This Father's Day, I thought I would do something original and pen a tribute to my Dad - a guy who brought me to my first ballgame, introduced me to the blues and funk, and taught me the meaning of the word "kaboobies".
(According to urban dictionary.com, the word kaboobies means: "so magnificent and grand that the word boobs is an understatement. they are round and beautiful. also highly bouncey. when exposed you hear all the angels sing. they are sure to make all who witness this lovely sight, shed a tear". The spelling isn't the greatest, but the meaning is definitely clear.)
Besides those key life moments, my Dad has also supplied me with quite a bit of fatherly advice and wisdom. I'll admit, that's probably typical of most dads, but as you can see by the aforementioned high points, I like to think my Dad is a bit unique. Not only has he imparted on me such important mantras as
- Lying only makes things worse.
- Practice situational awareness.
- Republicans take money out of your right pocket and Democrats take money out of your left.
- Drive as fast as you want as long you don't endanger the safety of others (Ten speeding tickets later, I'm kinda re-thinking this one, Dad.)
The first story I remember my Dad telling me was about how his childhood was permanently scarred by a disgusting oral medication. According to my Dad, when he was a wee lad he had the not-so-uncommon habit of chewing on inedible objects. Unfortunately for my Dad however, this common habit caused an uncommon oral infection which could only be cured by the most awful tasting purple paste known to man - and little kids (possibly Gentian violet?). To this day, I have no idea how true this story actually is, but do know my absolute fear of the purple medicine meant my parents never had to worry about me developing the bad habit of gnawing on pen caps, pencils, toothpicks, twigs, and other assorted inedibles.
Another story I remember well involves my Dad, salami, and Baseball Hall of Fame pitcher Juan Marichal. Like most kids growing up in New York City way back in the mid-20th Century, my Dad was frequently treated to a day at the ballpark. During one of these trips, probably in either 1962 or '63, my Dad and several of his friends went to the Polo Grounds to see the hometown New York Mets take on the San Francisco Giants, who left New York several years earlier.
According to my Dad, at some point during the game, he and his friends were leaning over the upper deck railing over looking the Giants bullpen, which was in fair territory in the oddly shaped stadium. Then, kids being kids, and for whatever reason, my Dad decided to toss a piece of salami over the rail and into the Giants bullpen. Down the salami floated, until landing unexpectedly on the foot of the future Hall of Fame hurler. Needless to say, by the time Marichal looked up to identify the culprit, my Dad and his friends had scattered. After hearing that story, and seeing the Ron Artest melee in Detroit a few years ago, I've never had the ambition to toss food or any other object on to a field during a game*. I fear the players and the repercussions far too much.
(I have to make the distinction of "during a game" versus "after a game". After FSU defeated the University of Florida in 2001, I was among the thousands of fans who threw oranges on to the field to celebrate FSU's entrance into the Orange Bowl and the National Championship Game. But that's comparing salami to oranges - totally different.)
The third story my Dad told me that may or may not be true involves a man I mentioned briefly in the Babe Ruth bat post, the "inventor of the bungee cord", Arthur J. Bungee. Although he never went to Yale or Harvard, my Dad is a smart guy. He watches Jeopardy almost every night, reads the newspaper from front to back, and supposedly spent time as a kid reading encyclopedias. So when I asked him who invented the bungee cord, and he answered "Arthur J. Bungee, during World War II, in order to preserve rubber for the war effort", I had to believe him. He even elaborated on the tale by telling me Arthur J. was a U.S. Navy sailor who used his new invention to help slow down planes as they landed on the aircraft carriers. Seemed logical enough for me.
The final lesson that my Dad taught me in my formative years was to stick it to The Man for as long as possible. Especially if you think The Man is screwing you over. Way back in the early 1980s, when New York City was upgrading their extensive subway system, the powers that be in NY City public transportation decided to raise the tolls across the bridges to pay for the underground subway construction. As my Dad didn't ride the subway, he didn't think it was very fair that above-ground travelers had to pay for the transportation benefit of below-ground travelers. So he decided to stand up to The Man and not pay the added fee.
Being that my Dad worked nights, and there weren't many people on the roads when he was traveling from our house on Long Island to his job closer to New York City, he concocted a plan to hand toll booth attendants handfuls of pennies and nickels and then, while the attendant was busy counting the change, he would casually pull through the toll. Legend has it, my Dad grew quite good at this technique. So good, as a matter of fact, that he not only caught the eye of the authorities, but also the news media. Soon his popularity became a double-edged sword.
On one hand, the attention meant my Dad was featured in a write-up in New York Newsday and people were rallying to his cause, including my elementary school librarian, who told me to tell my Dad to keep up the good work. On the other hand, the attention meant the cops knew exactly who my Dad was. Knowing all my Dad's information, it wasn't long until the henchmen of The Man started calling the house and scaring my Mom, who not only had me to worry about, but was also pregnant with my brother. So needless to say, with his family in mind, and after fighting for as long as he could, my Dad gave in to The Man and paid the hated toll.
As you can see, my Dad has taught me a lot of things, from the meaning of kaboobies to when and how to fight the system. I definitely wouldn't be the man I am today without lessons from my Dad.
Happy Father's Day.
