Dog days

I have many fond memories of my grandparents. When I was growing up, every Sunday, my family would make the trip to their house, and spend a couple hours with my dad’s parents. There were two apple trees in the backyard that were perfect for climbing. In the summer, the apples were sweet and delicious, and could not be much fresher than right off the tree. My aunt and uncle lived up the street. They had eleven kids, so there was always lots of activity around my grandparent’s house.

Although there were a lot of good times and memories made at my grandparents, there was one thing that was not so pleasant. Pap and Mamam had a white, porcelain collie dog that always sat in the corner of their living room. It was just a little nick knack, about five inches high and seven inches long. This dog was a gift from their daughter, who had passed away. From the time I was a toddler, I had a fascination with that collie.

My mother tells me that from the time I was about three years old, I could not keep my hands off of it. Every visit, I would make my way over to figurine and pick it up. This was against my dad’s rules. I was not allowed to touch the collie. The dog would be taken away from me, and a scolding always followed. Apparently, this always caused tension when my family visited.

My behavior went on for years. I ‘m not sure why the collie was not put away somewhere when I visited, but it was not. As I grew older, elementary school age, my dad would get more upset when I would go after my prize. He resorted to putting me in the car until it was time to go home. I remember my cousins, and siblings, playing outside while I sat in the car. They would point and laugh, teasing me about my problem with the collie.

I eventually grew out my fetus with that dog, and my grandparents passed away. My family never knew what happened to the collie, but from time to time, during family gatherings, stories would be told about the troubles that knick knack caused.

About five years ago, another of my aunts passed away, and while going through her belongings, my cousin discovered the long lost collie. Shortly after that discovery, the statue was given to it’s rightful owner, me.

These days, that white, porcelain collie holds a prominent position on top of a bookshelf in the dining room of my home. My children are grown and have no interest in it, but I wonder, if grandchildren are in my future, what will happen when they come to visit. To be safe, I’ll keep the collie on the bookshelf.

Fill-in Dad

Growing up, my dad and I did not have what would be called a close relationship. I’m not sure why, but one reason could be that dad was not much of a talker. He worked hard to support the family, and had other activities that took up his time. Unfortunately, because of the distance we lived from each other, we never had the opportunity to grow closer throughout my adult years. There was one common bond that dad and I had. I loved playing sports and he loved watching me play. If I had a game dad was there.

In the spring of 1974, I was the starting catcher on my high school baseball team. It just so happened that my younger brother was to receive the sacrament of confirmation, in the Catholic Church, that same spring, and he asked me to be his sponsor. Confirmation is the ceremony, which transforms a youth into an adult member of the church. As a sponsor, you stand with the youth during the ceremony, and act as his mentor.

The day of the confirmation ceremony happened to be a game day for me. I recall there was not any concern about this because the confirmation was in the evening, and the baseball game was after school. There should have been plenty of time for me to attend the ceremony. We had a good team that year, ending the season as district runner-up. This particular game was a big one, because the opposing team was in our conference, and also pretty good. The game went into extra innings, and eventually I had to go to my dad and ask what I was supposed to do. It was time to leave for the church, but the game was not over. I knew that confirmation was important, and my brother was counting on me, but this was baseball, and I’m the catcher. My dad answered me by saying “You can’t leave this game.” Dad explained that he would go to the ceremony and take my place.

Going to the game right after work, he was dressed in his work clothes. A white long sleeve shirt and black-cuffed pants were dad’s work attire. He was a meat cutter (butcher), and that white shirt always had a bloodstain or two on it. Back in those days, the floors of butcher shops were covered with a couple inches of sawdust. This kept the workers from slipping on the slick surface. His black pants always had sawdust on them, and the pant cuffs were usually half way full of the stuff. Not having time to change, this is how my brother’s stand in sponsor arrived at the church.

Details about the game have long left my memory, but we did eventually win, and I remember making a good play, ending a scoring threat by the other team, preserving the tie. The events of later that evening are also a blur. All I can remember is my older sister telling the story of how comical dad looked, standing in front of the church, in his work clothes, with my brother was confirmed.

It’s been a little over a year since dad passed away. As I look back on that day, I wonder about his decision. Should he have made me leave the game and fulfill my duties as sponsor? I wonder how hard of a decision that was for him. However, he was able to solve a problem for both of his son’s that day. My brother did have a sponsor for his confirmation, and I was able to continue doing what I loved.