Fodegraphing

Fodegraphing

Friday, November 5, 2010

Mom and dad --- you deserved better

It's been a year since my family gathered in Huron for my mom's funeral. Needless to say, it was a tough day, and it's been a tough year. Since everyone seems to think I take after mom, they would naturally feel I have taken it hardest.

Time does dull the wounds, but it never really takes them away. It's sort of a bad collection of memories to go with the good ones. In my 58 years, I have accomplished many things, but one thing I never thought I would successfully deal with would be the death of loves ones like parents, grandparents, mothers, nephews, uncles and aunts. I dwell on these things more than most, and it doesn't help that I tend to cry at a good card trick! In other words, I'm a pretty soft touch.

I think it can safely say that for the most part I drove my parents crazy. My three siblings didn't --- at least to my knowledge --- take the chances that I did, nor did they give them as many challenges. I wasn't much of a partier in high school, but my mom pretty much had these words on her lips for the past 30 years: "You made up for lost time." She may have been referring specifically to a party I threw for my baseball-playing friends in the summer of 1970, after we had graduated. One of my friends, while carrying a beer from upstairs to downstairs, tumbled down the stairs --- and didn't spill a drop of beer on my mother's new carpet. But despite the whirlwind job of cleaning the house that we did, I was busted when mom found a full beer can under the couch, of all places.

Dad's favorite quote to me seemed to be, to my memory: "What the heck were you thinking?" He would then take a deep breath and head for the garage, where he went when we wanted to be alone. (In later years, when he decided to start the barbecue grill in the basement and nearly asphixiated everyone, I got my revenge: "Dad ... what were you thinking?") I am quite sure he never said, "What were you thinking" to anyone else but me. He had been raised as a tough German and just wasn't used to running into someone as idiotic as I could be. I would sometimes remind him that at least I wore my four-buckle overshoes through high school, when my older brother refused. Largely, however, I was the one who pushed. I was the one who broke into the wine while I was in junior high and couldn't figure out why I was so sick. I bought too many clothes, joined the Columbia Record Club when I was still in junior high --- forcing him to send the records back --- and pulled for the Yankees. I listened to some really weird music to him and tucked in my sweaters. When I bought those colored bell-bottoms, he just about lost it.

Mom seemed to be nowhere to be found when dad was trying to figure me out. I do remember her walking away from me counting to 10, for some reason.

I wouldn't be surprised if my younger brother and sister didn't have to answer for me as they made their less tumultuous way through school. I can just hear their teachers, "Ah yes, I remember HIM well." Until then, our name was held in high regard in the community. Then I came along and my siblings had to restore the good name. My parents were probably sitting up at night, wondering what life was going to be like once I had left home. That finally happened in the early 1970s, when I went away to the Army. But when I was smashed up in an accident in 1974, it was my parents who pulled me through. Dad even built a special bed for me to stay on during my recuperation for a broken neck, and I think the event changed all of us. I still had a lot of growing up to do, but mom and dad showed that, despite all my issues and mistakes, they would still be there to help, and that I had a place to stay. Through the pain I suffered then and now, I believe the pain they suffered --- not knowing whether I would survive or not for several hours --- was much worse.

I miss them. Our growing up days were filled with fun (in addition to my missteps). My siblings and I still chuckle about our next-door neighbor, who was known to throw rocks at us and swear at us under his breath as he scampered from his house to his garage. A bit of a wingnut before wingnuts were invented! We took some eventful trips, and especially had great holiday get-togethers. We had fun. Mom's last few years were filled with pain and sorrow, as she battled cancer. It has been very different not having her there to call, or to talk to. But life seems to be about transitions. It has taken me a long time to figure that out.

It's a Friday mish-mash!!

It's been a few days, but they have been tumultuous ones. For one thing, the people have spoken, in the Nov. 2 election. It's refreshing to know that people can recognize when the train has left the tracks, so to speak.

Unfortunately, only a part of that is the people in office. The news media continues to be a huge head-shaker, and I can only hope that the next generation of journalism will wrestle back integrity lost by the current group of pretenders. It's not an impossibility, but it will be an uphill climb. It will take a concerted effort to remove incompetent "reporters" and others who have done seemingly irreparable damage to the Fourth Estate, and who have lost the faith of perhaps, oh, 150 million readers or so. This will probably stand as the most "shoot myself in the foot" moment in history!!

Rescuing media is not the issue. Repairing the media is the issue. My wonderful daughter Tonya, who is a student at the University of Minnesota, called a few days ago to report that her journalism courses at the "U" are wonderful. I believe her, because I carefully mentored her on what to expect. If certain "catch phrases" or other biases were found, I told her, report them to me. But she lauds her professors, saying they are professional, aware of the bias (not alleged) issues that are ruining the journalism profession. It has to be an uphill battle for professors who undertake this mission, in the face of a populous which is turning away from "mainstream" reporting of any type. I give them credit and would like to talk with them sometime. In the meantime, I am hoping my daughter and others like her can be the wonderful flowers who will save us from the wretched work a few incompetents have perpetuated.

Okay, enough about that. I could go on all day.

Once that issue is corrected, the country must go to work to correct (and protect) its election process. No more ballots found in car trunks in Minnesota. No more allegations of improprieties anywhere, whether they be in small-town America or in Las Vegas. If this country loses faith in its election process, then we're really in trouble. Specifically, Minnesota must get it together!!! Isn't that Minnesota nice?

I have enjoyed getting involved in Facebook, something 58-year-olds like me never envisioned would happen. I have reconnected with a couple friends, like Anne in the Twin Cities. At this age, especially men don't cultivate friendships like they used to. We kind of shuffle around with our wives, mumbling once in awhile (I should probably speak for myself). But talking to someone you haven't seen in 35 years is pretty special and I have appreciated visiting with Anne every now and then. We have to understand that life changes a lot in 40 years and people have new interests. I should say I have struck out on several other attempts to contact old friends from college, high school or Army, leading me to believe that the old saying, "You can't go back" is true. Can I help it if I'm a nostalgic person? I like to remember those old times, like the time my mom and dad were tenting in the back yard on a hot summer night. Who should appear in the wee hours of this night than a few of my State Highway Department co-workers, who were busy spreading mustard on my old woodie station wagon when dad burst out of the tent, yelling at them. He raced down the alley after them in his underwear as they tore off in their car.

We --- my dad as well as my co-workers --- laughed about that for years.

We had some enjoyable experiences "flipping the loop" in Huron, S.D., where we grew up. On one rainy night, my friend Mike and I had just passed Zesto when my windshield wipers stuck. He used his fist to punch the inside of the windshield, hoping to jar the wipers loose. A few hours later, I had to explain how the windshield had been shattered. Mike wasn't along when Verdayne and I did our "loop-flipping" into the early morning hours on a snowy night (imagine the gas we wasted!!??). We finally ran out of gas in his "Blue Goose" and we had to walk at least a mile in freezing temperatures and snow. We made it to my house, where we ate warm soup and tried to figure out how to get the blood back into Verdayne's nose. I won't even go into the night we tore the car door off by accidentally hooking it on a telephone pole. "Hope your dad isn't too made," we all blurted out to Verdayne as we left him to explain to his father how THAT had happened.

Life was good. It has me chuckling all over again.