Now, my dad has a thing for napkins. He loves to bring his napkin home from the restaurant and use it again if it is not too far gone. Actually, if it is too far gone, he still puts it in his pocket and brings it home to use it again. “A perfectly good napkin, hardly used,” he used to say. Waste not, want not. On the particular occasion when Dad and I were there visiting Grandma, I recall him pulling a used napkin from his top shirt pocket. He unfolded the napkin while grandma and I looked on, and revealed three chocolate candies. Grandma’s eyes got very big as he gave her each chocolate candy, one by one, providing a small simple pleasure in an otherwise unpleasant setting.
To me my dad always was businesslike and to the point, so this display of kindness was beautiful to see. I’ll never forget that moment, as it was a side of my dad I did not see too often.
My parents were both generous in trying to provide good gifts at Christmastime to my siblings and me as we grew up, and one present I remember was the “command cannon.” This toy was supposed to fire cannonballs if you shouted “fire!” into its back. It was way cool to this 7-year-old, and I was excited to open it that Christmas Day. The excitement got more intense as Dad put batteries into it and proceeded to shout “fire!” — with zero results. It was a dud. OK, so he changed the batteries and tried again with the same result. Dad’s face was getting beet red as his blood pressure rose and he exhausted himself bending down to shout “fire!” at the back of this little toy cannon. No cannonball ever fired, so we ordered a new cannon — same result. That became the end of the command cannon, but not the end of my memory of dad shouting “fire!” at the little plastic cannon with red cheeks, gusto and tenacity.
In January 2010, we had a small party at my dad’s favorite restaurant, the Village Inn, to celebrate his 100th birthday. He is not in a nursing home, and gets around pretty well most of the time — with a lot of help from my 93-year-old mother. She helps him see and hear; they have been married for 71 years. At the party, my three brothers, one sister and I told stories we remembered. Although Dad’s presence of mind is often hard to judge, it was clear that he knew we were there to honor and remember him, and he was thankful. Some of those stories were ones I had not heard before, so it was all a treat for me too. Although I did not have chocolates wrapped in a napkin for my dad, I did my best to write a few humorous limericks, honoring his always good sense of humor. Like this:
