He was the King of His Castle
Taking my bath at night with the lights dimmed low, I notice that the veins in my hands have started to become dark and raised like my father’s were. When my house clothes get that rumpled lived-in look and I forget to brush my hair because I’m immersed in a project, I feel his undomesticated nature within me. I got my love of rhyme, giving people nicknames, and breaking out in song from him. I don’t whistle or like cashews as much as he did. I don’t yell as loud as he did, or fall asleep stretched out in chair. But I do like to tell stories and make people laugh the way he did. I got his impish Irish nature, his mix of being shy but outgoing, his pronounced way of pronouncing words, and his habit of choking up easily at both sad and happy occasions. Every time I stoop over the stove and sip homemade soup from a big spoon, I’m reminded of him doing that. He was always doctoring soup and wanted everyone who came into the kitchen to taste it.
When I pick up a magnifying glass to read the small print on CD liner notes or a vitamin bottle, I think of my dad. His eyesight was bad in the last twenty years of his life and he had magnifying glasses all over the house. The one I use now used to be his. Am I becoming more like him each day, I wonder?
My dad often said, “I’m the king of my castle.” I’m a homebody too. He liked the music of his generation, the way I like the music of mine. He was sentimental, and whenever he sang songs from the 40’s, he did it with emotion. When he sang, “You always hurt the ones you love, the ones you shouldn’t hurt at all,” we knew it was his way of apologizing. He whistled and snapped his fingers when he danced the jitterbug.
Whenever I come across a photo that didn’t come out right and I’m tempted to throw it away, I remember that my dad kept a stack of photos no one wanted in the drawer by his kitchen chair. I got the biggest kick out of him saving the pictures that anyone else would have throw away. They weren’t complimentary to anyone. (In fact he probably could have used a few to bribe others with.)
My dad was the king of his castle and a bit court jester too. He wasn’t tall in statue. (Ditto that for me.) But his sense of humor was big and mostly off beat. I inherited some of that from him, but he was the real master of it. I miss his playful ways.
~ Robert Redman: March 1924 – November 2005. Read my WVTF Radio tribute to my dad HERE. Eulogizing My Father is HERE.
February 6th, 2008 7:38 am
This is beautiful. Beautiful thoughts expressed with beautiful words. Your memories stir my own.
February 6th, 2008 8:04 am
What a nice blog. I read your description and see so many family members! xoxox
February 6th, 2008 8:06 am
whata warm and special tribute. I know him now
February 6th, 2008 9:00 am
What a cool cat kind of fella. I get those moments too, like the ones where you see your veins and how they look like his, and I am so, so grateful for those exquisite, fresh memories of who my father was. Some people say they sort of forget the way a loved one looked after a while. Not me, and apparently not you either!!
February 6th, 2008 9:16 am
This whole train of thought started with the veins. I stare at them and think about him and remember when I used to ask him why his veins were so dark and pronounced.
And he was what he called “an operator,” which I think was a 40’s reference to being hip. I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately.
February 6th, 2008 9:18 am
Wow, what a great tribute to your dad. Isn’t it interesting when we see traits of our parents in ourselves? And I could do a whole blog post on what I think of when I look at my hands these days…
February 6th, 2008 11:08 am
I loved reading about your Dad; thank you for sharing 🙂
February 6th, 2008 11:20 am
You’ve inspired me again, Colleen. My Dad was such a dear man, and gave me the gift of enthusiasm…he loved every day as a new beginning, with so much promise.
February 6th, 2008 11:56 am
WOW! Three beautifully written pieces about your father. I felt like I knew him! Thank you for sharing!
February 6th, 2008 12:45 pm
This is a wonderful story about your father and the deep love you have for him. It’s a wonderful tribute.
(I’ve tagged you to write three pieces of writing advice. I’d love to hear what you have to say.)
February 6th, 2008 1:46 pm
That’s such a lovely tribute to your father, Colleen!
I so enjoyed reading it!
Margie
February 6th, 2008 4:31 pm
Oh How I miss Daddo!!!
This is hard for me to read.
February 6th, 2008 5:02 pm
What a sweet post, Colleen. I always loved that song by the Ink Spots.
February 6th, 2008 9:00 pm
I catch myself resembling my parents all the time now… it’s spooky, but in a nice way.
February 7th, 2008 6:46 pm
This was beautiful, Colleen. In Yiddish and Hebrew, we often quote a phrase when someone passes, translated roughly to, “From generation to generation.” The footprints of each generation are clearly visible on those who follow. Your recollections of your dad reflect this in spades.
Michele sent me tonight to be inspired. And to put my keyboard down so I could call my own parents, just to say hi.
February 7th, 2008 7:01 pm
I wish I admired my father. 🙁 He has been such a difficult part of my life. Such a nice tribute here, Colleen.
February 8th, 2008 7:58 am
He sounds so very special to you and you still house and love him in your heart daily. My father-in-law is Irish and so little we call him a leprechaun!
(I love your tea poem too…and the cup! Love fancy “grandma” cups!)
February 8th, 2008 2:23 pm
Coll, A great piece written about Daddo and “oh how we all miss him so much”! I love reading things like this. It keeps his spirit alive. Thank-you.
February 8th, 2008 2:41 pm
i been seeing him in your hands for months now. perhaps i haven’t said it out loud cuz i didn’t want you to think i was seeing you as old. i especially see him in the interplay of your veins and freckles upon your fair irish skin where your hands change into your wrists. i study this place on you and reflect on how this is the part of you that puts words on paper and computer screens. you are descended from royalty, my lady; queen of the short poem, duchess of dance.
February 8th, 2008 11:15 pm
My dad died in June 1996…. I think they would have been good friends. Many interests the same and he was also ” The King of His Castle and Recliner’!
February 9th, 2008 3:54 am
Oh, I LOVE when you write about your father Colleen…He just sounds like such a sweetheart of a man….With warts, of course—He wouldn’t have been a human being without them—But, you always write about him with so much love and it is in the details of his world, like the magifying glasses everywhere…That is a very dear picture, by the way. I know you must miss him terribly.
February 9th, 2008 9:44 am
The King of his Castle, the recliner, AND the TV remote.
February 9th, 2008 1:29 pm
I love that he kept those blackmail type photos and never threw them away. I too like to keep those. They are much more fun to look back on. He looks like a sweetheart and I know you miss him dearly. Hugs.
October 10th, 2008 7:05 pm
I love you Colleen.
October 10th, 2008 7:05 pm
I love you Colleen.
June 25th, 2009 7:51 am
My dad was a “soup doctor” as well – mostly he would add heaps of curry powder (he served in Malaya). He sang with heart too. It sounds like he and your dad would have hit it off. My dad used to tear up the pictures he didn’t like before anyone could see them. That was one difference.
Kat