My dad always said a lot of things over the course of his
life that made you think he was either full of himself, full of crap or full of
wisdom. But rarely did you ever forget
what he said. I like to refer to these recitations as “Kirk-isms”
because he had one for almost everything for which you could think. Not a dinner was served without some sort of
limerick accompanying our meal. “A knife,
a fork, a bottle and a cork. And that is
how you spell New York. Can you pass the
potatoes?” The
funny thing was, our family heard these lines so often, we thought this was
just normal conversation and the Kirk-isms became a part of our lives. So much so, that not only could my brothers
and I recite all his eccentric poems and sayings, our children were able to
chime in right along with us the lines from John Whittier’s poem about Barbara
Frietche, “Shoot, if you must, this old
gray head, But spare your country’s flag,” she said. With
humor, I laugh now and ask WHY? My dad
certainly was not the scholarly or literary type. I mean, we did keep a sport illustrated
magazine next to the toilet, and I never saw him read a book so that’s about as
literary as he got. SO, just where did he
come up with this stuff?
Our family consisted of four active and highly energetic children. One girl, three boys in that order. As most siblings do, we often would be working out our differences in full MMA style and sucking up all the air in our little family room when our dad would walk in and simply say, “Stop it or I’ll knock you into the middle of next week.” Now we had no clue how one got into the middle of next week, but whatever the wrangle was about came to an immediate halt as some Kirk-isms were meant to be respected.
My dad was an only child who lived a really fun and privileged life but never wanted to grow up, thus my brothers and I benefited from snowmobiles, motorcycles, mini-bikes, fishing, camping, sports, and laughter. He loved a great time, sang “I Love a Parade” at every party, enjoyed a few good beers, and even better he may have belched a bit and teasingly apologize saying, “Oops, I didn’t mean to get that all over you”—all the while wiping your arm. And after a fun night, he never wanted a party or a visit to end. But good-byes always needed to be said, and when it all done, he simply sang, “The Party’s Over”.
I know that my dad was a regular kind of guy. Often overhearing him talk about the good ‘ol days with friends, we knew he got into his share of mischief growing up. He’d laugh braggadociously and tell the story of when he “borrowed” his parents’ car when he was 12 and drove to the bowling alley. It didn’t turn out well for him, but he remembered it with glee. Or the time he followed a guy in a extremely slow moving car moving but 10 miles per hour down the Parkway (which was one lane each way at the time), through the Squirrel Hill Tunnels and into town. The story was that my dad was so mad for being late for his job, he got out of his car at a stop light, walked up to the guys car and knocked at the window. When the guy rolled it down, my dad punched the guy in the nose and got back into his car and just continued on his way. Perhaps it's but an urban legend. But make no mistake, him getting into trouble and my brothers and I getting into it, were two different beasts. “Do as I say, not as I do” he’d expect from the four of us. But the reality was that he knew better than to think we would always toe the line and he’d follow up with, “you better remember to cover your flank!” To this day, I have no clue what a flank is to be covered, but I knew better than to let him find out about any of my adolescent hi-jinks.
I love and miss my dad so much. He was one of those people that left an impact on anyone and everyone and is not easily forgotten. He always said that Friday the 13th was his lucky day and it served him well as a lieutenant in the 82nd airborne division of the army. One day, he was making his 13th jump out of the plane as the 13th man on the 13th stick on Friday the 13th. He hated jumping from airplanes, but from that day forward he always said it became his lucky day. That is, until Friday, September 13, 2010.
He came down with the flu that day, or so they thought. Days went on and he grew worse, but by the time they realized he had become septic, it was too late. On Sept. 24th, we all gathered around my dad’s hospital bed for one final party. But oddly enough he seemed to rebound. He sat up, he laughed and joked just like he always did, and we all thought he was turning the corner, said our good-nights and left feeling happy he was doing better. That night, I’m sure he said his nightly prayers, as he always did, closed his eyes and never woke up. True to the end, he always wanted us to have a good time.
Although he is gone, his Kirk-isms will remain with me always -- not only in my head but deep within my heart.
Happy Friday the 13th Dad! You were right, it really was your lucky day because mom was waiting for you ~ XO Chrissie
Our family consisted of four active and highly energetic children. One girl, three boys in that order. As most siblings do, we often would be working out our differences in full MMA style and sucking up all the air in our little family room when our dad would walk in and simply say, “Stop it or I’ll knock you into the middle of next week.” Now we had no clue how one got into the middle of next week, but whatever the wrangle was about came to an immediate halt as some Kirk-isms were meant to be respected.
My dad was an only child who lived a really fun and privileged life but never wanted to grow up, thus my brothers and I benefited from snowmobiles, motorcycles, mini-bikes, fishing, camping, sports, and laughter. He loved a great time, sang “I Love a Parade” at every party, enjoyed a few good beers, and even better he may have belched a bit and teasingly apologize saying, “Oops, I didn’t mean to get that all over you”—all the while wiping your arm. And after a fun night, he never wanted a party or a visit to end. But good-byes always needed to be said, and when it all done, he simply sang, “The Party’s Over”.
I know that my dad was a regular kind of guy. Often overhearing him talk about the good ‘ol days with friends, we knew he got into his share of mischief growing up. He’d laugh braggadociously and tell the story of when he “borrowed” his parents’ car when he was 12 and drove to the bowling alley. It didn’t turn out well for him, but he remembered it with glee. Or the time he followed a guy in a extremely slow moving car moving but 10 miles per hour down the Parkway (which was one lane each way at the time), through the Squirrel Hill Tunnels and into town. The story was that my dad was so mad for being late for his job, he got out of his car at a stop light, walked up to the guys car and knocked at the window. When the guy rolled it down, my dad punched the guy in the nose and got back into his car and just continued on his way. Perhaps it's but an urban legend. But make no mistake, him getting into trouble and my brothers and I getting into it, were two different beasts. “Do as I say, not as I do” he’d expect from the four of us. But the reality was that he knew better than to think we would always toe the line and he’d follow up with, “you better remember to cover your flank!” To this day, I have no clue what a flank is to be covered, but I knew better than to let him find out about any of my adolescent hi-jinks.
I love and miss my dad so much. He was one of those people that left an impact on anyone and everyone and is not easily forgotten. He always said that Friday the 13th was his lucky day and it served him well as a lieutenant in the 82nd airborne division of the army. One day, he was making his 13th jump out of the plane as the 13th man on the 13th stick on Friday the 13th. He hated jumping from airplanes, but from that day forward he always said it became his lucky day. That is, until Friday, September 13, 2010.
He came down with the flu that day, or so they thought. Days went on and he grew worse, but by the time they realized he had become septic, it was too late. On Sept. 24th, we all gathered around my dad’s hospital bed for one final party. But oddly enough he seemed to rebound. He sat up, he laughed and joked just like he always did, and we all thought he was turning the corner, said our good-nights and left feeling happy he was doing better. That night, I’m sure he said his nightly prayers, as he always did, closed his eyes and never woke up. True to the end, he always wanted us to have a good time.
Although he is gone, his Kirk-isms will remain with me always -- not only in my head but deep within my heart.
Happy Friday the 13th Dad! You were right, it really was your lucky day because mom was waiting for you ~ XO Chrissie
Love, love, love!! I would tell you a few of my dad's "isims" but they would rate your column an 'R' lol!!
ReplyDeleteWe had the best kind of dads-- the real deals -- and not everyone is as lucky as us! Oh, and thank you for the love, love, love!
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