The following first appeared as an Editor’s Note in the June 2005 issue of Metro Parent. My sweet father got a big kick out of it.
Dad passed away on May 17, 2008, leaving a permanent hole in our family – and in our hearts. I’m posting this today to honor him, and all of the loving, funny fathers out there.
My dad’s a funny guy – and I mean funny as in “ha ha” not funny as in odd. All of his life he’s enjoyed laughter, his own and that of others, whether it was over one of life’s countless spontaneous moments of mirth or a good solid joke.
Here’s an example: Dad and three friends (all fathers) went fishing one weekend when he was in his 30s. The fish weren’t exactly biting so he and his buddies decided to stop at a roadside stand and buy several large salmon.
One of the group – my dad can’t remember whom – came up with the idea of telling the wives that they caught the fish. This group of jokers then went further and had a local photographer take several shots of them with their “catch.” One of the proud wives brought a photo over to the local newspaper (you can see where this is going …). They published it in the next edition with the headline “Local Men Get Lucky.”
Dad’s still laughing about that one, nearly fifty years later.
Not all of dad’s jokes are so elaborate or staged. In fact, for the most part his humor is the seamless sort that blends into his life and relationships, an underlying premise – an assumption, really – that’s always there. It’s made the lives of his five kids so much richer and, during rough times, simply more bearable. Dad’s always looked at life through that lens of humor – and I feel strongly that it’s due to his comic nature (whether genetic or acquired) that all of us kids have funny bones. I really can’t think of a greater gift that he’s given his children – except, of course, his love.
To be sure not all funny fathers are loving – and not all loving fathers are particularly funny. But it’s a blessing – like an emotional brand of comfort food – when they’re both.
I came across another funny father recently. The book The Poo Bomb: True Tales of Parental Terror by Jeff Vogel (Andrews McMeel, 2005) landed on my desk. The prologue promised that the book contained “everything funny that happened in our daughter Cordelia’s first year of life.” I skimmed through it, expecting hackneyed dirty diaper jokes and projectile vomiting anecdotes. What I found instead was genuinely funny stuff – irreverent, sometimes bordering on obscene, but funny nonetheless. Even the diaper jokes and vomiting scenarios were hilarious. In Vogel’s version of FAQs, he writes: “Q: Why did you use so many dirty words when writing this? A: I do not feel that it is possible to write honestly about parenting without using a lot of obscenities.” See? Funny stuff.
Lest you conclude that Vogel is a lousy father – and this would be a fair assumption after reading some of his passages – it’s clear that he isn’t. He’s just another funny, loving dad. Consider this passage about his infant daughter: “I don’t have what my wife refers to as ‘foo foo’ feelings. No warm fuzzies. But I strongly suspect, if necessary, I’d get hit by a car for her.”
I have no doubt that my dad feels the same way.
My father is almost 90 years old now. And he’s still making us laugh.
But, more importantly, he still makes us feel loved.
By Marie Sherlock, editor of Metro Parent, in loving memory of Gerald Sherlock (1915-2008)
June 21st, 2009 | Category: Uncategorized
