I have some fond memories of me and my dad that are coming back to me now.
One of his passions that he did share was his love of fireworks. It was something that he loved to do with me and my brother. He’d buy $100 or more of stuff, and this was back in the 50s and early 60s when that would buy an arsenal of stuff. He showed us how to blow up sandcastles and cardboard houses; how to launch tennis balls high in the air by putting them on top of lead pipes and lighting a cherry bomb underneath; how orange juice cans were great to use with regular black cats; how to launch cherry bombs into the air with a slingshot. He loved that we loved the stuff, and it was one of the few things that he actually did with us.
I remember how my brother and I would hide behind the door and try to scare him when he came home from work. “Oh, jeez, you scared the daylights out of me!” he’d say every time.
I remember him showing us how to skip flat stones on the calm waters of Lake Superior.
I remember playing ping pong with him as a teenager. We wouldn’t keep score (that made him nervous) but had fun just rallying back and forth.
I remember him teaching me how to drive his car when I was 13 or so. I was so proud that I could do something none of my friends were allowed to do.
I remember how we loved to watch Laurel and Hardy, and Goofy Disney cartoons. He had a infectious laugh and he seemed to love watching me and my brother laugh ourselves silly, especially when we’d laugh so hard we’d fart.
I have some memories of ‘rassling’ with him, especially on Saturday mornings. My brother and I would climb in bed with him and try to pin just one of his arms, or try to make him laugh by tickling him.
He was affectionate with ‘nuggies’, rubbing his knuckles on the tops of our heads so that it hurt just a little. I liked it.
I remember getting into a fight with a neighbor kid. I think I was about 11 or 12. I eventually got the kid into a headlock and wouldn’t let go. We were in the middle of the gravel road that led to our house. I held this kid on the road for nearly 15 minutes until my dad saw what was happening and walked over to us. “Let him go, Griff” he said. I did, and we walked home together. He said “I’m proud of you.” That eventually became a two-edged sword, because I knew I wasn’t a tough kid at heart and wouldn’t be able to gain his approval very often. But I cherish it nonetheless.
I’m surprised that I’m able to come up with these memories. I’m sure I can come with more if I look at old photo albums. And maybe talk to my brother.