Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Klondike
Yesterday, Dean wrote about his dad splitting wood, and I was sorely tempted to hijack his comment thread. Because it’s a funny thing, the actions we associate with our parents. Memory’s a fickle beast.
Right now, my dad is likely doing the same thing he’s doing in this photo from forty years ago: playing Klondike. I can hear him shuffle, spread, and turn cards as clearly as I can hear myself tapping the keyboard keys. When I think of my dad, he’s shuffling, spreading, turning cards. Dean thinks of his dad chopping wood; I think of mine playing solitaire.
Back then, my father could have chopped wood. He’s short, like me (though not as short as me), and used to be muscular, powerfully built. I don’t know how he kept in shape — he shunned exercise. But when I was a kid, those biceps scared the crap out of me.
I’d rather remember him chopping wood, but there he is, shuffling again. “You pay fifty-two dollars for the deck,” he says. “Aces go up, and you build upward in suit. For every card up here, you get five dollars back.” He keeps score on the back of an envelope, and he never finishes in the red.
If you asked me to give you a second memory, a second common association, it would be of the man sitting in his chair, reading a paperback or working a crossword puzzle. Yup, real dynamic. He taught high school math for many years, and by all accounts was a superb teacher. I’m sure he’d prefer to be thought of that way, but I never saw him teach. He came home tired, like all us fathers do, and to unwind, he read books, worked a crossword puzzle, or played Klondike.
I wonder what memory Jake will associate with me? I’d prefer if he remembered me scrambling around in the kitchen, fixing dinner, but he doesn’t often watch me. Maybe he’ll remember me climbing rocks with him at the beach — that would be nice, maybe even as nice as splitting wood. You know, I might even like being remembered as a doctor.
But I have a bad feeling he’ll remember me as I am right now, sitting in this chair, my legs tucked under me, futzing at my blog.
D.
Hi Doug,
Delurking as promised.
I too would love to have a nicer memory of my father.
I remember him laying on the living room floor reading the paper and watching the foot ball. Woe betide the soul who would be foolish enough to interrupt him.
Second memory is being stuck at the betting office being bored out of my mind and hoping I could just go home soon.
Shame it couldn’t be something nicer instead of the ramblings of an alcoholic mind. Other kids learned to ride their bikes, I learned how to place a trifeca.
I guess I can only hope that when I have kids that I leave them with better memories than mine.
Sorry my first comment is such a downer – will try for something happier next time!
You went and made me blog about this too! Thank you *sniffle* I miss my Daddy now.
It’s pandemic nostalgia!
Thanks for delurking, Marie. Lyvvie, I’m on my way.
Though I’ll have to wait til tomorrow (don’t ask with this archaic computer) to read the first part of your blog, I enjoyed what I could read. It took me a while to figure out that’s our dining room on Southview. You WERE a cute little bugger in those footsie PJs.
Aw. Well, no matter how he remembers you, Dougeleh, I’m sure it’ll be with love.
I may have to steal this topic later. In the meantime: footy pyjamas! And those dining chairs! :oD
Sis, do you remember what night that was? Hint: notice the sabbath candles. When did our parents ever light sabbath candles? They must have been trying to impress someone with their Jewishness. I wonder who . . .
Thanks, DN, and yeah, those chairs bring back memories.
Doug, you look pretty much the same.
Wow! A whole story in one line, Marie –
“Other kids learned to ride their bikes, I learned how to place a trifeca.” I appreciate the de-lurking too.
yup, even down to the footie jammies 🙂
I think I may have to follow in your and Dean’s footsteps, although it’s gonna be harder for me to dredge up childhood associations ’cause I still see my dad at least once a week.
Marie – I think that might be the most poignant line I’ve ever seen in a comment.
Relax, Doug. I think Jake will have much more dynamic memories of you.
“There was this one time, Doc, when he made me take pictures of him and my mother, naked on a couch for his blog…”
🙂
I recall our grandmother lighting Sabbath candles but not the folks. And even the Hanukkah candles seem to have come later. I didn’t even notice the candles til you said something.
God that’s a funny picture.
Hey, did y’all notice my little mini camel toe? Man, the details, the details . . .