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My mind often wanders in the summer as I attempt to relax in a hammock in the shade under a giant oak. I’m often amazed at the span of subjects that fill my cranium at one time.
Because this is the month for Father’s Day, I’ve been especially remembering my dad, who passed away three years ago. Thoughts of him always bring a smile and often a song to my lips, both of which last the whole day.
My dad was a happy-go-lucky guy with huge charisma and a bigger heart. After he retired, he was concerned about just a few things: ice cubes, toilet paper, and directions (as in road travel).
Often when he woke up at his usual 4 a.m. to perk his morning brew, he would make about a dozen trays of ice cubes so that just in case a party broke out, he’d be prepared.
I remember a July barbecue with almost two-dozen guests, and knowing his ice cube habit, no one brought a bag of ice. Of course, that whole week he had been so preoccupied with finding toilet paper on sale that he forgot to make ice cubes, and everyone sipped warm lemonade.
His toilet paper peccadillo involved finding the biggest multipack of toilet paper ever created and buying it at the cheapest price. On any given day, you could open a closet and every roll would fall on your head.
I think that started after one long-ago Halloween when my friends and I decided to wrap all our neighbors’ cars in toilet paper, and so our cupboard was bare. The next day he made me go out, unwrap all the cars, and save all the toilet paper in big paper bags. We had a bonfire that spring.
As for directions to anywhere, my dad had total recall. Unfortunately, though, he’d remember markers like a gas station painted lime green, a drive-in movie theater that served great French fries, or two dead trees.
