Growing up at 245 Elias Drive prepared me and my brothers for life in ways that most kids weren’t lucky enough to learn. For instance, vacuums aren’t a necessity. My father was convinced that dragging a vacuum out of the closet was a complete and utter waste of time when you had four children who could just pick the lint up off the carpet. Another valuable lesson our dad taught us was that one should never put dish liquid in a dishwasher as it only leads to three feet of bubbles that flow like lava into the next room.
I often wondered as a kid if these things happened at everyone’s house as all the families in our neighborhood seemed pretty similar. We all shared the same set of rules and virtues taught to us by our parents and attended church or mass each week.
Our entire neighborhood was filled with homes bursting at the seams because of God’s fruitful blessings upon all the good Catholic parents. For our family, one of the few Protestants on the street, church was at exactly the same time each week and there was only one service. Miss it and there was a good chance you might end up in purgatory according to my well versed Catholic girlfriends. But deep down, I knew there was nothing to worry about.
For one and a half hours each week, my parents dropped my brothers and I off at the church then went back home. What they did after we were gone, we’ll never know, but we never missed Sunday school! Home by noon, there was nothing better than changing out of our good clothes into our play clothes and heading down the street for a game of kick ball. But, this is where life was a game changer for the Kirk’s.
Catholic Sunday mass started and ended with the tolling of the bells. And with each ring, came the bellowing of my dad announcing loud enough that even God in heaven heard, “Get out of the street, the Catholics are coming!” And like that, a stream of cars raced through our neighborhood continuing each and every hour on Sundays. For those few moments, our little lives hung in the balance of righteous car wheels and our crazy dad, who was making sure we survived!
To say my dad was loud is an understatement. He was the polar opposite of my quiet, well-mannered, Emily Post etiquette mom. She was determined to make sure we knew how to act in life. My dad was determined to make sure we ENJOYED life. Fun, daring, unreserved, party animal, crazy, life-loving, zestful, brash, blunt -- these terms all describe my dad. Life could be hard and complicated, but he was determined to make it fun! To hang with my dad was always a great time and with the ring of the doorbell, our friends would ask us to come outside to play—then turn and ask our mom if our dad could come out too!
My dad was always a kid at heart and I don’t think he ever wanted to grow up. So he didn’t. In many ways I am sometimes sad that as I grew older, I became less like him and much more like my mom. Oh don’t get me wrong -- I love my mom! We all know our moms are supposed to be the ones to keep us grounded. But my dad taught us how to survive the rough parts of life by living a life full of fun and excitement. He had a way of making the mundane interesting and because of this our life was always filled with unusual escapades.
Heading into the holiday seasons, there is frequently a catch in my throat and a tear when I think about my parents and brother being gone. Faithfully, my parents spent Thanksgiving in Florida at Jim’s. And every year my crazy dad flew the turkey around the pool. He thought it was hilarious and so did we! And for years after my mom passed away, despite his sadness, he still flew the turkey. After my dad passed on, Jimbo made sure to carry on the tradition right along with the rest of us. Through chemo, through cancer, the turkey flew and we all laughed.
This year I will again remember to laugh. I will remember to live a good and fun life. I promised Jimbo we would all live his life for him and not be sad. So once again, along with Harry and Paul, we will be flying the turkey for Thanksgiving and can just hear them all in heaven laughing!
Some people want to soar with the eagles, but I think I prefer to fly with the Kirky Turkeys!
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