In Light of the Day, Let's Talk Bloggerdad

It’s that time of year again. Most of you who participate in the comments here recognize Bloggerdad, who is, as you might astutely guess, my father. Since he’s always up early, he’s generally the first on the statcounter in the morning, having opened the place up and put on a pot of coffee and a couple of comments first thing.

Since it’s Father’s Day, I thought I’d tell you some of my favorite things about him.

1. He’s a political moderate. When he was in grade school in the 1940s, one of his teachers called my grandmother to school to express grave concern about the young Bloggerdad. Was it disruptive behavior? A tendency to chatter? Laziness? No. The conference was called on account of my father’s inclination toward particular political opinions. He was, in the teacher’s words, “a budding communist.” For what it’s worth, there are probably a few people around Indianapolis today who might still agree with that assessment.

2. He appreciates celebrity. In 1949, Clark Gable married his fourth wife, Lady Sylvia Ashley. Sometime thereafter, the pair visited Indianapolis (if I recall, while Gable was filming the 1950 film To Please a Lady), where the new Mrs. Gable was greeted by the catcalls of a randy teenaged, uh, budding communist.

3. He’s diplomatic. Like many other teenaged females, I used to get severe period cramps. They’d hit me like Ann Coulter on a 9/11 widow, torment me for a few hours, then go. When I got them at school on a day when my mother was out of town, I had to call Dad to come get me. When he arrived, the (male) school principal, who was apparently in the mood to pick a fight that morning, decided to hassle Dad about whether I really needed to go home or not. Dad leaned across the counter as if to beckon him closer, and said, “Lemme ask you something. When was the last time you had menstrual cramps?”

4. He can really turn a phrase. This is the guy who is responsible for my then five-year-old nephew calling his fellow kindergartners “shitbirds,” and who refers to certain kinds of tedious legal work as “picking rat shit out of a pepper barrel.”

5. He’s a careful driver. When I was a kid, Dad used to drive this big, gold, convertible Cadillac. One winter, he had planned to drive to Florida to visit his parents, but a snowstorm had turned I-65 southbound into a parking lot. Never one to be stymied by a little bit of snow and traffic, he pulled onto the shoulder and drove through the snowdrifts till he got to Kentucky.

6. He’s loyal. Dad bought his current house in 1980. On the wall in the entryway was wallpaper with a bicentennial theme (you know, from 1976?), which was replaced only about three years ago. On Christmas Day, 1999, my brother stood in the entryway with a thoughtful expression and observed, “Hey, Dad. Only another seventy-seven years till this wallpaper’s in style again.”

7. He’s decisive. But unlike George Bush, Dad can admit a mistake and reverse course – at least with respect to a Christmas tree. Only problem is, when he decides he doesn’t like the first Christmas tree and buys a second one, the first one sits in the driveway for almost a year.

But seriously. This is also the guy who saved a twelve-year old from the death penalty back in the 60s; who invited me to bring my newborn son to the office with me every day, and would sometimes hold TK with one hand and talk on the phone with another (remember that time he crapped on your shirt sleeve, Dad?); who makes a rad holiday stuffing and a wicked cranberry sauce; who took me to a Jimmy Carter campaign rally in Garfield Park in 1976 and to hear Geraldine Ferraro speak in 1984; whose relieved first impression of my now-husband was “I like him; he’s an employable beatnik”; and who got his three-year old grandson a harmonica.

You’re a good egg, Dad. Happy Father’s Day.