “This is Gilbert Lasher. I’m calling for Jessica Lasher.” She always told me I could tell him to just say “This is Jess’ dad” but you can’t teach an old dog new tricks sometimes.
It will be six years this week since he passed away. In some respects it seems like it happened 20 years ago. In others, just yesterday. I still miss him every day. I think he’d be pretty pleased with how things have turned out.
2 comments June 13th, 2008