The Velour Loveshirt Lounge

We just returned from a family brunch where bacon garnished Bloody Mary's were abundant.

There are only 3 living family members that would've remembered the fireplace explosion from my earlier Christmas story. The others were too young.

Some may think that I would have hidden from those memories ... but instead I retold the story and my siblings suddenly broke through their cholesterol-induced dementia to reminisce.

It was a good laugh.

Good morning! Merry Christmas to all and to all a great day!

Continuing along the line of dads…
Mine was a story teller extraordinaire, and a teller of tall tales. What seemed true, often was not, and vise-versa.

For example, he was out to the farm one day for coffee and told a very detailed account of the ceiling fan over his bed, FALLING on top of him and mother! I reacted and asked a few questions (all according to his plan). Finally, he said, “Nah, just BS-ing ya! Then laughed uproariously. He got me!

Dad liked to take us sledding when we were kids. Every time we went, he would tell us the same story about sledding behind his elementary school. We didn’t believe a word of it!

As the story went, some kids brought their sleds to school and all the kids took turns going down the big hill at recess and before and after school. This was in the 1940s. He claimed there were train tracks a short distance from the bottom and a train went by daily at midday recess, slowing as it passed the school…all very believable.

Here’s where it gets good. When there was ample and packed snow, he told us he would wait till nearly the end of the train, then jump on a sled and go down the hill, slowing and speeding up, so as to pass under the slow moving train, at just the right time! All while kids cheered him on.

“Sure, OK, Dad, if you say so.” We didn’t believe him, but we loved the story.

Years later, I went to graduate school as a “non traditional student” in the town where Dad grew up—where I was born.

I was in gross anatomy lab, one day, studying my cadaver for an upcoming test. The lab was empty except for me and my cadaver mates.

The man (a very enjoyable man) whose job it was to procure and manage the cadavers, came over and visited with us, wanting to know where we all were from. I said I started out right here (I was born in the hospital where I had some of my classes) and some of my family is still here. Of course, he asked, “Who’s your family?”

His face lit up (like a 🎄:)
He said, with a great deal of excitement, “_____ is your dad?!! He then proceeded to regale us with the most unbelievable story…almost exactly as I had heard it so many times before! Imagine, if you can, my absolute delight!

Not very many years later, my oldest daughter took gross anatomy at the same university.
I told her to be sure and tell the cadaver guy, __ is her grandpa! Yup! She and her cadaver mates got to hear the sledding story ☺️

Totally unrelated: “The cadaver guy” had a small business on the side…wait for it…
He catered BBQ beef and pork for small gatherings! TRUE!
As we like to say, “You really can’t make this stuff up!” 😁

I love this picture of your Dad, Eddie. I'd like to set it on the mantle next to one of my Papa; my mother's father.

When I was 4, my dad bought a 10-acre property out in the country. On the property were 2 dwellings; a slightly crooked, ranch style house and an old trailer. We took the house and my mother's parents, Joan and Jake, took the trailer.
They were a funny old couple. Grandma was (still is) kind and vague and secretly very smart. Papa was gruff and capable and always working on a dozen projects around the property.
He'd walk in the back door at least once a week and yell, "Laurie, I need a band-aid!" It usually went on the top of his bald head where he'd scraped it on the corner of the shed. Again.

As a child I couldn't pass him in that long, narrow halfway without one of us teasing the other.
I'd poke him in his round belly and he'd growl, "Solid as a rock," and I'd laugh and say it was as solid as a marshmallow.
Other times he'd grab my long pony tail as I passed and threaten to cut it off and glue it to the top of his bald head.
He loved to tease and be teased. Not everyone saw that.

He also loved to build useful things.
He built the bookshelf and small table in my bedroom.
He built the 12-foot table in my parents' dining room.
He built the dock where I got engaged and then married, and he built the cross we used as a backdrop for our wedding. I think he would have approved of my Mr. Trout. (Ok, now I'm crying, hold on)
He built a room on the back of his trailer, just for Grandma to keep all her junk in.
He built a beautiful Noah's Ark for each set of grandchildren.

Once a week he drove Grandma to town and they got Crystal's hamburgers, and if you payed attention you might catch him pinching her bum as she passed by.

His was (is) a beautiful, complex soul. His quiet hard work and depth of character are magnificent in my memory. I look forward to seeing him again.

We spent a lot of time discussing family history, me asking questions about the family, a lot of time joking and laughing. My Dad loved it when I told him jokes. After I moved away, my folks sold the dairy cows, I came back from Florida to help him ship them off to market. This was before he got cancer. He was aging and was switching to beef cattle and was now driving school bus. Growing up, my dad driving school bus was never something I could envision him doing with his gruff, blunt personality. I learned that my Dad loved children and his kids on the bus loved him.

Dad died on December 26, and I was fortunate to have been able to talk with him 45 minutes before he died. He went and layed down in bed and died in peace. His funeral was the most beautiful one I l have ever attended. His School bus was parked front and center in the parking lot of the church. He had been sick for a few weeks and couldn't drive bus and his kids had pooled their money and bought him a very nice down vest for Xmas. He was wearing this vest for the funeral. The majority of his kids attended his funeral. They were all grade school kids and the pastor gathered them all around his casket and did a children's funeral first. I was so touched to see how much these kids loved my Dad, their School bus driver. I gave a eulogy and used the phrase "marshmallow wrapped in barbwire" to describe who my father was. I wanted people to understand the soft, big hearted side of the man I knew. His exterior was hard, blunt, honest and a bit like sandpaper. But the interior was a heart of pure compassion and concern. The cemetery is on the same location as the church. After the funeral we took Dad's casket to his burial plot and when we exited the church, it had begun to snow with the largest, fluffiest snow I had seen in sometime. It felt biblical to me personally.

As I age, I think about my Dad more and realize how much he shaped me into the person I am today and I am forever grateful for him. I plan on hugging him and telling him how much I love him and appreciate what he did for me.

Velour our beloved channel owner has inquired if we have a few more tales to tell. Figured I would jot down a little background on who helped mold me into the person I am. That would be my 'old man', my Dad.

My dad was not a man of great stature. He had hands built like two cement blocks with wear and tear on them that looked like lines on a road map. I always felt safe around my Dad. I always knew my Dad had my back. I learned early on with Dad, if I worked hard, was seen, not heard amongst a group of my elders, respected him and told the truth, he would always have my back.

Couple stories about my Dad having my back. I am a avid reader, in school I spent a lot of hours in the library looking for books to read. One particular day there was another student that I didn't exactly see eye to eye with and he proceeded to push my button so we had a disagreement and the librarian banned me from the library, without any input from me on what happened. I was very upset because I didn't do anything wrong. After explaining the event, Dad went into the school the next day to "straighten" out the misunderstanding. Was a meeting with the principal and librarian. I got my library privileges restored. I never got in trouble in school, so my dad trusted me when I told him what took place. Another such incident involved a Minnesota state trooper. I picked up my girlfriend from highschool to give her a ride home in early December. Was sleeting outside and roads were pure ice. School bus stop at the bottom of a hill, slippery road, I couldn't stop, so instead of taking out the mailboxes on the side of the road and risking one coming thru the windshield, I hit the back bumper of the school bus to stop me. Mind you I only damaged my car, just scratched the bumper of the bus. State trooper showed up, had a serious Napoleon complex (short dude). Chewed my ass, and sent us on our way. Three weeks later on Christmas Eve, I get a ticket in the mail for reckless driving due to the weather conditions. My old man was so pissed off that this trooper would do such a thing and time it out to send me a ticket on Xmas Eve.

The next part of this tale I never found out till much later and not from my old Man. I never realized that my Dad was a patient man. He bided his time and waited for the perfect moment to confront the trooper. Several months later, my Dad was at the local small engine/welding shop to purchase a new handle for the barn broom. This shop was owned by a fellow family member. The trooper was in the shop also. My Dad walked over to him and had a little discussion about the trooper's sense of humor in regards to sending tickets to young adults on Christmas Eve. The trooper got a little lippy with my Dad about it. Dad proceeded to poke him in the Belly with the broom handle and said Merry Christmas asshole! Turned and walked out the door. The shop owner told the trooper to just let it go and don't push the issue.

I never had my Dad raise his hand against me, I never wanted to cross that line because I had that much respect for him and didn't want to disappoint him. If I got my work done, I was free to do what I wanted in my free time. Responsibility and hard work gave me independence and time of my own.

This independent side that Dad instilled in me is what gave me the desire to make my way. I moved about as far away as I could as a young man. Not to get away from my family, but to prove to myself and my Dad I could survive. I look back now and realize that I missed spending a lot of time with Dad after I left the nest but I don't regret the decisions I made either. I understood my Dad was proud of what I did. When Dad got pancreatic cancer I was very fortunate with my job that I was able to spend a good bit of time helping him out on the farm. These times during Dad's cancer and treatments developed a entirely new level of relationship with Dad. I knew my time with him was limited.