(my dad in the early 60s)

my grandmother was a force. while most women of her generation were getting married and having children, she was working as a telephone operator by day and having a fine time being squired around the restaurants and nightclubs of minneapolis by night on the arms of a bevy of young men. she never did get her driver’s license, but also never lacked for rides to whatever social event she was meant to attend. she almost always got her way and when she was displeased she would dismissively wave her hand and say, “oh FISH!” unconventionally, she married my grandfather at forty and had my father on september 3, 1941 when she was forty-one… EIGHTY years ago today. she absolutely ADORED my father.

(my grandmother back in the day…)

(some of my grandma’s boyfriends… lars)

(coburn…)

(romantic jack is my favorite, “lest you forget - in a little spanish town”)

(she was just delighted with my father)

(who wouldn’t fall in love with this kid?)

(the little coats are amazing!)

dad was a bit naughty and when she would get called in to the school to discuss his misadventures with the principal she would just say, “not MY johnny!” snap her handbag closed and march out of the office (or at least that’s how i imagine it… her handbag always had a stash of sucking candies, those foldable rain bonnets and extra paper toilet seat covers just in case…) she repeatedly told my father not to let anyone, “put a basket over his light” and i’m pretty sure he never did. her powerful, unconditional love for him gave him the confidence to approach the world with great certainty (albeit not a whole lot of modesty - if i say, “oh GOD” when i am with him, he always responds, “jennifer - when it’s just the two of us, you can call me DAD.”) and the assumption that he could accomplish anything. i think it was an incredible gift.

(always inside my grandma’s purse: sucking candies…)

(plastic rain bonnets)

my father was wily and bright, ultimately skipping two grades of elementary because his teachers didn’t quite know what to do with him. he graduated high school at sixteen and then convinced my grandmother to let him enlist in the marines where he was stationed in monterery, california for basic training. he returned to minneapolis for university, completing both his undergraduate and doctorate degrees at the university of minnesota. (he was a diehard vikings fan to the extent that we had to leave the house any sunday the vikings were playing so that he could focus on the game… especially if it was a super bowl, which they went to FOUR times but never won - which is also the reason i never had a dog growing up. dad promised that we could get a puppy if the vikings won the super bowl and they NEVER pulled it off… STILL haven’t! who knows how many children are dogless on their account? if i had been savvier i would have renegotiated the deal when we moved to berkeley because the niners WON the super bowl FOUR times in the eighties alone… i could have had a whole litter of puppies!) all the while he was golfing (he always had to play in trousers because he said his legs were so beautiful that they distracted him and messed up his swing) and driving pretty cars and making mischief with his friends. i believe my mother was the first woman unwilling to follow him around a golf course admiring his swing so he promptly married her.

(my father’s high school senior portrait)

(he’s always loved cars… WHITE WALLS!)

(practicing his golf swing… note the trousers!)

(university graduation)

(i should have put my money on this guy… LOOK at all of those rings!)

(my parents’ wedding)

upon completion of his pHD, my parents moved to seattle (where my grandmother was living with her second husband, the grandpa i grew up with) so my dad could begin his teaching career at the university of washington. i was six months old. my father loved his students and teaching, but did not appreciate the weather… he was not partial to golfing in the rain, which greatly limited the days he could get out on the courses in seattle. when i was five and my brother (who was born in seattle) was two my father did a teaching exchange with a professor at berkeley. we were meant to move back to washington at the end of the year, but my mother announced that regardless of what my father did, she was staying in california with us (she had fallen in love with the quirky bay area and the openness of the creative community.) she made one quick trip back to seattle to sell the house (which she didn’t tell my dad about until the deal was done) just to hammer home her point. (i am sure my grandmother was sad about our leaving seattle, but my father made sure to call her every sunday and flew up frequently. much later when my grandparents were quite old - my grandmother ultimately lived to ninety-nine! my grandpa needed to move into a home with more care. my grandma did NOT want to leave her house and didn’t fully understand that my grandpa didn’t have a choice in the matter. this may be why she pulled out all the photos of her old beaus and placed them around the house, which is how i learned about jack, coburn and lars. to accommodate her wishes my father hired caregivers to come live with her so she could safely stay in her home. she did not react well to having them around until my father had the inspired idea to bring in male nurses. my grandmother was pleased as punch, frequently saying, “i don’t why i have all these young boyfriends” (i am pretty sure the boyfriends were their own couple, but everyone was happy and they stayed with her until the end.)

(right before we moved to seattle… i am sitting in my great grandmother’s lap and my grandma is behind my dad)

(golfing in california… still in trousers - and WHAT trousers - you would too if you had legs like this)

(if the legs didn’t distract you, the speedo certainly would!)

(MORE of my grandma’s boyfriends… luther)

(james)

(martin)

(my grandma with her final two boyfriends)

so my father continued teaching at u.c. berkeley and later at the university of san francisco and u.c. davis. he golfed whenever he wanted (there is very little rain in california), zipped around in a string of shiny cars avoiding accidents or slow drivers with his “lightning fast reflexes,” continued to make mischief and charm his way out of all kinds of situations and protected us from plane crashes by making sure we ate an airport hotdog before boarding every flight, no matter how late we were… i think the assurance these hotdogs gave me is the reason i cannot pass up a hotdog at costco (a meal) or ikea (smaller, a snack.) they are more than something fun to eat, they are a form of protection for me and my children. he also made friends wherever he went… he is received with big smiles by the grumpy ladies at the post office, he regularly has lunch with one of the cashiers at our local market, he knows several displaced people who hang out on solano (a shopping street near my parents’ house) by name and all the vendors at his errand stops know who to call when he leaves his wallet, glasses or keys behind… he always says, “i did not lose my XXX, it just hasn’t found me yet.”

(i have such an affinity for hotdogs that i dressed hank as one for his first halloween)

but the main thing my father did was LOVE us… as ferociously as my grandmother loved him. if we were at a game or some other event at the university he would proudly pull us around the room introducing us to EVERYONE, often to our great embarrassment. he would regale dinner guests with stories of our accomplishments (usually a bit or A LOT exaggerated, my father is not above adding some color to his tales to make them more interesting - mind you, he is also good at detailing his own exploits, particularly on the golf course - he HAS gotten FIVE holes in one, one of which occurred at st. andrews in scotland and led to a dinner invitation from the british surgeon general. he usually ended these stories with a wink and, “i’m just the average dad.”) but his favorite stories were the ones that highlighted my mother’s wit, typically at his expense. this one has been told over and over:

my mother was at park and shop (our local market) putting groceries on the conveyer when my father (who came separately) noticed her, cut the line, stood very close behind her and started putting his items down as well. the cashier said, “ma’am, is this man bothering you?” “ YES!” she sighed, “he’s been bothering me for thirty-five years.”

(sailing on the bay with my family)

(my father took this when i was about ten… i can only imagine what he said to make me laugh like that!)

(my father LOVES being a grandpa… with theo)

(and baby lucy)

(still taking us to cal games - AND introducing us to everyone there!)

i am so grateful to my spicy grandma (she may have given lucy more than just her one dimple) for engulfing my father in her love so strongly that he knew how to do the same for all of us. i am grateful for a lifetime of laughter and hilarity and hotdogs from a man who is anything but the average dad. HAPPY, HAPPY 80th BIRTHDAY to my most wonderful father… i love you higher than the sky is high and deeper than the ocean is deep. x0x0xx