Time of no reply

I'm not much in the mood to run. My dad died eighteen years ago today. He was a good man. Sometimes it seems like he was just a dream, but I can still remember his laugh and how he always smelled like Ultra Brite and shaving cream in the morning.

Dad and his dad.

Dad. Probably drunk. Really drunk. Sometime before he went to Viet Nam.

So handsome.

Evanston, Illinois 1968. (Note the large amount of snow and yet, Dad isn’t really bundled up. Midwest machines never break.) Six years later, Mom and Dad adopted me and my sister and brought us home from Michigan. We lived in this apartment building on Howard and Western, which was owned by my mom's parents. Mom and Dad managed the place.

My mom’s relative’s cottage in Michigan. They used to own the Schicks Motel in Coloma. (They sold it many years ago now.) One time we went there, Grubs and I must’ve been around ten or 11; we didn’t stay in one of the cottages, but the motel was pretty nice. There was a big swing overlooking the water (Paw Paw Lake). A ramp led down to the beach and there was a floating wooden dock a couple yards out. Grubs and I found a box of toys in a shed and inside was a big plastic Jaws and after we found him we were afraid to go in the water. One night, Dad challenged me and my sister to a race. Whoever could run down to the water and back first would get a dollar. The deal was, we had to dip our shoes in the water to prove we’d actually gone all the way down the beach. Grubs won, but the next morning our shoes were still soaking wet. Boy were we pissed. But my dad walked us down the road a bit to an old-time ice cream parlor (they sold regular food, too) called the Sugar Shack. There was a ledge all around the ceiling and a train ran along the tracks. Then we went to Deer Forest and got mad when our parents wouldn’t buy us peacock feathers. A little while later we found some just lying on the ground. SCORE! (Incidentally, this is more like what Deer Forest looked like the last time I was there.)

The photo is actually a reprint I made in high school. The assignment was to bring in a b&w photo, make a negative from it and then do a reprint. This one’s a bit washed out, but I couldn’t find the better ones. I got an A on the assignment, by the way.

Evanston again. Let’s take the babies out and tar the parking lot!

Dad and me. I still sleep like that.

Seriously reconsidering this whole adoption thing. Circa 1979.

Mom and Dad. They’re happy because neither one of them has yet to think adopting twins might be a good idea.

Dad was a small man, but he was strong... (Fun fact: Dad and his three brothers used to hop onto the back of the 'el, ride it into the north side and pick fights with the rich kids. They always won. My uncle Jack told me that story right after he punched the window out of my boyfriend's 1970 Cutlass.)

Brookfield Zoo
Chicago, IL circa 1975 or ‘76.

Dad and Grubs (and Peanuts). That’s my bed set now!

Dad and Grubs again.
Warning: Baby!Grubs contains tryptophan.

Dad and me at the grandparents’ house in Florida. Don’t worry, I was only trapped under the chair for a couple of hours.

To the faithful departed and those left behind, there is a light that never dies.

Maybe I should apologize for clogging my running journal with photos of my family, but the way I see it is running is part of my life and if I'm grieving on a run day, why the hell not post about it? It's certainly cheaper than therapy.

One thing I will say about my dad and running: When I was 15 and had my leg operation, my dad was adamant about me doing my physical therapy exercises everyday. I started out in a wheelchair, upgraded to a walker. It was important that I walk as much as possible in order to help strengthen my broken bones. Eventually I moved up to crutches and by the end of it all, I was walking on my own. This is something I will never forget: five months after my dad died, Mom and I went to a Halloween party at my Auntie Reenie's house. I was huddled in a corner by myself when Reenie found me. She sat down next to me, tucked my hair behind my ear (which is exactly what my Auntie Mickey did the day my dad died) and patted the brace on my leg. She smiled and said, "When you were in the hospital, and after you got out, your dad would ride his bike over to my house and tell me how proud he was of you for doing this. He said you were so brave, braver than him. And he said to me, 'Reenie, I'm going to get that girl walking again if it's the last thing I do.'"

I did walk again, with only a slight loss of range-of-motion in my right ankle. And now I'm running. I think that would have made him happy.

Love you, Dad. Miss you everyday.